» Sun Aug 19, 2012 5:13 pm The Bound Company
Thin shafts of light penetrate your cell through the small barred window, the dank stones and iron bars just barely illuminated by Magnus’s glow. Rats scurry along the moldy stonework, hoping to find some discarded crumbs from the stale loaf of bread that was your daily meal. Far off, down the corridor, you hear a noise- the clanking of the heavy iron door to the prison. Is it time for the Jailor to make his rounds? No, it’s far too early for a patrol. Perhaps the guards are coming to beat you, or to have some sort of twisted fun? Regardless, the chances of anything good happening are nonexistent, and you know it. Nothing good ever happens down here.
It seems like an eternity passes before the guard arrives at the door to your cell, and you can see his silhouette producing a ring of heavy keys from his belt. With a dull clunk, the door to your cell is unlocked, the iron bars slowly swinging inward. The guard takes a step forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
“You there” he calls into the shadows that conceal you. “Get up. We’re going on a trip.”
Wordlessly you rise, cautiously approaching the guard. He checks to make sure you are still shackled in your irons before leading you out of your cell, the sound of the door slamming shut without you in it producing a feeling of comfort and triumph among the sea of unease that persists in your heart. He begins to lead you down the corridor, out of the prison, your hope rising; along the way, you notice many other guards collecting other prisoners, following the same path. You look upon their faces, wondering who they are, and why they are in Skingrad’s dungeons. Highwaymen? Deserters? Thieves? Murderers? You cannot tell, for they all share the same malnourished and disheveled appearance as yourself.
You and your fellow prisoners are escorted from the cold dungeons and into the castle proper, the heat from a nearby brazier raising your spirits even further. Into a massive chamber lined with guards you enter, your gaze meeting that of a tall Colovian man, with dark hair and devilishly handsome features, his Imperial finery curving with his body as he sits lazily on the throne. Your hopes shatter as you set your eyes upon Count Aurrus of Skingrad, a hint of malice hidden behind his pleasant smile.
“Greetings, esteemed guests of Skingrad’s prison,” He speaks, voice laced with sarcasm; his smile widens, promising something sinister. “I call you here today to ask of you… a favor.” The malice in his smile and eyes increase tenfold, burning into each of you in turn. “You see, I have a job that needs doing, but no one able or willing to it!” His tone is of mocking despair, all too blatant. “So, I wish to ask of you, my friends, will you be willing to perform a simple task for me?”
Silence.
“Delightful!” Aurrus’ laughter, sharp and unnatural, breaks the quiet; he leans forward. The disquieting air around him grows only thicker. “I had hoped you would prove cooperative.” There can no refusing his request, whatever it may be, and both you and him know it – the difference is that he delights in it.
“This… task is nothing too demanding, I assure you. I am, after all, a gracious host, and ask only for a small favour to repay my hospitality. A short expedition…” He looks at his nails, fingers that have never seen an hour of work in their life. “Down south, into the Khajiit lands. Not too far, if you are fleet of foot it should only take you five days’ worth of travel into the badlands to reach your destination… Comfortably before, I am told, your supplies begin to run out and such inconveniences as death by thirst or starvation come into play.”
“Perhaps you have heard of the ruined city of… Qrrr’haj Nal? Quite a mouthful, but then that is what happens when you let natives build their own settlements. I suggest you remember the name, friends,” There is nothing about his expression that would suggest friendliness, feigned or otherwise, at this point – only unspoken threats.
“For that is where you must go.”
---
The Characters
Count Tyranus Aurrus, rightful ruler of County Skingrad and her Vassals,
The prisoners are to be released tomorrow at precisely mid-day, as you have ordered, and will be brought to the throne room to be briefed and outfitted for the expedition to Qrrr'haj Nal. Attached to this document are the dossiers of each prisoner, upon your request, for you to review at your leisure, my lord. I do hope that everything is in order.
~Your humble servant, Citro sixtius, steward of Count Aurrus, County Skingrad, 4E 18
The Ascended Sleeper
Spoiler
Name: Vadem Sasori
Age: 34
Race: Dark Elf
Appearance: Vadem is a tall and handsome Dunmer, standing at roughly six feet tall, with shaggy, unkempt red hair that is cropped close to his skull. Normally, he has a wiry muscle structure, and a dashing smile dominates his face, though the past few months in Skingrad’s prisons have changed him- his hair is no longer clean and short, but long and filthy, his face most often frowning, his body malnourished.
Equipment: Nothing but a pile of rags that serve as clothing, and wrist irons that sap his ability to focus magicka.
Skills: Vadem was trained as an imperial battlemage since his teen years, though he only made it halfway through the training before he dropped out, going his own way. Despite the early termination of his education, Vadem is highly skilled in magic, most notably in the fields of Mysticism and Alteration, and somewhat in the schools of illusion and destruction. He was considered dangerous not only by his superiors at not only the Battlespire, but also at the Arcane University for his cunning and borderline malevolent research of magic, and earned the title of “Bloodmage”, for he became highly skilled in transferring Mysticism magic via “sympathetic” links using blood. In short, he had the ability to apply magical effects to a target who was potentially miles away, so long as he had access to their blood. In the field of Alteration, Vadem was also known to be highly cunning, using the magic in unique ways to turn the tide of battle in his favor. Furthermore, Vadem was trained in the arts of combat (mainly the use of blades and hand to hand combat), though he never excelled in these fields, and prefers his magic. Over the years, he has also taught himself to be somewhat stealthy when he needs to, and he is naturally charismatic, persuading many women into his bed with his quick wit and sharp tongue. Enchanting and Alchemy are the trade skills he used to get by, though he is a bit rusty after the past few months in jail.
Background: Born in the port city of Anvil, Vadem was the child of a pauper family who ended up giving him to the legion by the time he reached the age of ten. He was quickly sent into training to become a battlemage, and by the age of thirteen, he was already showing great talent in magic, and a sharp wit with both his studies and his tongue. Unfortunately, by the age of eighteen, his dislike for the legion grew so powerful that he dropped out of the military (no easy feat), and began to wander the empire in search of power and adventure.
He took odd jobs- enforcer, private investigator, hired sword. He even joined a few mercenary bands, though such things always ending in dangerous falling outs. Vadem eventually began study with the Synod, though his methods and researches were far too profane for them, and found himself kicked out, with no home and no money to his name. By the age of 34, he found himself in Skingrad, where he attempted to settle down and make a name for himself. He eventually ended up making a name for himself, but it wasn’t as a dashing rouge like he intended, but a psychopathic killer after he murdered citizens with blood magic after they pushed him too far with their racial harassment. When Vadem attempted to flee the city, he found himself promptly placed in shackles, and has been in Skingrad’s dungeon for the past three months.
Name: Vadem Sasori
Age: 34
Race: Dark Elf
Appearance: Vadem is a tall and handsome Dunmer, standing at roughly six feet tall, with shaggy, unkempt red hair that is cropped close to his skull. Normally, he has a wiry muscle structure, and a dashing smile dominates his face, though the past few months in Skingrad’s prisons have changed him- his hair is no longer clean and short, but long and filthy, his face most often frowning, his body malnourished.
Equipment: Nothing but a pile of rags that serve as clothing, and wrist irons that sap his ability to focus magicka.
Skills: Vadem was trained as an imperial battlemage since his teen years, though he only made it halfway through the training before he dropped out, going his own way. Despite the early termination of his education, Vadem is highly skilled in magic, most notably in the fields of Mysticism and Alteration, and somewhat in the schools of illusion and destruction. He was considered dangerous not only by his superiors at not only the Battlespire, but also at the Arcane University for his cunning and borderline malevolent research of magic, and earned the title of “Bloodmage”, for he became highly skilled in transferring Mysticism magic via “sympathetic” links using blood. In short, he had the ability to apply magical effects to a target who was potentially miles away, so long as he had access to their blood. In the field of Alteration, Vadem was also known to be highly cunning, using the magic in unique ways to turn the tide of battle in his favor. Furthermore, Vadem was trained in the arts of combat (mainly the use of blades and hand to hand combat), though he never excelled in these fields, and prefers his magic. Over the years, he has also taught himself to be somewhat stealthy when he needs to, and he is naturally charismatic, persuading many women into his bed with his quick wit and sharp tongue. Enchanting and Alchemy are the trade skills he used to get by, though he is a bit rusty after the past few months in jail.
Background: Born in the port city of Anvil, Vadem was the child of a pauper family who ended up giving him to the legion by the time he reached the age of ten. He was quickly sent into training to become a battlemage, and by the age of thirteen, he was already showing great talent in magic, and a sharp wit with both his studies and his tongue. Unfortunately, by the age of eighteen, his dislike for the legion grew so powerful that he dropped out of the military (no easy feat), and began to wander the empire in search of power and adventure.
He took odd jobs- enforcer, private investigator, hired sword. He even joined a few mercenary bands, though such things always ending in dangerous falling outs. Vadem eventually began study with the Synod, though his methods and researches were far too profane for them, and found himself kicked out, with no home and no money to his name. By the age of 34, he found himself in Skingrad, where he attempted to settle down and make a name for himself. He eventually ended up making a name for himself, but it wasn’t as a dashing rouge like he intended, but a psychopathic killer after he murdered citizens with blood magic after they pushed him too far with their racial harassment. When Vadem attempted to flee the city, he found himself promptly placed in shackles, and has been in Skingrad’s dungeon for the past three months.
Person From Anticlere
Spoiler
Name: Lena
Age: 16
Race: Imperial (Colovian)
Birthsign: The Lover
Appearance: Standing at 5’6, Lena, with her sickly thin frame, is obviously undernourished. While the girl didn’t look particularly healthy even several months ago, her time in a prison cell has clearly left its mark – the crust of dirt covering her paled skin, the blackened under-eyes, dirty, unkempt reddish-brown hair. She seems to radiate an aura of unease, and the fact there are scars on her lower left arm spelling ‘FIND HIM’ do not help much. Notable scarring does not end there for her, as both her palms bear hideous burn marks.
Partially covered by her hair, which have been crudely cut back when they got too long and now reach just below her ears, Lena’s face is gaunt and looks just as unhealthy and unsettling as everything else about her. Everything – from her thin lips, to her slightly pointed nose and fairly low cheekbones – seems void of life, like a Dwemer mechanism whose engines have failed; everything, that is, save for her dark green eyes, which retain some spark of life behind them.
Clothing / Armour: The fact that typical prison rags are a too large for the small-framed girl failed to deter the man charged with handing them out; hence, they now hang over Lena like a sack, cut from the same rough, dirty cloth as those of every prisoner. The short, torn sleeves of her shirt fail completely to cover up the scarring on her left arm; the pants, held in place by a piece of string that serves her for a belt, are torn at the right knee, allowing one to see there’s a dirty bandage tied around it; simple, flimsy-looking sandals serve as her footwear. Most notably, her hands are shackled by bulky iron manacles inscribed with runes – enchanted restraints that prevent her from casting all but the weakest spells.
Weapons: None to speak of.
Background: To those guards that found her, the day Lena turned up in Skingrad was quite memorable indeed – seeing as she was found straddling the corpse of a retired veteran of Titus Mede’s campaigns, her hands burned and her nails bloody. Both could be easily explained by a cursory glance at the corpse, which had a still-smouldering hole straight through the stomach and the word ‘Lena’ scratched onto the chest. To this day, that remains the only indication what the girl’s name might be.
Without a clue as to how she got there or what precisely had happened, the city Watch tried to question her; a process significantly hindered by the fact ‘Lena’ appeared to be completely mute.
What the guards couldn’t know was that several months ago, the dead legionnaire had committed a crime of his own; two brothers living on a small farm in the Colovian Reserve refused to be intimidated into surrendering their hard-earned gold, and the shake-down became a murder. However, had the veteran been more thorough in ransacking the house, he’d have discovered those two brothers also had a younger sister – who had been forced to watch them be cut down without making a sound.
Since Lena was entirely uninterested in hiding the fact she’d been behind the ex-legionnaire’s death, the Watch dumped her in a prison cell; when the bars were found to be slightly melted in the places she’d squeezed them, they slapped shackles enchanted to severely hinder her flow of magicka on the girl’s wrists and left her where she was. She seemed entirely content to simply sit calmly in her cell all day – and neither the other inmates, nor the guards themselves showed much interest in attempting to get her to talk. The only one to try to get her to open up was a freshly recruited guardsman; Lena spent a week shackled to the wall for his trouble after the guard ended up taking her hand and realizing her palms were much warmer than they should be.
Name: Lena
Age: 16
Race: Imperial (Colovian)
Birthsign: The Lover
Appearance: Standing at 5’6, Lena, with her sickly thin frame, is obviously undernourished. While the girl didn’t look particularly healthy even several months ago, her time in a prison cell has clearly left its mark – the crust of dirt covering her paled skin, the blackened under-eyes, dirty, unkempt reddish-brown hair. She seems to radiate an aura of unease, and the fact there are scars on her lower left arm spelling ‘FIND HIM’ do not help much. Notable scarring does not end there for her, as both her palms bear hideous burn marks.
Partially covered by her hair, which have been crudely cut back when they got too long and now reach just below her ears, Lena’s face is gaunt and looks just as unhealthy and unsettling as everything else about her. Everything – from her thin lips, to her slightly pointed nose and fairly low cheekbones – seems void of life, like a Dwemer mechanism whose engines have failed; everything, that is, save for her dark green eyes, which retain some spark of life behind them.
Clothing / Armour: The fact that typical prison rags are a too large for the small-framed girl failed to deter the man charged with handing them out; hence, they now hang over Lena like a sack, cut from the same rough, dirty cloth as those of every prisoner. The short, torn sleeves of her shirt fail completely to cover up the scarring on her left arm; the pants, held in place by a piece of string that serves her for a belt, are torn at the right knee, allowing one to see there’s a dirty bandage tied around it; simple, flimsy-looking sandals serve as her footwear. Most notably, her hands are shackled by bulky iron manacles inscribed with runes – enchanted restraints that prevent her from casting all but the weakest spells.
Weapons: None to speak of.
Background: To those guards that found her, the day Lena turned up in Skingrad was quite memorable indeed – seeing as she was found straddling the corpse of a retired veteran of Titus Mede’s campaigns, her hands burned and her nails bloody. Both could be easily explained by a cursory glance at the corpse, which had a still-smouldering hole straight through the stomach and the word ‘Lena’ scratched onto the chest. To this day, that remains the only indication what the girl’s name might be.
Without a clue as to how she got there or what precisely had happened, the city Watch tried to question her; a process significantly hindered by the fact ‘Lena’ appeared to be completely mute.
What the guards couldn’t know was that several months ago, the dead legionnaire had committed a crime of his own; two brothers living on a small farm in the Colovian Reserve refused to be intimidated into surrendering their hard-earned gold, and the shake-down became a murder. However, had the veteran been more thorough in ransacking the house, he’d have discovered those two brothers also had a younger sister – who had been forced to watch them be cut down without making a sound.
Since Lena was entirely uninterested in hiding the fact she’d been behind the ex-legionnaire’s death, the Watch dumped her in a prison cell; when the bars were found to be slightly melted in the places she’d squeezed them, they slapped shackles enchanted to severely hinder her flow of magicka on the girl’s wrists and left her where she was. She seemed entirely content to simply sit calmly in her cell all day – and neither the other inmates, nor the guards themselves showed much interest in attempting to get her to talk. The only one to try to get her to open up was a freshly recruited guardsman; Lena spent a week shackled to the wall for his trouble after the guard ended up taking her hand and realizing her palms were much warmer than they should be.
Not Provided
Spoiler
Name - Raesa Valodius
Race - Imperial
Gender - Female
Age - 40
Appearance - Raesa is of average height for an Imperial, but far skinnier. She has short, brown hair and grey eyes. She almost never smiles, except when she laughs. She hasn't aged well, and her face is scarred and rough; in fact, before her imprisonment she really didn't look much happier or healthier then she did afterwards. She's below average in terms of fitness, which has only worsened from her time spent rotting in prison.
Equipment - The same dull, grey rags the other prisoners wear, and iron shackles which will shrink and break her wrists if she tries to use any magic.
Skills - Raesa is a respected and expert healer, having trained in Restoration magic since she was a young girl; her parents were wealthy enough to hire the best tutors the Mage's Guild had to offer. She's a fairly skilled alchemist, but her alchemical knowledge is limited to what's useful in her capacity was a healer. She knows enough Alteration and Destruction to get by, but she hates using the latter.
Background - Raesa was born in Ebonheart; her father was the local head of the East Empire Trading Company, and her mother was the daughter of the legendary General Darius. Growing up she was just like any Imperial heiress; out of touch and content to become another noble. She studied magic and was a devoted worshiper of Mara.
When she was barely an advlt she became engaged to a visiting noble from High Rock, a young prince called Varian "Amelion", who's kingdom was usurped by a people's revolution, forcing him to flee across Tamriel.
Varian stayed with Raesa and her family for five months, and at the end of it proposed to her. However, he father soon discovered that her fiance was not all he seemed; Varian was actually a con man from Cyrodiil who, after marrying her, was going to run off with the family fortune.
Her father called the Legion on him, but he escaped before they arrived. Raesa's heart was broken, and it seemed that her despair could grow no worse.
It was around that point that gates to the most hellish place in all of Oblivion began to open, invading Tamriel in the name of raw, pointless destruction. Needless to say, her despair actually did grow worse.
When Ebonheart was attacked, her family's estate was destroyed, although she escaped unscathed. The refugee's from Ebonheart made a camp outside Vivec, and for the first time in her entire life she found herself treated as no better then the common rabble. The experience was more humbling then humiliating, and she found work for herself in the camp as a healer, something which was desperately needed.
Like many swept up in the chaos of the crisis, she quickly lost her faith in the glory of the Nine. Unlike most of the others, however, she never regained it, even with the breaking of the Amulet and Martin Septim's transformation into Akatosh. She had no more use for gods; her faith had, in a way, been turned into faith in people.
She moved to a remote shack in Blackwood and became known throughout Cyrodiil as a skilled healer. She was not always friendly to her customers, but she charged only what they could afford and always seemed to prefer commoners to wealthy nobles.
Her imprisonment is a strange case; she turned away a noblewoman who was on the verge of death in favor of a pauper who was dying of a similar disease. The noblewoman herself actually seemed respectful of her decision, but her distraught family was not so understanding. They framed the case so that it seemed like she'd caused the disease, and bribed the guards. She never really had a chance of getting away free.
Personality - First of all, it should be made clear that Raesa does not have a friendly bone in her body. She is not polite, or warm, or loving. She has no qualms mocking or sneering at anybody, and her sense of humor is cruel and dark. However, her moral sense is just the opposite; her empathy knows no bounds, and whether or not she likes someone has nothing to do with whether or not she'll help them. There have been cases where she's healed people for nothing, and gone hungry because of it. She deplores violence, and only resorts to it when absolutely necessary. It seems that the only thing that matches her nihilism is, in fact, her empathy.
Name - Raesa Valodius
Race - Imperial
Gender - Female
Age - 40
Appearance - Raesa is of average height for an Imperial, but far skinnier. She has short, brown hair and grey eyes. She almost never smiles, except when she laughs. She hasn't aged well, and her face is scarred and rough; in fact, before her imprisonment she really didn't look much happier or healthier then she did afterwards. She's below average in terms of fitness, which has only worsened from her time spent rotting in prison.
Equipment - The same dull, grey rags the other prisoners wear, and iron shackles which will shrink and break her wrists if she tries to use any magic.
Skills - Raesa is a respected and expert healer, having trained in Restoration magic since she was a young girl; her parents were wealthy enough to hire the best tutors the Mage's Guild had to offer. She's a fairly skilled alchemist, but her alchemical knowledge is limited to what's useful in her capacity was a healer. She knows enough Alteration and Destruction to get by, but she hates using the latter.
Background - Raesa was born in Ebonheart; her father was the local head of the East Empire Trading Company, and her mother was the daughter of the legendary General Darius. Growing up she was just like any Imperial heiress; out of touch and content to become another noble. She studied magic and was a devoted worshiper of Mara.
When she was barely an advlt she became engaged to a visiting noble from High Rock, a young prince called Varian "Amelion", who's kingdom was usurped by a people's revolution, forcing him to flee across Tamriel.
Varian stayed with Raesa and her family for five months, and at the end of it proposed to her. However, he father soon discovered that her fiance was not all he seemed; Varian was actually a con man from Cyrodiil who, after marrying her, was going to run off with the family fortune.
Her father called the Legion on him, but he escaped before they arrived. Raesa's heart was broken, and it seemed that her despair could grow no worse.
It was around that point that gates to the most hellish place in all of Oblivion began to open, invading Tamriel in the name of raw, pointless destruction. Needless to say, her despair actually did grow worse.
When Ebonheart was attacked, her family's estate was destroyed, although she escaped unscathed. The refugee's from Ebonheart made a camp outside Vivec, and for the first time in her entire life she found herself treated as no better then the common rabble. The experience was more humbling then humiliating, and she found work for herself in the camp as a healer, something which was desperately needed.
Like many swept up in the chaos of the crisis, she quickly lost her faith in the glory of the Nine. Unlike most of the others, however, she never regained it, even with the breaking of the Amulet and Martin Septim's transformation into Akatosh. She had no more use for gods; her faith had, in a way, been turned into faith in people.
She moved to a remote shack in Blackwood and became known throughout Cyrodiil as a skilled healer. She was not always friendly to her customers, but she charged only what they could afford and always seemed to prefer commoners to wealthy nobles.
Her imprisonment is a strange case; she turned away a noblewoman who was on the verge of death in favor of a pauper who was dying of a similar disease. The noblewoman herself actually seemed respectful of her decision, but her distraught family was not so understanding. They framed the case so that it seemed like she'd caused the disease, and bribed the guards. She never really had a chance of getting away free.
Personality - First of all, it should be made clear that Raesa does not have a friendly bone in her body. She is not polite, or warm, or loving. She has no qualms mocking or sneering at anybody, and her sense of humor is cruel and dark. However, her moral sense is just the opposite; her empathy knows no bounds, and whether or not she likes someone has nothing to do with whether or not she'll help them. There have been cases where she's healed people for nothing, and gone hungry because of it. She deplores violence, and only resorts to it when absolutely necessary. It seems that the only thing that matches her nihilism is, in fact, her empathy.
Disturbed
Spoiler
Name: Staron Mirel
Race: Redguard
Age: 26
Height: Six feet tall
Sign: The Steed
Appearance: Staron is of average height and build for a Redguard. He is very much in shape from a life of hard work and labor. Staron's eyes and hair are different colors due to a genetic disorder http://en.wikipedia....ochromia_iridum. His left eye being Blue and his right eye being grey. His hair goes down to his neck and is black with streaks of grey. His skin, however, is unaffected by his condition as is lightly toned for a Redguard. He is missing two fingers(his pinky and ring finger) on his left hand.
Personality: Staron is somewhat of a rouge and prefers to have things done his way. He will listen to those he respects though. Staron can be overly trusting and is quick to make friends. While it has allowed him to gain allies it has also been the cause of betrayal. He is hardworking and won't give up on a task no matter how difficult or dangerous it may be.
Equipment: Nothing but the clothes on his back(for now)
Bio: Staron was born in Leyawiin to two modest Redguard laborers. At the age of six, he was orphaned by an epidemic of one of the many diseases that are frequently passes from the border of Black Marsh. The young Redguard lost everything to the corrupt officials that govern the town and was kicked out into the streets. Staron tried his luck as a thief but was never skilled at sneaking. He was caught twice and the penalty on the streets for thievery was a lost finger.
Staron then turned to begging and one rainy a mercenary saw some potential in the young Redguard and took him in as his apprentice. He was constantly trained by his mentor an Argonaian by the name of Strikes-With-Swiftness to be skilled in the art of war. Staron excelled under the tutelage and harsh training from the Argonian and grew up to be a formidable warrior. He took jobs as a mercenary working with his friend and master until he was killed by bandits during a caravan escort mission.
Feeling saddened and depressed, the Redguard took to drinking. Staron eventually found his way into Skingrad and was working as a mercenary when he got a little too drunk and accidently killed a man. He's been in the Skingrad prison for two years but works out constantly to stay in shape for an opportunity like the one being presented to him to happen.
Skills: Staron is a skilled swordsman who prefers to fight with a shield and light armor. His quickness makes him a formidable opponent. He is swift, but also patient in battle and will wait for his adversary to make a mistake before going all out. He has a basic understanding of alchemy but the rest of the Magickal arts are a mystery to him.
Name: Staron Mirel
Race: Redguard
Age: 26
Height: Six feet tall
Sign: The Steed
Appearance: Staron is of average height and build for a Redguard. He is very much in shape from a life of hard work and labor. Staron's eyes and hair are different colors due to a genetic disorder http://en.wikipedia....ochromia_iridum. His left eye being Blue and his right eye being grey. His hair goes down to his neck and is black with streaks of grey. His skin, however, is unaffected by his condition as is lightly toned for a Redguard. He is missing two fingers(his pinky and ring finger) on his left hand.
Personality: Staron is somewhat of a rouge and prefers to have things done his way. He will listen to those he respects though. Staron can be overly trusting and is quick to make friends. While it has allowed him to gain allies it has also been the cause of betrayal. He is hardworking and won't give up on a task no matter how difficult or dangerous it may be.
Equipment: Nothing but the clothes on his back(for now)
Bio: Staron was born in Leyawiin to two modest Redguard laborers. At the age of six, he was orphaned by an epidemic of one of the many diseases that are frequently passes from the border of Black Marsh. The young Redguard lost everything to the corrupt officials that govern the town and was kicked out into the streets. Staron tried his luck as a thief but was never skilled at sneaking. He was caught twice and the penalty on the streets for thievery was a lost finger.
Staron then turned to begging and one rainy a mercenary saw some potential in the young Redguard and took him in as his apprentice. He was constantly trained by his mentor an Argonaian by the name of Strikes-With-Swiftness to be skilled in the art of war. Staron excelled under the tutelage and harsh training from the Argonian and grew up to be a formidable warrior. He took jobs as a mercenary working with his friend and master until he was killed by bandits during a caravan escort mission.
Feeling saddened and depressed, the Redguard took to drinking. Staron eventually found his way into Skingrad and was working as a mercenary when he got a little too drunk and accidently killed a man. He's been in the Skingrad prison for two years but works out constantly to stay in shape for an opportunity like the one being presented to him to happen.
Skills: Staron is a skilled swordsman who prefers to fight with a shield and light armor. His quickness makes him a formidable opponent. He is swift, but also patient in battle and will wait for his adversary to make a mistake before going all out. He has a basic understanding of alchemy but the rest of the Magickal arts are a mystery to him.
Venix_445
Spoiler
Name: Servatius
Age: 32
Race Imperial
Starsign: The Warrior
Appearance: http://theworldwenta...png?w=630&h=370 However his mowhawk has filled out to be a shoulder length long tangled mess and he has no earings either and looks more malnourished. A spark remains in his eyes which chill many people to the bone.
Clothes/Armor: At current he wears the same old prison rags as everyone else.
Weapons: None
Skills: Servatius is skilled with many weapons, however his weapons of choice are swords/daggers, bows and his bare hands. He is a hunter and can track various animals and he can even cook. despite being malnourished and even when a his peak he is not that muscly he remains quite strong and abl to hold his own in a fist fight. He is by no meas the best fighter who ever lived, the scar across his left eye is proof of this but he knows how to do it and can do it well.
Traits/Quirks: Has a habit of constantly looking into somones eyes when he talks to them. Servatius gives of an intimidating aura to most. has picked up an accent from Elsweyr.
Personalitie: Servatius is insane to some, others may consider him a genious. He can and does quite frequently change his mood in an instant, it could be because he didnt like the way somone looked at him or somone said something he didnt like. Servatius is a man who will say what he thinks and do what he wants and will look out for number one first and foremost. All in all Servatius is an incredibly unstable man.
Bio: Servatius's past is know only to himself. He was a pirate, bandit, raider, thief and cold blooded killer. You name it he has probably done it. He is most known for his Pirate days he ran a group in the waters around Elsweyer and spent many years of his life in this part of Tamriel and due to this he has picked up an accent. When he turned 28 he moved into Cyrodiil near skingrad where he moved into being a notorious bandit chief before being caught and jailed when he was 30 he has been there ever since.
Name: Servatius
Age: 32
Race Imperial
Starsign: The Warrior
Appearance: http://theworldwenta...png?w=630&h=370 However his mowhawk has filled out to be a shoulder length long tangled mess and he has no earings either and looks more malnourished. A spark remains in his eyes which chill many people to the bone.
Clothes/Armor: At current he wears the same old prison rags as everyone else.
Weapons: None
Skills: Servatius is skilled with many weapons, however his weapons of choice are swords/daggers, bows and his bare hands. He is a hunter and can track various animals and he can even cook. despite being malnourished and even when a his peak he is not that muscly he remains quite strong and abl to hold his own in a fist fight. He is by no meas the best fighter who ever lived, the scar across his left eye is proof of this but he knows how to do it and can do it well.
Traits/Quirks: Has a habit of constantly looking into somones eyes when he talks to them. Servatius gives of an intimidating aura to most. has picked up an accent from Elsweyr.
Personalitie: Servatius is insane to some, others may consider him a genious. He can and does quite frequently change his mood in an instant, it could be because he didnt like the way somone looked at him or somone said something he didnt like. Servatius is a man who will say what he thinks and do what he wants and will look out for number one first and foremost. All in all Servatius is an incredibly unstable man.
Bio: Servatius's past is know only to himself. He was a pirate, bandit, raider, thief and cold blooded killer. You name it he has probably done it. He is most known for his Pirate days he ran a group in the waters around Elsweyer and spent many years of his life in this part of Tamriel and due to this he has picked up an accent. When he turned 28 he moved into Cyrodiil near skingrad where he moved into being a notorious bandit chief before being caught and jailed when he was 30 he has been there ever since.
Broken Scale
Spoiler
Name: Gabriella Tussaud
Gender: Female
Race: Breton
Age: 26
Skills: Gabriella is an accomplished and notoriously skilled thief. A particularly talented pickpocket and lockbreaker, Gabriella is also somewhat capable of stealth. However, though she can disappear into shadows as well as any self-respecting thief, Gabriella is far more talented at hiding in plain sight. A skilled actress, Gabriella has proven herself capable of fooling marks and pursuers merely by changing her voice and her stance. When she has the forethought to prepare a disguise, she is even more able to disappear within a crowd. Gabriella has also become very athletic over her criminal career, having responded to the necessity of running away in her profession. Furthermore, Gabriella is a capable, if self-trained, hand-to-hand and knife fighter, though she presents the most danger if the element of surprise is on her side ... which it usually is.
General Appearance: Gabriella stands at a somewhat average height for a Breton, standing at 5’8”. Gabriella has a thin, toned, and feminine build, and, though she has become slightly skinnier than she had been previously, her time in the Skingrad prison hasn’t yet taken a huge toll on her frame. Very pretty, Gabriella has dark brown, almost black, hair, and strikingly green eyes. She has kept her hair somewhat short, and has tied it up in a bun during her time in prison.
Equipment: Right now, Gabriella is clothed in the typical prison rags given to inhabitants of Skingrad’s prison. She has made some modifications to it, such as ripping the shirt so that it bears a good portion of her midriff, but overall her clothes aren’t special. Given her track record for breaking out of prisons, Gabriella’s hands are kept shackled behind her at all times, except when under direct supervision of trained guards.
Brief History: Gabriella Tussaud is a lifelong criminal. The daughter of a common [censored] in the Imperial City’s Waterfront, Gabriella spent the first 10 years of her life in the [censored]house where she was born, working as a waitress and, occasionally, a prosttute. Soon enough, however, Gabriella began to turn to theft to supplement her and her mother’s lifestyle. At first, it was simple stuff; an apple her, some coins there, never anything that would be missed.
But after her mother died, and Gabriella ran away from the seedy brothel that had been her home at the age of ten, stealing became her main source of income. Gabriella lasted almost five years as a freelance thief before she made her first mistake. Getting cocky, Gabriella attempted to steal some jewels from a recluse noble. The noble caught her fairly easily, and could have just as easily killed her; he almost did. But Gabriella got away with just being arrested.
At first, many thought sending her, a 15 year old girl, to a prison full of hardened criminals was just as sure a death as the noble could’ve provided. But Gabriella soon proved herself more than capable of defending herself, and the first man who tried to touch her got his hands broken. Nobody really bothered her in the Imperial City Prison again. Gabriella spent the next few years going in and out of the prison, but, as time went by, Gabriella began to learn from her mistakes, and the time between arrests began to grow, and the time she actually spent in prison began to shrink. After her last arrest, at the age of 21, Gabriella only spent less than a week in prison before escaping, and this time Gabriella never got recaptured.
However, over the next few years, Gabriella’s growing skill - brought her to the attention of the Thieve’s Guild. She had begun to dominate the Imperial City’s thieving community, and the Guild wasn’t fond of freelancers, particularly those as skilled as Gabriella. A confrontation between her and a Guild enforcer who had been sent to “encourage” her to pay dues to the Guild left him dead, and Gabriella on the run from the city Watch and the Guild,
Gabriella managed to lead them on a chase for almost six months across Cyrodiil, but a Guild member caught up to her as she was passing by Skingrad. The ensuing confrontation allowed the local guards to catch up to Gabriella and imprison her. Gabriella has now been in the Skingrad prison for a little bit under two months, but has been unable to escape because of the much more aware and prepared guards in Skingrad.
Name: Gabriella Tussaud
Gender: Female
Race: Breton
Age: 26
Skills: Gabriella is an accomplished and notoriously skilled thief. A particularly talented pickpocket and lockbreaker, Gabriella is also somewhat capable of stealth. However, though she can disappear into shadows as well as any self-respecting thief, Gabriella is far more talented at hiding in plain sight. A skilled actress, Gabriella has proven herself capable of fooling marks and pursuers merely by changing her voice and her stance. When she has the forethought to prepare a disguise, she is even more able to disappear within a crowd. Gabriella has also become very athletic over her criminal career, having responded to the necessity of running away in her profession. Furthermore, Gabriella is a capable, if self-trained, hand-to-hand and knife fighter, though she presents the most danger if the element of surprise is on her side ... which it usually is.
General Appearance: Gabriella stands at a somewhat average height for a Breton, standing at 5’8”. Gabriella has a thin, toned, and feminine build, and, though she has become slightly skinnier than she had been previously, her time in the Skingrad prison hasn’t yet taken a huge toll on her frame. Very pretty, Gabriella has dark brown, almost black, hair, and strikingly green eyes. She has kept her hair somewhat short, and has tied it up in a bun during her time in prison.
Equipment: Right now, Gabriella is clothed in the typical prison rags given to inhabitants of Skingrad’s prison. She has made some modifications to it, such as ripping the shirt so that it bears a good portion of her midriff, but overall her clothes aren’t special. Given her track record for breaking out of prisons, Gabriella’s hands are kept shackled behind her at all times, except when under direct supervision of trained guards.
Brief History: Gabriella Tussaud is a lifelong criminal. The daughter of a common [censored] in the Imperial City’s Waterfront, Gabriella spent the first 10 years of her life in the [censored]house where she was born, working as a waitress and, occasionally, a prosttute. Soon enough, however, Gabriella began to turn to theft to supplement her and her mother’s lifestyle. At first, it was simple stuff; an apple her, some coins there, never anything that would be missed.
But after her mother died, and Gabriella ran away from the seedy brothel that had been her home at the age of ten, stealing became her main source of income. Gabriella lasted almost five years as a freelance thief before she made her first mistake. Getting cocky, Gabriella attempted to steal some jewels from a recluse noble. The noble caught her fairly easily, and could have just as easily killed her; he almost did. But Gabriella got away with just being arrested.
At first, many thought sending her, a 15 year old girl, to a prison full of hardened criminals was just as sure a death as the noble could’ve provided. But Gabriella soon proved herself more than capable of defending herself, and the first man who tried to touch her got his hands broken. Nobody really bothered her in the Imperial City Prison again. Gabriella spent the next few years going in and out of the prison, but, as time went by, Gabriella began to learn from her mistakes, and the time between arrests began to grow, and the time she actually spent in prison began to shrink. After her last arrest, at the age of 21, Gabriella only spent less than a week in prison before escaping, and this time Gabriella never got recaptured.
However, over the next few years, Gabriella’s growing skill - brought her to the attention of the Thieve’s Guild. She had begun to dominate the Imperial City’s thieving community, and the Guild wasn’t fond of freelancers, particularly those as skilled as Gabriella. A confrontation between her and a Guild enforcer who had been sent to “encourage” her to pay dues to the Guild left him dead, and Gabriella on the run from the city Watch and the Guild,
Gabriella managed to lead them on a chase for almost six months across Cyrodiil, but a Guild member caught up to her as she was passing by Skingrad. The ensuing confrontation allowed the local guards to catch up to Gabriella and imprison her. Gabriella has now been in the Skingrad prison for a little bit under two months, but has been unable to escape because of the much more aware and prepared guards in Skingrad.
Gavril
Spoiler
Name: Sareth Othran
Age: he looks like he's eighteen but he is 33
Race: Dark Elf
Physical Description: He is quite handsome, although the months he has spend in prison has put a damper on his look. His eyes have a reddish purple color. His silk-like, silver hair falls a good distance past his shoulders. But right now it is messy, filthy and full of knits. It could use a bath. He is tall, standing at around 6 feet with a lean but wiry built. His muscles are clearly defined but not bulky. He has kept himself in, something that could be called, good condition by exercising in his cell as far as the small room and his malnourishment allowed him.
Background: He grew up as an orphan in the city of Chorrol where he had to steal in order to survive as a child. One day he accidently got caught breaking in into another Dunmer's house. Instead of turning him over to the city guards the man adopted him. His adoption father apparently was a skilled spellsword in service of the Fighter's Guild in Chorrol and he soon started Sareth's training in the ways of the arcane and the sword.
Young Othran enlisted with the Fighter's Guild when he reached the age of sixteen and started doing all kinds of jobs for them. Destroying rat nests, tracking down a pack of wolves, … the usual stuff. His father fell out of grace due to events he never found out, but he was a victim of it as well and his jobs become more and more mediocre, he earned less money and after five years working for them he decided to leave.
He decided to start living the life of a mercenary and travelled from town to town in search for jobs without much luck. The all prominent Fighter's Guild received most of the jobs and he was left with small contracts that paid even less than the Fighter's Guild. Angered he killed a member of the Fighter's Guild and took the man's contract over without the contractors knowing he was not the man the Guild had sent.
The Fighter's Guild and guards found out about it though, and tried to arrest him, but he managed to flee from the city. He lived a large part of his life as a bandit and outlaw. First he started with non or light protected travelers. Eventually he grew bolder and when more outlaws joined him his prey became larger and more dangerous as well. Caravan traders, tax collectors, nobles. He and his men managed to actually get pretty rich from it.
It all went wrong when they heard a rumor about a nobleman from Skingrad travelling to the Imperial city. His band of bandits set up a trap along the road and readied themselves to attack the unsuspecting travelers, but Sareth had made a big mistake. It was the Count of Skingrad himself guarded by the twenty-five men of the cityguard.
He and his men fought like animals but they all went down one after the other and eventually he was the last outlaw standing without anyway of escaping. He still managed to take down three men before someone knocked him out. He woke up on the cold prison stones and has been there for a long time now.
Skills: He learned how to use the sword from the day he got adopted. He showed great skill in the art and it remains his primary way of dealing with enemies. He favors a fast, swift fighting style of thrusting, dodging and creating many shallow cuts instead of the more usual hack and slash style. He tends to overpower his opponent not through strength but through speed. He uses his daggers in the same swift and deadly way in combination with a certain degree of skill in stealth. A skill he needed a lot when he was still an orphan but never really practiced since he got adopted.
His adoption father also taught him the arcane arts and especially the schools of conjuration, illusion and alteration. He learned the basics of these schools from his father, but he never fully developed them until a mage outlaw joined his gang. The man started with picking up his lessons in the arts of illusion and alteration where his father had stopped. After a few months the mage finally decided to initiate him in the dark arts. He became a decent necromancer not long after.
Equipment: Nothing but the dirty and worn rags he received in prison and iron shackles that prevent him from using any magic.
Name: Sareth Othran
Age: he looks like he's eighteen but he is 33
Race: Dark Elf
Physical Description: He is quite handsome, although the months he has spend in prison has put a damper on his look. His eyes have a reddish purple color. His silk-like, silver hair falls a good distance past his shoulders. But right now it is messy, filthy and full of knits. It could use a bath. He is tall, standing at around 6 feet with a lean but wiry built. His muscles are clearly defined but not bulky. He has kept himself in, something that could be called, good condition by exercising in his cell as far as the small room and his malnourishment allowed him.
Background: He grew up as an orphan in the city of Chorrol where he had to steal in order to survive as a child. One day he accidently got caught breaking in into another Dunmer's house. Instead of turning him over to the city guards the man adopted him. His adoption father apparently was a skilled spellsword in service of the Fighter's Guild in Chorrol and he soon started Sareth's training in the ways of the arcane and the sword.
Young Othran enlisted with the Fighter's Guild when he reached the age of sixteen and started doing all kinds of jobs for them. Destroying rat nests, tracking down a pack of wolves, … the usual stuff. His father fell out of grace due to events he never found out, but he was a victim of it as well and his jobs become more and more mediocre, he earned less money and after five years working for them he decided to leave.
He decided to start living the life of a mercenary and travelled from town to town in search for jobs without much luck. The all prominent Fighter's Guild received most of the jobs and he was left with small contracts that paid even less than the Fighter's Guild. Angered he killed a member of the Fighter's Guild and took the man's contract over without the contractors knowing he was not the man the Guild had sent.
The Fighter's Guild and guards found out about it though, and tried to arrest him, but he managed to flee from the city. He lived a large part of his life as a bandit and outlaw. First he started with non or light protected travelers. Eventually he grew bolder and when more outlaws joined him his prey became larger and more dangerous as well. Caravan traders, tax collectors, nobles. He and his men managed to actually get pretty rich from it.
It all went wrong when they heard a rumor about a nobleman from Skingrad travelling to the Imperial city. His band of bandits set up a trap along the road and readied themselves to attack the unsuspecting travelers, but Sareth had made a big mistake. It was the Count of Skingrad himself guarded by the twenty-five men of the cityguard.
He and his men fought like animals but they all went down one after the other and eventually he was the last outlaw standing without anyway of escaping. He still managed to take down three men before someone knocked him out. He woke up on the cold prison stones and has been there for a long time now.
Skills: He learned how to use the sword from the day he got adopted. He showed great skill in the art and it remains his primary way of dealing with enemies. He favors a fast, swift fighting style of thrusting, dodging and creating many shallow cuts instead of the more usual hack and slash style. He tends to overpower his opponent not through strength but through speed. He uses his daggers in the same swift and deadly way in combination with a certain degree of skill in stealth. A skill he needed a lot when he was still an orphan but never really practiced since he got adopted.
His adoption father also taught him the arcane arts and especially the schools of conjuration, illusion and alteration. He learned the basics of these schools from his father, but he never fully developed them until a mage outlaw joined his gang. The man started with picking up his lessons in the arts of illusion and alteration where his father had stopped. After a few months the mage finally decided to initiate him in the dark arts. He became a decent necromancer not long after.
Equipment: Nothing but the dirty and worn rags he received in prison and iron shackles that prevent him from using any magic.
Fisheye
Spoiler
Name: Runs-With-Prey
Age: 36
Race: Saxhleel (Argonian)
Gender: Male
Appearance: Runs-With-Prey has a mixture of dark orange, dark red, and white scales scattered over his body. He has a longer than average snout paired with large nostrils and average sized (for a Saxhleel) teeth. His eyes are on the smaller side and are similar to that of
a snake, black and yellow. Atop Runs' head are two reddish-orange fins that are riddled with holes and scratches from beatings in and out of prison. The Argonian's cheek bones are high and hollow and two short spikes protrude from his chin. Runs stands around 5'10, most of his height coming from his long legs. He has almost no muscle to speak of and is extremely skinny and malnourished. Runs is covered in scratches and scars from his frequent beatings and failed thefts. The Saxhleel's back and neck are covered in delicate, intricate, and abstract tattoo staining from his childhood in Blckmarsh. Overall the Argonian is not a very unimpressive looking person.
Equipment: Runs-With-Prey wears thread bare rag pants that are cut off halfway down the shin to avoid a tripping hazard of any sort. Runs prefers to remain bare chested, and bare footed, saying that the Hist need him swift and cloths will slow him down. Around his wrists are a pair of enchanted, steel wrist bands that are covered in scratches and dents from failed attempts at removing them.
Skills: Runs-With-Prey over the years has learned a wide set of skills to better serve the Hist. His first and most valued skill is the school of shadows. Runs has learned how to sustain himself from stealing what he and the Hist need and the easiest way to do this is staying hidden. Runs knows how to blend into a crowd, a shadow, or foliage with ease. Runs second most valued skill is that of the mind. Runs has learned from the Hist how to easily twist and manipulate the mind. Runs third valued skill is that of flight. When stealth fails him Runs relies on the swiftness of his legs. Runs fourth and final skill is in the school of the earth. If worst comes to worst and Runs must fight he turns to the manipulation of the earth to delay his enemies or harden his skin.
Background: Runs-With-Prey was born in Thorn under unknown parents in an unknown house. One thing that is known about Runs-Wuth-Prey's birth is that he was never completely right. When Runs grew up he rarely spoke to any of the other children or advlts in the poor Argonian orphanage he resided in. This was not exactly rare for the orphanage as depression in youth was not rare. Runs grew up blandly and quietly, spending most of his time writing, reading, sleeping, or thinking. However this changed when he turned ten and went to the naming ritual.
Run-With-Prey waited in line, nameles, hoping he did not get an embarresing name. However when Run-With-Prey was touched by the Hist his head was filled with unbearable noise. Seeking peace Runs was overtaken by quite, comfortable, unconsciousness. When he awoke the voices stuck with him and gave him a name, Runs-With-Prey. The voices introduced themselves as the Hist and declared him the "One who has been enlightened" or more simply the "enlightened one". The voices told him he must take a holy pilgrimage, changing small events to "keep the balance" so Runs did this. Runs traveled all across Blackmarsh, fixing wagon wheels, killing house pets, stealing fruit, and rescuing chickens. Eventually the Hist trusted him with more influential duties such as assassinations, item retrieval, and major thefts. His "Pilgramage" eventually brought him out of his homeland, to Skingrad. Here Runs was told to steal as much fine wine as possible and poor them down the well. Runs was able to poor countless barrels away before he was caught by a angered gaurd. Runs was sentenced to life in prison for a ridiculous amount of accounts of theft, including but not limited to 142 barrels of fine wine, 27 loafs of wheat bread, and 6,328
gold pieces.
Name: Runs-With-Prey
Age: 36
Race: Saxhleel (Argonian)
Gender: Male
Appearance: Runs-With-Prey has a mixture of dark orange, dark red, and white scales scattered over his body. He has a longer than average snout paired with large nostrils and average sized (for a Saxhleel) teeth. His eyes are on the smaller side and are similar to that of
a snake, black and yellow. Atop Runs' head are two reddish-orange fins that are riddled with holes and scratches from beatings in and out of prison. The Argonian's cheek bones are high and hollow and two short spikes protrude from his chin. Runs stands around 5'10, most of his height coming from his long legs. He has almost no muscle to speak of and is extremely skinny and malnourished. Runs is covered in scratches and scars from his frequent beatings and failed thefts. The Saxhleel's back and neck are covered in delicate, intricate, and abstract tattoo staining from his childhood in Blckmarsh. Overall the Argonian is not a very unimpressive looking person.
Equipment: Runs-With-Prey wears thread bare rag pants that are cut off halfway down the shin to avoid a tripping hazard of any sort. Runs prefers to remain bare chested, and bare footed, saying that the Hist need him swift and cloths will slow him down. Around his wrists are a pair of enchanted, steel wrist bands that are covered in scratches and dents from failed attempts at removing them.
Skills: Runs-With-Prey over the years has learned a wide set of skills to better serve the Hist. His first and most valued skill is the school of shadows. Runs has learned how to sustain himself from stealing what he and the Hist need and the easiest way to do this is staying hidden. Runs knows how to blend into a crowd, a shadow, or foliage with ease. Runs second most valued skill is that of the mind. Runs has learned from the Hist how to easily twist and manipulate the mind. Runs third valued skill is that of flight. When stealth fails him Runs relies on the swiftness of his legs. Runs fourth and final skill is in the school of the earth. If worst comes to worst and Runs must fight he turns to the manipulation of the earth to delay his enemies or harden his skin.
Background: Runs-With-Prey was born in Thorn under unknown parents in an unknown house. One thing that is known about Runs-Wuth-Prey's birth is that he was never completely right. When Runs grew up he rarely spoke to any of the other children or advlts in the poor Argonian orphanage he resided in. This was not exactly rare for the orphanage as depression in youth was not rare. Runs grew up blandly and quietly, spending most of his time writing, reading, sleeping, or thinking. However this changed when he turned ten and went to the naming ritual.
Run-With-Prey waited in line, nameles, hoping he did not get an embarresing name. However when Run-With-Prey was touched by the Hist his head was filled with unbearable noise. Seeking peace Runs was overtaken by quite, comfortable, unconsciousness. When he awoke the voices stuck with him and gave him a name, Runs-With-Prey. The voices introduced themselves as the Hist and declared him the "One who has been enlightened" or more simply the "enlightened one". The voices told him he must take a holy pilgrimage, changing small events to "keep the balance" so Runs did this. Runs traveled all across Blackmarsh, fixing wagon wheels, killing house pets, stealing fruit, and rescuing chickens. Eventually the Hist trusted him with more influential duties such as assassinations, item retrieval, and major thefts. His "Pilgramage" eventually brought him out of his homeland, to Skingrad. Here Runs was told to steal as much fine wine as possible and poor them down the well. Runs was able to poor countless barrels away before he was caught by a angered gaurd. Runs was sentenced to life in prison for a ridiculous amount of accounts of theft, including but not limited to 142 barrels of fine wine, 27 loafs of wheat bread, and 6,328
gold pieces.
Phantom Dominator
Spoiler
Name: Protheus
Race: Bosmer
Age: 48(ish)
Height: average Bosmer height (5’11 if I’m not mistaken, which I probably am)
Home Country: Valenwood, home of the Bosmer and former haven the Aldmeri Dominion
Starsign: The Serpent
Appearance: Neck-length dirty blonde hair barely masking his dark near pitless eyes. Faendal sports dirt and grime from his valiant near escape from the Empire. He still wears his white war-paint from his travels through the snowy troughs of the Jerall Mountains. His physique is that of the common wood-elf, a slender but toned frame with defined triceps and forearms from their archery skills and spindly long, but deceitfully sturdy legs.
Personality: Stoic, gruff, and an expert isolationist, Protheus is a true Bosmer. He grew up under the influence of his native customs, one of which is to “Never mistake kindness for trust.” Although his people do not discriminate, they don’t truly consider anyone as allies, even when proven trustworthy, besides their own kind. It takes a long time to earn Bosmer’s trust; time that only another elf would have the years to devote. He is never one to instigate trouble, but is far from a coward, and will fight to the death if need be. But he is also keen, and like most Bosmer, will choose the route with the best long-term interest.
Although he lived in Cyrodiil for some decades, he still tries to live under the disciplines of Y’ffre, and his Green Pact that no elf is to harm any plant life or vegetation. He doesn’t follow the Eight, for he thinks they were nothing but old heroes who are now nothing more but dusty carcasses and crypt furnishings. But at the same time, he understands that there are powers at be beyond his control, and possibility of the gods hasn't been proven as false.
Skills: Belonging to the best natural-born archers in Tamriel, he is an marksman and hunter. Every creature in Cyrodiil has fallen victim to his arrows, which always fly true, and kill swiflty. In his time, he has picked up survival skills for living in the wild, and is capable of doing so for weeks on end. He only really hunted before for sport or on occasion, and hasn’t actually lived off of his game since he left Valenwood 13 years ago. Since living in Cyrodiil, he barely used his weapons, save in self defense -- which, in a sense, is the reason he is in Skingrad prison now. He was imprisoned for manslaughter, but he always said the best defense is a good offense.
Name: Protheus
Race: Bosmer
Age: 48(ish)
Height: average Bosmer height (5’11 if I’m not mistaken, which I probably am)
Home Country: Valenwood, home of the Bosmer and former haven the Aldmeri Dominion
Starsign: The Serpent
Appearance: Neck-length dirty blonde hair barely masking his dark near pitless eyes. Faendal sports dirt and grime from his valiant near escape from the Empire. He still wears his white war-paint from his travels through the snowy troughs of the Jerall Mountains. His physique is that of the common wood-elf, a slender but toned frame with defined triceps and forearms from their archery skills and spindly long, but deceitfully sturdy legs.
Personality: Stoic, gruff, and an expert isolationist, Protheus is a true Bosmer. He grew up under the influence of his native customs, one of which is to “Never mistake kindness for trust.” Although his people do not discriminate, they don’t truly consider anyone as allies, even when proven trustworthy, besides their own kind. It takes a long time to earn Bosmer’s trust; time that only another elf would have the years to devote. He is never one to instigate trouble, but is far from a coward, and will fight to the death if need be. But he is also keen, and like most Bosmer, will choose the route with the best long-term interest.
Although he lived in Cyrodiil for some decades, he still tries to live under the disciplines of Y’ffre, and his Green Pact that no elf is to harm any plant life or vegetation. He doesn’t follow the Eight, for he thinks they were nothing but old heroes who are now nothing more but dusty carcasses and crypt furnishings. But at the same time, he understands that there are powers at be beyond his control, and possibility of the gods hasn't been proven as false.
Skills: Belonging to the best natural-born archers in Tamriel, he is an marksman and hunter. Every creature in Cyrodiil has fallen victim to his arrows, which always fly true, and kill swiflty. In his time, he has picked up survival skills for living in the wild, and is capable of doing so for weeks on end. He only really hunted before for sport or on occasion, and hasn’t actually lived off of his game since he left Valenwood 13 years ago. Since living in Cyrodiil, he barely used his weapons, save in self defense -- which, in a sense, is the reason he is in Skingrad prison now. He was imprisoned for manslaughter, but he always said the best defense is a good offense.
Vincent McCool
Spoiler
Name: Davryn Varethi Indoril
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Dunmer
Appearance: A short, waif-like Dark elf with an unusually pretty face. With his big, red eyes, full grey lips and callow cheeks, Davryn has often been confused for a somewhat tomboyish girl Dunmer. His wispy black hair is worn long, and contains in it a seemingly random selection of braids and beads, giving him a somewhat Ashlandic appearance (a creation of his own. Davryn is a city boy, born and bred). His build is slight, and the boy is suprisingly nimble and fleet of foot over short distances, with a springy sort of athleticism to all of his movements. (Or, y'know, this)
Equipment: Rags. For some reason only the -lower- half of a prisoner's full rainment of rags (almost as if someone was showing off), but rags the same.
Skills: Incurably, uncontrollably and contemptibly disposed to pick-pocketing, lock-picking, burglary, vandalism, trespassing, decieving, perjury, flattery, inducement, [NUMINIT] and most other forms of unlawful behaviour known to mer, Davryn has made it his business being trouble his entire life. Although it is difficult to place how far his expertise in any one field goes, Davryn is without doubt a grandmaster of mischief.
Background: Born in the city of Almalexia to a family of Chitin-Curriers who had retained for House Indoril since the mid Second Era, Davryn's expectations in life were not high. The most prestiguous of his ancestors had once signed stamps for the one of Her Hands -four hundred years ago. It was as much to Davryn's suprise as it was to anyone's when he was selected at the age of twelve to apprentice for one of Lord Vivec's holy Buoyant Armiger's. The mischief Davryn had caused in the streets of Almalexia had gained the attention of the local guard on numerous occasions, the last thing anyone had expected was for this troublesome little boy to end up impressing one of Vivec's elite warrior-poets, and be selected to train at the Ghostgate. Davryn lasted seventeen months before being banished from the Buoyant Armigers, and told never to return to Vvardenfell again. Davryn took their heed, but didn't return to the Capital either. He spent his teenage years bouncing from city to city, at times flirting with the Thieves Guild, then the Camora Tong and then the Morag Tong, until the young Dunmer ended up far to over his head, and fled the country entirely - by this point wanted by each of the Five Great Houses.
By the age of eighteen Davryn found himself living on the streets of Skingrad (the Imperial City having spat him out in an instant). No more than a beggar and a pickpocket, the line of work Davryn was talent-scouted for next put all his previous exploits to shame in truly making the spirits of his ancestors blush. Davryn managed six months as a catamite in the City of Skingrad before managing to be party to a crime apparently so heinous, he was finally thrown into jail, this time for good.
Name: Davryn Varethi Indoril
Gender: Male
Age: 18
Race: Dunmer
Appearance: A short, waif-like Dark elf with an unusually pretty face. With his big, red eyes, full grey lips and callow cheeks, Davryn has often been confused for a somewhat tomboyish girl Dunmer. His wispy black hair is worn long, and contains in it a seemingly random selection of braids and beads, giving him a somewhat Ashlandic appearance (a creation of his own. Davryn is a city boy, born and bred). His build is slight, and the boy is suprisingly nimble and fleet of foot over short distances, with a springy sort of athleticism to all of his movements. (Or, y'know, this)
Equipment: Rags. For some reason only the -lower- half of a prisoner's full rainment of rags (almost as if someone was showing off), but rags the same.
Skills: Incurably, uncontrollably and contemptibly disposed to pick-pocketing, lock-picking, burglary, vandalism, trespassing, decieving, perjury, flattery, inducement, [NUMINIT] and most other forms of unlawful behaviour known to mer, Davryn has made it his business being trouble his entire life. Although it is difficult to place how far his expertise in any one field goes, Davryn is without doubt a grandmaster of mischief.
Background: Born in the city of Almalexia to a family of Chitin-Curriers who had retained for House Indoril since the mid Second Era, Davryn's expectations in life were not high. The most prestiguous of his ancestors had once signed stamps for the one of Her Hands -four hundred years ago. It was as much to Davryn's suprise as it was to anyone's when he was selected at the age of twelve to apprentice for one of Lord Vivec's holy Buoyant Armiger's. The mischief Davryn had caused in the streets of Almalexia had gained the attention of the local guard on numerous occasions, the last thing anyone had expected was for this troublesome little boy to end up impressing one of Vivec's elite warrior-poets, and be selected to train at the Ghostgate. Davryn lasted seventeen months before being banished from the Buoyant Armigers, and told never to return to Vvardenfell again. Davryn took their heed, but didn't return to the Capital either. He spent his teenage years bouncing from city to city, at times flirting with the Thieves Guild, then the Camora Tong and then the Morag Tong, until the young Dunmer ended up far to over his head, and fled the country entirely - by this point wanted by each of the Five Great Houses.
By the age of eighteen Davryn found himself living on the streets of Skingrad (the Imperial City having spat him out in an instant). No more than a beggar and a pickpocket, the line of work Davryn was talent-scouted for next put all his previous exploits to shame in truly making the spirits of his ancestors blush. Davryn managed six months as a catamite in the City of Skingrad before managing to be party to a crime apparently so heinous, he was finally thrown into jail, this time for good.
Tiber Septim
[reserved]
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So, in this RP, you will be assuming the role of the freshly released prisoner, conscripted into Count Aurrus’s insane mission. Your identity, your history, your crimes are all up to you. Were you a wrongly accused and innocent citizen of the Empire, or were you a dangerous murderer, or perhaps just a petty thief? Just make sure we don't start off with everyone being some sort of powerful murderous badass. Please keep in mind that you start with no equipment (some will be supplied before the adventure truly begins), and that the OP was simply an introduction, and you may RP your release however you wish.
As the GMs, Person From Anticlere and myself would please ask for all participates to act with civil decency when making characters, and interacting with other characters and players (this includes combat, conversing, PvP, and everything else). Don’t overpower or uber your characters, and don’t be upset if your character dies, which can and will happen throughout the course of the RP. Please, be logical and respectful. This is, after all, is about making a good story and having a fun time doing it.
