Name: Hanniel Baal (Preferred name Baal, pronounced Han-yel Ball)
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male
Age: 268 (Equivalent of late sixties)
Sign: The Atronarch
Class: Killer
Skills: Baal is a cold blooded serial killer, the worst kind of criminal, only made worse by his near madness. However, he is very persuasive, with a witty intellectual charm that has fooled many victims in the past. He is abnormally skilled with all kinds of weaponry, especially short blades and daggers, and is especially vicious unarmed. He is very quick and nimble despite his age, though is not particularly stealthy or adroit in the other skills commonly associated with murderers. Before his vicious killings became public knowledge, he was renowned across many scholarly institutions for his vast intelligence, notably in the fields of mathematics, anatomy, and psychology. He was also known for being somewhat of an epicurean, lavishing his home with the most expensive of Akaviri and Dwemer artifacts, as well as many fine works of literature and art. He is also an adept chef.
Appearance: Baal is, for all appearances, simply a withered old Dunmer, sustained only by his race’s natural longevity. His back has begun to bend, his thin face has deepened with wrinkles, and his sleek, dexterous hands have begun to curl with arthritis. His thin frame barely seems enough to hold himself up. Yet his eyes maintain a dangerous light undiminished by age, and his small, perfectly straight teeth send a shiver down the strongest man’s spine.
Hair: Gray as tarnished silver, Baal’s thinning hair is slicked back from his face with a pronounced widow’s peak, curling at the back in a gentle wave.
Eyes: Baal’s eyes carry a softer, maroon hue of the normal Dunmer red, and reflect light in pinpoints of dark fire.
Skin: Even Baal cannot escape the ravages of time. His previously dark Dunmeri skin has faded to a charcoal gray, loosening on his bones as his face, neck, and hands succumb to wrinkles. Liver spots have started to develop on his face and hands, dark black freckles spotted amongst his wrinkled features.
Height: 5’ 5’’
Weight: 125 lbs
Personality: Hanniel Baal is a pure sociopath. He lacks any sort of remorse or morals; all he seeks in life is entertainment, a release from the boredom that tortured him in his imprisonment. The Dunmer portrays a superficial, polished charm, but this thin veneer of decorum covers a sinister evil. His greatest strength has always lain in his quick wit and silver tongue- the majority of his victims were tricked into their own demise.
Even when not stalking his prey, Baal is a pathological liar. He has dozens of personas, hundreds of names, and he has only been caught at his game once. Because of this he has become incredibly narcissistic- considering himself above other mortals, in both his abilities and his ethics, and considers himself incapable of error.
Old age, however, has started to curb Baal’s murderous tendencies- though he still feels no remorse for his victims. He still engages in the torture of animals- and even the occasional sentient- but does not get as much pleasure out of it as he used to. He has grown rather cynical as well, and takes great pleasure from his own dark brand of sarcasm, frequently involving threats of murder.
Hobbies: Baal’s infamy comes not from his murders, numerous as they may be, but from the sadistic way that he treats his victims. After luring them into his clutches, Baal takes pleasure from breaking his victims. Torture is a constant favorite of his, as well as simply driving them mad with the terror of their impending death. The precious few that survived their horrific encounter with “The Monster of Weye” are reduced to blubbering insanity, their minds and spirits broken from the cold pleasure the elf takes in his work.
When not engaged in his ruthless killings, Baal enjoys reading, cooking, and puzzles, as well as being a master of several logic-based board games.
Fears: Baal is terrified of one thing, above all else: boredom. All of his efforts go towards reducing that bane of the educated man; which is why he then, in turn, fears the unending tedium of incarceration.
Goals: The Dunmer rarely has any long term goals- other than alleviating his boredom- preferring instead immediate gratification. His main purpose, at the moment, is to escape his current captor, and take his bloody revenge on Surius Roscius.
Religion: Baal pays homage to no gods- he never has- though he does respect several Daedra, including Boethiah, Mephala, and Dagon.
Weapons: Baal will use whatever he can get his deft hands on, or, if no weapon is available, his own body. He has great martial prowess, though not in any particular style, relying on his speed and precision to overcome his targets. His knowledge of anatomy allows him to kill with the greatest precision, striking arteries and nerve groups not known to even the most skilled assassin. His greatest weapon, however, is his blinding reflexes. Combined with his anatomical knowledge and frightening precision, Baal can bring even the greatest warrior to his knees with little more than a touch. Killing has become a second nature to him; he no longer even has to think to dispose of his victims. Death has imprinted itself on his muscle memory.
Clothing: Baal usually dresses himself in ordinary, if well cut, black or scarlet clothing. If he feels the urge, he also has an impressive collection of more formal attire, though usually only wears them when disguising himself as a noble or scholar.
Miscellaneous: Baal always carries with him a picture of his murdered sister in a silver locket around his neck. He does not let anyone touch it, and has killed people simply for asking about it.
Spoiler History: Baal was born to a noble Dunmer family in Tear (362 3E), and during his childhood he was declared a child prodigy. He grew up around the best tutors money could buy, though none seemed to be able to keep up with his outstanding intellect, and all quickly ran out of material to teach him. He absorbed all information he could get his hands on, storing it away in his vast memory; he was particularly interested in the fields of mathematics, anatomy, and psychology, and surpassed many of the great scholars of Tamriel in the subjects.
However, his happy childhood came to an end during the chaos of the Arnesian War (396). Baal and his family were on vacation in their summer home in south-east Morrowind when a band of rebel Argonians found them. The manor’s guards were quickly overwhelmed; only Baal and his beloved younger sister were spared, taken back to the Marsh by the Argonians for use as captives. Baal spent two horrid months with these refugees, barely fed and always on the brink of death himself. Baal distinctly remembers being forced to watch as the lizards abused and molested his nineteen year old sister, striking him if he ever spoke out (By human reckoning, his sister would be a child still; Baal would be a young teen). His salvation eventually came when a Dunmer patrol moving through the swamp chances upon the Argonians. However, before the elves could save Baal and his sister, the Argonians attempted to murder their hostages, more out of spite and anger than any cohesive plan. The young Baal was stabbed in the stomach and left for dead; his sister was not so lucky.
Baal was soon saved by Dunmer healers, leaving only a large scar across his midsection, but for his sister there was no hope. Baal wept over the makeshift grave the soldiers had made while he was unconscious, and took a vow of revenge against his captors. The Dunmer soldiers killed most of the band, but several escaped, a fact that drove the teenage elf mad with hate. He was brought back to the main army and, after his status and genius was revealed, taken under the wing of one of the commanding officers. The elf was amazed by Baal’s zealous hate for the Argonians, as well as his military strategy, and allowed him to stay with them on the campaign. Baal persuaded the commander to help him hunt down the Argonians who murdered his sister, and for the next few years stalked through the Black Marsh with the soldiers, killing every Argonian he saw. (400)
The war soon ended, and with the troops being pulled back to Morrowind, Baal was forced to give up his search. Over the years he had hunted down and killed nearly every one of his captors, only a few left unaccounted for, and those presumed dead already. The officer convinced Baal to go with him to Mournhold, where he became a well recognized scholar. Though every school in the city sought after his genius, Baal began working to become a healer, a physician who did not utilize magic, being he was incapable of doing so. After many years he became a successful healer and scholar, publishing many groundbreaking works in his chosen fields. He eventually moved to the Imperial City to take a position as the Emperor’s personal physician, along with a side business treating many Imperial nobles’ personal doubts and depressions, pioneering the field of psychoanolysis. Even during the infamous Oblivion Crisis, after the Emperor was murdered, Baal remained in the city; his services were still paid for generously by the surviving Elder Councilors, and for a while lived in relative peace.
However, he never lost that spark of madness, and throughout the years continued his murders, though no authority ever suspected him of the crimes. Until, that is, he was caught within his own home, by a complete accident. An Imperial investigator, bent on catching the infamous Monster of Weye (as Baal was known to the public), sought Baal’s advice in creating a psychological profile of the killer. Baal agreed to help the man, and left him in his study to brew some tea for the investigator. The Imperial, waiting in the Dunmer’s home, noticed a book on Baal’s desk- “The Axe Man”, an interview with a Morag Tong assassin- and immediately recognized the volume. He also knew that one of the Monster’s victims was killed in a similar way to that of the uncle in the book. Piecing the two facts together, he immediately tried to leave for backup. However, Baal was waiting for him, and thrust a kitchen knife into the man’s belly. The investigator managed to escape, though his wounds were severe, and returned to the house minutes later with a swarm of guards. Baal was sitting in an easy chair, his perfect smile wide, and the bloody knife still in his small hand.
After the publicity surrounding his arrest died down, Baal began publishing a steady stream of intellectual treatises from his high security cell within the Imperial Prison. While Baal’s captor argued against his rights to publish books and papers from his cell, the scholars and nobles of the city, amazed by Baal’s genius, urged the Council to allow him to continue. Baal himself claimed that it was the only way to alleviate his boredom; between the occasional scholar that tried to interview him- whom almost always left crying- and the few men that would brave his dark corner of the dungeon long enough to play board games with him, his writing was all that Baal had left.
Baal spent nearly one hundred and fifty years in the prison, listening to news of the Empire’s continuous downfall, but the Dunmer felt little of the changes in the outside world while confined to his cell. He attempted to escape only twice, both times succeeding to break past the fortifications of the prison only to be hunted down in the Cyrodiilic countryside. His most recent attempt gave him almost three years of freedom before he was caught again, three of the happiest years of his recent life. Since then he has not been able to scratch his nose without a half dozen Imperial guards glaring at him through full plate, swords at the ready.
However, salvation came to the elf once more, as a nobleman by the name of Surius Roscius visited his cell. The young, ambitious Imperial made a tempting offer to the aging Baal: serve him as a personal bodyguard, and he will arrange Baal’s permanent escape from the prison. Baal, having spent nearly forty years in prison since his last escape, readily agreed, thinking he could simply kill the man once he was free. The Imperial left smiling, promising Baal a window to escape very soon; all the elf had to do was take it and freedom would be his.
Not long after, Baal’s window of opportunity came. A riot broke out in the prison; the prisoners had somehow escaped their chains and were fighting the guards in the main yard. A messenger came down to Baal’s cell, calling his personal guards to help the fighting, leaving only two to guard the elf. Baal, smiling all the while, began describing in gruesome detail how he had tortured and slain an innocent young girl, remarking how delicious her bright red blood had tasted running down his throat. One of the guards, whom Baal already knew had a young daughter, tried to silence Baal with one gauntleted fist; in short order Baal had the man lying on the floor, his wrist broken, eyes gouged, and Imperial short sword and dagger in Baal’s hand. The other guard backed away in horror as Baal calmly told him that he would die if he did not unlock the Dunmer’s cell. When the guard failed to comply, Baal hurled the short sword at him from behind the bars of his cell, grazing the man’s head by inches. The guard’s hand trembled violently as he turned the key in the heavy steel lock, and outright terror filled his face as Baal ordered him to remove his armor. Baal’s final words to the man were that he had never killed a child, certainly not a young girl. Men, on the other hand, were corrupt and evil creatures.
Baal walked out of his high security cell, tightening the belt on his steel Imperial armor, and merely smiled as he saw his other four guards run past, shouting about a false alarm as they ran back towards his cell. He laughed as he reached the prison yard; Surius was clever indeed, to send a false messenger down to his cell. By the time the guards had returned to find their two companions dead and sounded the alarm, Baal was waltzing through the prison gates, returning salutes to guards as he walked past. A Dunmer guardsman was unusual, but not unheard of, even one as small as Baal.
At the edge of the bridge connecting the prison to the city, Baal found Surius waiting for him. The Dunmer still regrets not plunging his dagger through the Imperial’s throat then and there, staining his white satin shirt scarlet and walking away from the Imperial City a free elf. As it were, Baal thanked the man with a courteous bow- over a century in prison had not lessened his manners, after all- and asked him what payment was required of him for the service Surius had provided. The Imperial noble insisted that before they discuss business that they return to his home, for a cup of tea, to which Baal readily agreed. He had not had tea in all his time in prison- he had neglected to drink any the last time he had escaped- and drained his first cup in three long draughts. The last thing he saw was the Imperial’s thin smile, and his small eyes shining triumphantly as Baal collapsed onto the table.
Baal woke to find himself once again in chains, the Imperial standing over him, rubbing a simple gold ring on his thin, spidery hand. Baal lashed out, but the thick chains held him to the wall; his red eyes were ablaze with fury, all of his previous decorum gone in his hate for the man who had tricked him. The Imperial silenced him with a twist of the golden ring; shockwaves of pain coursed through Baal’s body, silencing him long enough for the nobleman to explain what he had done. The ring, he lectured gleefully, was Baal’s new prison. The only difference between it and the chains holding him to the wall was that if he followed the Imperial’s orders, he could continue killing. Baal regarded him with a silent fury, eyes flickering between the noble’s plump face and the dull gold ring on his finger. Surius chuckled before laying out the final conditions of Baal’s service: if Surius were to die, Baal would die as well; if Baal tried to run, he would slowly fill with pain as he moved further from the ring, until he eventually died; if Surius was knocked unconscious, Baal would become paralyzed until the noble woke; if the ring was forcibly removed from Surius’ finger, Baal would immediately die; and finally, if Baal ever disobeyed him, he would twist the ring once more.
The Dunmer, furious, but seeing no way out of the slimy Imperial’s binding, consented. Surius laughed, telling Baal that he was not really such poor company, and immediately released Baal from his chains. He told him that Baal could do as he wished when Surius had no need of him, so long as he did not venture far. Baal vowed that he would see the enchantment undone someday. And then the Imperial would know what pain really was. Surius merely laughed, leaving the door wide open behind him as he left.
Motivation: Baal is forced by Surius to help the king. If it were up to him, he would rather retire to a villa in the countryside somewhere.
Name: Surius Roscius
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Sign: The Serpent
Class: Nobleman
Skills: Raised from birth to be one of the Imperial elite, Surius possesses the skills and education available only to the Empire’s wealthiest politicians. Beyond his basic instruction in the fields of mathematics, history, literature, science, and, of course, politics, Surius was tutored in the darker side of government by his own father. From bribery to assassination, hidden alliances and webs of influence, Surius has been taught of all the ins and outs of the great game known as bureaucracy.
Appearance: Surius Roscius is a portly young Imperial, not heavy enough to be called properly overweight, but with a “healthy roundness” born from years of indulgence. His face is soft, with a large, rounded nose and thick, plump lips frozen in a perpetual pout. He has a large, slanting forehead- only made larger by his drawn back hair- and thin, well trimmed brows that curve downwards, giving him a constantly irritated look.
Hair: Surius’ hair is oily black, gathered at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail, and bound by a black silk ribbon. It always carries a greasy sheen, and- as if an attempt to make up for the fact- is combed to an impeccable straightness, with not a single hair out of place.
Eyes: Cold as coal- and just as black- the noble’s eyes always carry a mischievous glint, darting about like a rat looking for an escape.
Skin: Pale as curdled milk, Surius’ unblemished skin is soft as velvet to the touch. An admirable trait amongst nobles, but to the common folk it only exemplifies his obviously sheltered life. A drunken Legionnaire once asked Surius if he had ever done a hard day’s work in his life, if that “perfumed plumpness” had ever even touched a sword.
Height: 5’ 9’’
Weight: 170 lbs.
Personality: (Work in Progress)
Hobbies: Surius never had an interest in the scholarly pursuits of some nobles; he was glad to be done with books once he had finished school, and is only frustrated by his inability to play the logical board games enjoyed by the upper class of Cyrodiil. Surius favors more physically gratifying activities- ranging from wine to pleasures of a darker nature, the Imperial rarely lacks for something to satiate his appetite.
Fears: As a nobleman, Surius fears above all else his own poverty. His second concern is his own safety- he cringes at the thought of violence towards his own person, though he is more than willing to inflict it upon others. Finally, he fears failure, which is why he is so driven to make a name for himself.
Goals: Ordained by his father to seek wealth and power, Surius has thought of little else in the years since the man’s death. All of his careful machinations have equipped him with a sizeable fortune, a murderous bodyguard, and a drive towards fame even writers would envy.
Religion: Surius claims to follow the Nine, though he rarely attends churches, and does not exemplify any of the tenants the Divines have set for their followers.
Weapons: Surius wears only an elaborate dagger on his person- his true weapon is the aged Dunmer commonly found at his side- though he also carries several vials of dangerous poisons in a belt-pouch.
Clothing: The nobleman is always dressed in exquisite silks and satins, dyed to rich reds and purples, and always cut in the latest fashion. He favors wide, billowing coats and dark, loose slacks- impractical, as Baal has told him on many occasions, but useful for concealing his plump physique. Surius frequently wears jeweled amulets and golden watch-chains, but possesses only one, dull golden ring.
Miscellaneous: Aside from the poison at his hip, Surius is never without a large purse of gold, usually inside his coat to discourage thieves. “The most versatile tool on Nirn,” he claims, and if that is true then Surius is prepared for almost any occasion.
History: (Work in Progress)
Motivation: Surius seeks fame and riches, hoping to establish himself within the Nordic nobility and leave the failing Empire behind him.
» Sat Feb 19, 2011 6:31 am 
I'd rather post soon, as I won't have time during the week, and I know the time skip is still a little ways away.
ldspice: 
