» Sat Feb 19, 2011 1:24 am It is the 204th year of the 4th era. Many years have passed since Daedra poured from the gates of Oblivion. Vvardenfell now lays in complete ruin, as does the former Septim Empire. Everything has turned to ashes once more, but as always, new heroes will emerge from these ashes, and forge their own path to victory and restoration...
And now you will become one of these heroes.
However, you will not send evil gods to their demise, nor close shut the jaws oblivion. You have been called and assembled to defeat a new burden, a new threat. You have been called to defeat dragons, who have now began to appear across the plains of Skyrim and terrorize the people. For now, you will pave the road for the one called "The Dragonborn" and may eventually aid him against the newly born threat that not only echoes through the mountains of Skyrim, but all of Tamriel.
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The King of Skyrim has sent a message to different individuals that he has selected to aid the chosen Dragonborn in fighting the new threat: the dragons. These individuals are of all genders, races, origins, and places. From the darkest beings of the Dark Brotherhood, to the most honorable knights, from the most passive of Mages, to the most aggressive of adventurers and former soldiers, these beings have been chosen for their task. Those who have accepted the King's calling will receive great reward, though a civil war lurks in the midst of Skyrim.
The question must be asked, where do you come into play? Would an old elven mage come to aid the King, or perhaps a noble Nordic night? What of a dark assassin, or a tribal Argonian?
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Whiterun
The King sat carefully on his throne, his massive beard settling to his knees. One could tell that his days were withering away, that he was an old and weary man. Each individual in the room had come from a different homeland, of different specialties and origins. Each sat among, ready for the King to begin to speak. Within a moment, the Greybeard noble which sat beside him merely nodded to the King, who returned his own nod of gratitude in return.
"Thank you, Honmund."
The King raised his old hands, backed by his still powerful and mighty voice. Perhaps the old Nord did have some life within his lungs, as the words began to flow from his mouth. His voice was strong and forceful, demanding the immediate attention of all in the room.
"Men and Mer, we gather here today to address a threat, one that has put its sharpest knife to our throats. Dragons roam the land, as sightings have reported. They terrorize the people of this country. The people quarrel. War may be coming. But if the people fight amongst themselves, the dragon threat must come to and end!"
The King lowered his hands, waiting for all to settle themselves once more. He nodded to the greybeard at his side once more, who nodded in return. Another man beside the King, apparently a Nordic noble, spoke.
"Keep in mind that this is a dangerous quest. If you wish to leave, leave now, for you may die on this journey that you are about to set foot on. These dragons are nothing to be underestimated, though some of you may have already encountered one of the beasts. If you wish to set foot on this trial, then speak that you are ready with any questions that you need answered. Once we are finished, you will gather your things and set off to your first designated location."
The noblemen looked around the room, scanning each individual carefully with utmost concentration.
"Your first target is the town of Oakwood. You will investigate the area and the sightings. Speak to the townsfolk. We also have agents in each location to guide you along your way. These agents will inform you of the latest information and move your journey along. Hopefully, we will gather more leads as time passes. Good luck."
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RULES
1. PM all character sheets to me, Woolymamoth, the host. When your sheet has been approved, post your sheet up with your first post. Thank you.
2. Werewolves and vampires are allowed, though I don't want a bunch of these. Make sure you don't uber. If you play these characters in a ridiculous manner, a dragon will impale, dismember, decapitate, eat, or burn you alive.
3. The ubering rule applies to all characters. If you play these characters in a ridiculous manner, a dragon will impale, dismember, decapitate, eat, or burn you alive.
4. Romance is fine, I guess, as long as it makes sense in the story.
5. This should have probably been #2, but describe stuff in your posts.
6. Don't automatically kill the really big dragons unless I give you permission. Post that you are attacking, and I'll post the outcome of the attack. In this manner, the dragon fighting will be more fun for everyone.
7. Oh, fun, yes. You need to have fun when you do this Roleplay.
8. Don't be all knowing. It's stupid when your character seems to know everything, and it makes you look like an ass.
9. Stay active, please. If you can't post, make sure you post in the discussion thread that you're going on vacation or whatever. If you don't post for two weeks or something like that with no reason, then a dragon will eat, dismember, etc., you.
10. You can have more than one character, just make sure it isn't more than you can handle.
11. If you have ideas, then PM me about them. I love new ideas from people in the RP.
12. We WILL probably update the plot once more information from the new game gets released. Most of the info is in this thread: http://www.gamesas.com/index.php?/topic/1157211-skyrim-information-explanation-and-compilation/
13. If you didn't read any of those rules, then I will dismember you, not the dragons. Have a nice day.
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OOC note: This will be sort of free form in a sense. It will require creativity from the people that join as we build it along. Good luck. I hope it succeeds.
Character Sheet Template:
Name:
Age (apparent age):
Gender:
Race:
Birthsign:
Physical Description: (I want height. I want body type. I want hair color and style. I want facial shape. I want eye color. Any tattoos? Any scars? Do you get the point?)
Mental Description:
Class: (What is your character? Is he a knight, assassin, aggressive mage, barbarian, healer, tribesman, archer, etc.)
Class Description:
Skills: (what your character is good at)
Weapons:
Armor:
Misc. Items:
History:
Motivation For Aiding the King: (Is it the reward, just doing good, perhaps he just is a crazy guy who wants to fight something really big)
The Dragons
Dragons CAN use magic. They CAN talk. Dragons can be really big or really small. Some Dragons will be good at combat, and others at magic. Most Dragons will be able to fly. Perhaps different types of Dragons will be discovered on our journey, with strengths and weaknesses. This section will be updated with information about the dragons.
Map
http://www.imperial-library.info/sites/default/files/gallery_files/cyrodiillargelowrescr7.jpg
Character Sheets:
aSaPp!5@
Spoiler
Name: Drathyn Verethi
Race: Dunmer
Age: 56 (looks late 20’s early 30’s)
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed
Class: Ranger/ Light soldier
Class Description: Drathyn has no rigid “class” he is well rounded in combat and prefers light to medium armor with a blade or bow.
Appearance/Physique: Drathyn stands about 5’11”, he is very lean and muscular but not overly muscled up. His shoulder length hair is a deep black and tied in a pony tail behind his head with a few loose strands falling around the sides of his face. His eyes like all Dunmer are a piercing red. His face has a slightly rough look to it showing a few miniscule scars and a 5 o’clock shadow.
Skills: Extremely talented with bows and blades, favors light to medium armor, is good at "survival" alchemy, repairing, crafting, trap making, and a few small bits of magick of varying schools.
Mental characteristics: Drathyn for the most part is light hearted; however he can be quite serious at times. He is also very bright and intelligent.
History: Drathyn was born southwest of the city of Windhelm just west of the village of Dragonwood. His parents lived away from the towns because of the animosity between the Dunmer and Nodic people. Drathyn was raised in a small log hut in the wilderness; his father was a hunter by the name of Theldyn Verethi. Drathyn grew up learning his father’s trade, hunting tracking and killing big game in wilderness of Skyrim. Sometimes they would be away for over a month killing and selling game to local villages. Drathyn because extremely talented with a bow during his youth while hunting with his father. He learned to live off the land since him and his father would often run out of supplies while on hunting trips. During his time in Dragonwood Drathyn received a basic education from a monk that lived in-town. When Drathyn was about 28 he became bored with his life in Dragonwood, he packed up what belongings he had and hitched a ride on a caravan up to the city of Windhelm. While in Windhelm he joined in with a mercenary group that was passing through town hoping that he would have a more adventurous life. During his time as a mercenary he was taught how to fight with a blade and wear light weight leather and scale armor. He spent roughly 18 years as a mercenary, at the peak of his career he had become the leader of the group however a few years later he relinquished his post and left the group. He had acquired a good deal of money from his work as a mercenary and decided to return home to Dragonwood. When he arrived he found that his father had fallen quite ill, he paid for transport of him and his father back up to Windhelm where he paid a mage to help in the healing of his father. During the time his father was being healed he also learned a few bits of magick from the mage at a small price. After a few weeks his father had began to regain his strength so they returned to Dragonwood, however a good chunk of Drathyn’s money was now gone. So he hid the rest, about 12,000 septims in a cave a short way from his house. He then took up his old trade and began hunting game again. A few years later while on a hunting trip he passed through the village of Pargran to sell some of the furs he had collected on his way down. While in town he ran into a young Dunmer lady, instantly captivated by her beauty Drathyn abandoned his current trip and stayed in Pargran for another week. During this week he succeeded in impressing the young lady and she agreed to return to Dragonwood with him, after staying in Dragonwood for almost a month the two decided to marry. At this time Drathyn was 47 and his wife, Avela was 38. Since then Drathyn has built a small log hut next to his parents and he and Avela have tended to them now that they are aging. When Drathyn was 48 he and Avela bore a son by the name of Thaden who is now 8 years old.
Recent events: Drathyn was wandering through the wilderness on a hunting expedition and came across a lesser dragon, able to slay the beast after a short battle he severed its head and returned to town with the evidence of this weird occurrence. Ultimately deciding that he should report his findings to the king since Dragons had long been banished from Tamriel he said farewell to his wife, child and parents and began his journey to Whiterun.
Armor/Clothing: Depending on the occasion Drathyn will either wear his hunting armor (leather and fur to keep him warm but stay light) or his armor from when he was a mercenary (similar to splint-mail from Dragon Age.) under that he wears normal common clothes.
Weapons: Drathyn carries a silver long-sword and a hunting knife on his belt. He also carries a bow with him and a good amount of arrows.
Misc items: in various pouches and a small bag that he has he carries these items: flint and tinder, string, spare fletching and arrow heads, some small tools such as a small hatchet, 2 empty flasks, and a drawstring pouch with gold in it.
Motivation: To seek out his former life of adventure that he led as a mercenary and also to protect his homeland.
Race: Dunmer
Age: 56 (looks late 20’s early 30’s)
Gender: Male
Birthsign: The Steed
Class: Ranger/ Light soldier
Class Description: Drathyn has no rigid “class” he is well rounded in combat and prefers light to medium armor with a blade or bow.
Appearance/Physique: Drathyn stands about 5’11”, he is very lean and muscular but not overly muscled up. His shoulder length hair is a deep black and tied in a pony tail behind his head with a few loose strands falling around the sides of his face. His eyes like all Dunmer are a piercing red. His face has a slightly rough look to it showing a few miniscule scars and a 5 o’clock shadow.
Skills: Extremely talented with bows and blades, favors light to medium armor, is good at "survival" alchemy, repairing, crafting, trap making, and a few small bits of magick of varying schools.
Mental characteristics: Drathyn for the most part is light hearted; however he can be quite serious at times. He is also very bright and intelligent.
History: Drathyn was born southwest of the city of Windhelm just west of the village of Dragonwood. His parents lived away from the towns because of the animosity between the Dunmer and Nodic people. Drathyn was raised in a small log hut in the wilderness; his father was a hunter by the name of Theldyn Verethi. Drathyn grew up learning his father’s trade, hunting tracking and killing big game in wilderness of Skyrim. Sometimes they would be away for over a month killing and selling game to local villages. Drathyn because extremely talented with a bow during his youth while hunting with his father. He learned to live off the land since him and his father would often run out of supplies while on hunting trips. During his time in Dragonwood Drathyn received a basic education from a monk that lived in-town. When Drathyn was about 28 he became bored with his life in Dragonwood, he packed up what belongings he had and hitched a ride on a caravan up to the city of Windhelm. While in Windhelm he joined in with a mercenary group that was passing through town hoping that he would have a more adventurous life. During his time as a mercenary he was taught how to fight with a blade and wear light weight leather and scale armor. He spent roughly 18 years as a mercenary, at the peak of his career he had become the leader of the group however a few years later he relinquished his post and left the group. He had acquired a good deal of money from his work as a mercenary and decided to return home to Dragonwood. When he arrived he found that his father had fallen quite ill, he paid for transport of him and his father back up to Windhelm where he paid a mage to help in the healing of his father. During the time his father was being healed he also learned a few bits of magick from the mage at a small price. After a few weeks his father had began to regain his strength so they returned to Dragonwood, however a good chunk of Drathyn’s money was now gone. So he hid the rest, about 12,000 septims in a cave a short way from his house. He then took up his old trade and began hunting game again. A few years later while on a hunting trip he passed through the village of Pargran to sell some of the furs he had collected on his way down. While in town he ran into a young Dunmer lady, instantly captivated by her beauty Drathyn abandoned his current trip and stayed in Pargran for another week. During this week he succeeded in impressing the young lady and she agreed to return to Dragonwood with him, after staying in Dragonwood for almost a month the two decided to marry. At this time Drathyn was 47 and his wife, Avela was 38. Since then Drathyn has built a small log hut next to his parents and he and Avela have tended to them now that they are aging. When Drathyn was 48 he and Avela bore a son by the name of Thaden who is now 8 years old.
Recent events: Drathyn was wandering through the wilderness on a hunting expedition and came across a lesser dragon, able to slay the beast after a short battle he severed its head and returned to town with the evidence of this weird occurrence. Ultimately deciding that he should report his findings to the king since Dragons had long been banished from Tamriel he said farewell to his wife, child and parents and began his journey to Whiterun.
Armor/Clothing: Depending on the occasion Drathyn will either wear his hunting armor (leather and fur to keep him warm but stay light) or his armor from when he was a mercenary (similar to splint-mail from Dragon Age.) under that he wears normal common clothes.
Weapons: Drathyn carries a silver long-sword and a hunting knife on his belt. He also carries a bow with him and a good amount of arrows.
Misc items: in various pouches and a small bag that he has he carries these items: flint and tinder, string, spare fletching and arrow heads, some small tools such as a small hatchet, 2 empty flasks, and a drawstring pouch with gold in it.
Motivation: To seek out his former life of adventure that he led as a mercenary and also to protect his homeland.
Broken Scale
Spoiler
Name: Senes Varvun
Age (apparent age): Senes is 228 years old, but has aged extremely well, even for a Dunmer, and appears to be only in his mid-30s
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Birthsign: The Warrior
Physical Description: Senes stands at about five feet, eleven inches, filling out the frame a body of almost entirely muscle, a side-effect of his former life as an Ordinator. He has loose black hair that, while once well-maintained and oiled, is now carelessly styled. Senes could have once been considered attractive, with a handsome, angular face, but that face is now constantly tired and sad and marred by three long scars on his right cheek. Senes has the typical red eyes of Dunmer. His back arms are covered with the ritualistic tattoos of Ordinators.
Mental Description: Senes is weary of the world, and has become suicidal because of his homeland’s destruction and the loss of his family. He is depressed and moody, prone to stretches of quiet contemplation and senseless anger. All he wants out of life is either meaning to replace what he lost, or to die in honorable combat, fighting for a worthy cause.
Class: Senes was an Ordinator, once upon a time.
Class Description: Senes was once an Ordinator, prior to the destruction of Morrowind. He served as the personal guard of Tribunal Temple, and often helped out temples around Vvardenfell with problems from major to minor.
Skills: Senes is skilled with long bladed weaponry, as well as blunt weaponry, and is skilled in heavy and medium armor. He is also skilled with Destruction magic, and is talented with the use of shields and parries. His time as an Ordinator has hardened both his body and his mind, allowing him impressive strength and endurance when the time calls for it.
Weapons: Senes wields an ebony sword (Think the swords from 300 for a visual). He also carries a silver dagger on him. Senes also carries a modified ebony mace on his right hip. The mace has been divided where the head and the hilt once met, and a short chain has been added in between, making it into a makeshift flail.
Armor: Senes wears his armor from his days as an Ordinator, complete with shield and helm. The armor is similar to the man who wears it: Dirty, scarred, worn and battle-weary, emanating a sense of sadness to those who look at it. While it still is sturdy and protective, it is a relic of the past, a reminder of the former glory of the proud Dunmer, and showing just how far the race has fallen.
Misc. Items: Senes carries a small pack, which contains:
-A bedroll and small tent
-The last letter he received from his wife, which he still reads every day
-A locket containing a portrait of his wife and child
-A jug of water and spare, non-perishable food
History: Senes was a prodigy of House Indoril. He was strong, both in body and spirit, and was sent to Vivec to help out the demigod. However, upon arriving, the demigod sensed greatness in the young man and sent him away from Morrowind on an unknown task to avoid being killed by the Nerevarine. He later returned, but left a year before Morrowind’s destruction. He heard the news while in Cyrodiil and went into a rage due from the knowledge that his family was dead. Mourning from the loss of everything he cared for, he took to travelling the world searching for meaning and happiness. He still hasn’t found it, and neither has he found someone who could put his out of his misery. However, the arrival of the Dragons has given him an opponent who could finally give him the things he wants: either meaning, or a honorable death.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Senes is depressed and borderline suicidal, but he wants to die to a worthy opponent, and while making a difference. This current quest is dangerous, and pits him against strong foes, helping out a worthy goal.
Age (apparent age): Senes is 228 years old, but has aged extremely well, even for a Dunmer, and appears to be only in his mid-30s
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Birthsign: The Warrior
Physical Description: Senes stands at about five feet, eleven inches, filling out the frame a body of almost entirely muscle, a side-effect of his former life as an Ordinator. He has loose black hair that, while once well-maintained and oiled, is now carelessly styled. Senes could have once been considered attractive, with a handsome, angular face, but that face is now constantly tired and sad and marred by three long scars on his right cheek. Senes has the typical red eyes of Dunmer. His back arms are covered with the ritualistic tattoos of Ordinators.
Mental Description: Senes is weary of the world, and has become suicidal because of his homeland’s destruction and the loss of his family. He is depressed and moody, prone to stretches of quiet contemplation and senseless anger. All he wants out of life is either meaning to replace what he lost, or to die in honorable combat, fighting for a worthy cause.
Class: Senes was an Ordinator, once upon a time.
Class Description: Senes was once an Ordinator, prior to the destruction of Morrowind. He served as the personal guard of Tribunal Temple, and often helped out temples around Vvardenfell with problems from major to minor.
Skills: Senes is skilled with long bladed weaponry, as well as blunt weaponry, and is skilled in heavy and medium armor. He is also skilled with Destruction magic, and is talented with the use of shields and parries. His time as an Ordinator has hardened both his body and his mind, allowing him impressive strength and endurance when the time calls for it.
Weapons: Senes wields an ebony sword (Think the swords from 300 for a visual). He also carries a silver dagger on him. Senes also carries a modified ebony mace on his right hip. The mace has been divided where the head and the hilt once met, and a short chain has been added in between, making it into a makeshift flail.
Armor: Senes wears his armor from his days as an Ordinator, complete with shield and helm. The armor is similar to the man who wears it: Dirty, scarred, worn and battle-weary, emanating a sense of sadness to those who look at it. While it still is sturdy and protective, it is a relic of the past, a reminder of the former glory of the proud Dunmer, and showing just how far the race has fallen.
Misc. Items: Senes carries a small pack, which contains:
-A bedroll and small tent
-The last letter he received from his wife, which he still reads every day
-A locket containing a portrait of his wife and child
-A jug of water and spare, non-perishable food
History: Senes was a prodigy of House Indoril. He was strong, both in body and spirit, and was sent to Vivec to help out the demigod. However, upon arriving, the demigod sensed greatness in the young man and sent him away from Morrowind on an unknown task to avoid being killed by the Nerevarine. He later returned, but left a year before Morrowind’s destruction. He heard the news while in Cyrodiil and went into a rage due from the knowledge that his family was dead. Mourning from the loss of everything he cared for, he took to travelling the world searching for meaning and happiness. He still hasn’t found it, and neither has he found someone who could put his out of his misery. However, the arrival of the Dragons has given him an opponent who could finally give him the things he wants: either meaning, or a honorable death.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Senes is depressed and borderline suicidal, but he wants to die to a worthy opponent, and while making a difference. This current quest is dangerous, and pits him against strong foes, helping out a worthy goal.
Dagoth Jeff
Spoiler
Name: Auelenne “The Sour Cookie”
Age (apparent age): 320 / 53
Gender: F
Race: Altmer
Birthsign: The Serpent
Physical Description: Auelenne has a fairly thin 6' 5” body frame and appears to be slightly underweight for her age group. She's not very athletic, but still has a nice figure in the eyes of many Altmers. Her hair is a charcoal gray with streaks of white, and hangs freely to the small of her back. Her face is vary narrow and thin, but her strong cheekbones bring emphasis to her outward beauty. Her eyes are a faint light blue, bordering on gray. She has a large 'X' scar on the palm of each slender hand.
Mental Description: Auelenne always wears a kind smile, and happily greets everyone in her presence. It seems that every day is a good day for her, but many wonder why she has no friends or family. Some merchants claim to have witnessed a temper within her, which they describe as “Chilling.”
Class: Assassin
Class Description: Assassins are killers who rely on stealth and mobility to approach victims undetected. Execution is with ranged weapons or with short blades for close work. Assassins include ruthless murderers and principled agents of noble causes.
Skills: Short Blade, Security, Sneak, Alchemy, Unarmored
Weapons: Glass Dagger
Armor: None. A clean, but dull green robe is worn over her common clothing.
Misc. Items: rolling pin, shears, sack of cookies, small skooma vial full of poison, mortar & pestle
History: Not much is known about Auelenne, since she apparently has no friends or family. At one point in her life she had retired from her trade, and travelled Vvardenfell selling her baked cookies. She had taken up residence on the outskirts of Balmora when she was given her nickname “The Sour Cookie.” The guards were always her biggest customers. But several times a year, a guard would vanish. Some say she poisoned her cookies and killed them. The rumors started to hurt her business, so she brought free batches of them to the customers of Eight Plates. They described the taste of her baked goods as “sour.” No one knows for sure what she uses in her cookies, but three pilgrims who were Eight Plate regulars were never heard from again after that day.
Motivation For Aiding the King: To establish a solid reputation and earn enough money to retire.
Age (apparent age): 320 / 53
Gender: F
Race: Altmer
Birthsign: The Serpent
Physical Description: Auelenne has a fairly thin 6' 5” body frame and appears to be slightly underweight for her age group. She's not very athletic, but still has a nice figure in the eyes of many Altmers. Her hair is a charcoal gray with streaks of white, and hangs freely to the small of her back. Her face is vary narrow and thin, but her strong cheekbones bring emphasis to her outward beauty. Her eyes are a faint light blue, bordering on gray. She has a large 'X' scar on the palm of each slender hand.
Mental Description: Auelenne always wears a kind smile, and happily greets everyone in her presence. It seems that every day is a good day for her, but many wonder why she has no friends or family. Some merchants claim to have witnessed a temper within her, which they describe as “Chilling.”
Class: Assassin
Class Description: Assassins are killers who rely on stealth and mobility to approach victims undetected. Execution is with ranged weapons or with short blades for close work. Assassins include ruthless murderers and principled agents of noble causes.
Skills: Short Blade, Security, Sneak, Alchemy, Unarmored
Weapons: Glass Dagger
Armor: None. A clean, but dull green robe is worn over her common clothing.
Misc. Items: rolling pin, shears, sack of cookies, small skooma vial full of poison, mortar & pestle
History: Not much is known about Auelenne, since she apparently has no friends or family. At one point in her life she had retired from her trade, and travelled Vvardenfell selling her baked cookies. She had taken up residence on the outskirts of Balmora when she was given her nickname “The Sour Cookie.” The guards were always her biggest customers. But several times a year, a guard would vanish. Some say she poisoned her cookies and killed them. The rumors started to hurt her business, so she brought free batches of them to the customers of Eight Plates. They described the taste of her baked goods as “sour.” No one knows for sure what she uses in her cookies, but three pilgrims who were Eight Plate regulars were never heard from again after that day.
Motivation For Aiding the King: To establish a solid reputation and earn enough money to retire.
Darkom95
Spoiler
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.
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.
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.
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.
foxy
Spoiler
Name: Jarn Imgarth
Age (apparent age): 40
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Warrior
Physical Description: Jarn has a towering 6"8 frame filled out with rippling muscles. Everything about the man seems overly large; from his tree trunk legs to his bear-like hands. He has grey eyes and mousy brown hair, which is shaggy and unkempt and falls to his shoulders. He has a full beard which is the same colour as his hair. He is covered in small scars but he has three of note. The first is on his face which runs down the left hand side of his face. It is not a neat scar but jagged and is a pickish colour. The second is not so much a scar as a missing lump of flesh in his left forearm. The third scar of note (or scars, plural I should say) are the criss cross white lines that run across his back.
He does not have that 'rugged adventurer' look. He has had so many bones broken in his face at one time or another but it almost looks flat.
Mental Description: Jarn is not subtle. When something is in his way, he uses his considerable strength and size to over come it. He realises this and he accepts it. He knows no other way. He is also probably mad. He hears voices in his head. Jarn doesn't know where they came from or what they want but he can't hit them so he accepts them as part of himself.
Class: Warrior
Class Description: Warriors are the professional men-at-arms, soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers of the Empire, trained with various weapons and armor styles, conditioned by long marches, and hardened by ambush, skirmish, and battle.
Skills: Heavy armour, long blade, marksman, athletics
Weapons: Jarn carries large steel claymore. It is dull and heavily notched after years of service. He also carries a large long bow which has been specifically made for his size and weight. The average man cannot pull back the bowstring more than half way. He carriers arrows designed for this particular bow. The shafts are thicker and longer than normal arrows and the arrow hears are far larger too.
Armor: Jarn wears steel armour into battle. His helmet covers all of his face leaving a thin gap by which to see through. He wears a steel briast plate, pauldrons and gauntlets. He has padded leather boots and trousers.
Misc. Items: a thick cloak, a coin pouch holding a few septims.
Motivation For Aiding the King: This is another battle for Jarn. Another chance to test his strength. He also feels a sense of duty to protect those villages like the one he grew up in.
History: Jarn was born in a small farming village in western Skyrim. He was always very large as a child and the manual labour suited him very well but he was never particularly happy. Many people couldn't get past his size so he had very few friends. One winter a sickness hit the village as it did every year and killed his ageing parents. He decided there was nothing keeping him from leaving so he signed up to the Legion at the age of 20.
During his career he travelled all around Tamriel and fought in many battles. When he was 26, he witnessed a superior officer [censored] a young Dunmer girl. He attacked the officer and was only prevented by killing him when 6 other soldiers pulled him off. He was spared execution but received 30 lashes and expulsion from the Legion. Perhaps those in charge thought the 30 lashes would kill him. They didn't.
He joined a roving bandit gang for a year but when his leader again tried to [censored] a girl, he killed him. No-one stopped him. Between then and now Jarn has joined a number of mercenary companies.
Name: Jarn Imgarth
Age (apparent age): 40
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Warrior
Physical Description: Jarn has a towering 6"8 frame filled out with rippling muscles. Everything about the man seems overly large; from his tree trunk legs to his bear-like hands. He has grey eyes and mousy brown hair, which is shaggy and unkempt and falls to his shoulders. He has a full beard which is the same colour as his hair. He is covered in small scars but he has three of note. The first is on his face which runs down the left hand side of his face. It is not a neat scar but jagged and is a pickish colour. The second is not so much a scar as a missing lump of flesh in his left forearm. The third scar of note (or scars, plural I should say) are the criss cross white lines that run across his back.
He does not have that 'rugged adventurer' look. He has had so many bones broken in his face at one time or another but it almost looks flat.
Mental Description: Jarn is not subtle. When something is in his way, he uses his considerable strength and size to over come it. He realises this and he accepts it. He knows no other way. He is also probably mad. He hears voices in his head. Jarn doesn't know where they came from or what they want but he can't hit them so he accepts them as part of himself.
Class: Warrior
Class Description: Warriors are the professional men-at-arms, soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers of the Empire, trained with various weapons and armor styles, conditioned by long marches, and hardened by ambush, skirmish, and battle.
Skills: Heavy armour, long blade, marksman, athletics
Weapons: Jarn carries large steel claymore. It is dull and heavily notched after years of service. He also carries a large long bow which has been specifically made for his size and weight. The average man cannot pull back the bowstring more than half way. He carriers arrows designed for this particular bow. The shafts are thicker and longer than normal arrows and the arrow hears are far larger too.
Armor: Jarn wears steel armour into battle. His helmet covers all of his face leaving a thin gap by which to see through. He wears a steel briast plate, pauldrons and gauntlets. He has padded leather boots and trousers.
Misc. Items: a thick cloak, a coin pouch holding a few septims.
Motivation For Aiding the King: This is another battle for Jarn. Another chance to test his strength. He also feels a sense of duty to protect those villages like the one he grew up in.
History: Jarn was born in a small farming village in western Skyrim. He was always very large as a child and the manual labour suited him very well but he was never particularly happy. Many people couldn't get past his size so he had very few friends. One winter a sickness hit the village as it did every year and killed his ageing parents. He decided there was nothing keeping him from leaving so he signed up to the Legion at the age of 20.
During his career he travelled all around Tamriel and fought in many battles. When he was 26, he witnessed a superior officer [censored] a young Dunmer girl. He attacked the officer and was only prevented by killing him when 6 other soldiers pulled him off. He was spared execution but received 30 lashes and expulsion from the Legion. Perhaps those in charge thought the 30 lashes would kill him. They didn't.
He joined a roving bandit gang for a year but when his leader again tried to [censored] a girl, he killed him. No-one stopped him. Between then and now Jarn has joined a number of mercenary companies.
Gortock
Spoiler
Name: Krom Grimblade
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: Warrior
Physical Description: Krom is short for a Nord standing at exactly 6 ft tall, but dont count him out as massive for he is like a boulder weighing 270 pounds of solid muscle. His body is covered in blue Nordic ruin and symbol tattoos. Krom's face has three long scars across it from a long distant fight with a snow bear which runs across his face from the left side of his hairline to the right side of his jaw just missing his eyes. Krom wears his hair shaved so that there is barely stuble. As for facial hair he has a short black braided beard.(in a chinstrap fashion with the growing longer into the chin area were there can be found the braids)). Krom's eyes are hazel and often change color between green and brown. His eyes are piercing like they can look right through you. These are the eyes of a man who has seen terrible things. His skin is a bit darker than most Nords from having spent most of his time outside.
Mental Description: Krom is calm and quite which is strange for a nord . He speaks only when he feels he must and only then if it is worth saying. Though not overly complex Krom is a good man. Though in battle he becomes consumed by a uncontrollable rage and any that stand in his way will be slaughtered. Krom is a heavy drinker, a warrior with noble intentions but also he is a survivor. He is loyal to his few friends and will die to protect those that can not protect themselves. If you are his enemy you will die. He will not stop and he does not show mercy to those of have wrong him or innocent people.
Class: Berserker Warrior
Class Description: Like the Warrior he is a melee fighter skilled with almost any weapon but having almost no talent with magic. Berserkers live off the land so are skilled hunters. Unlike the warrior they are consumed with a inner rage so they will not back down from a fight and will fight till they or their opponent are dead.
Skills: Blade,Blunt, Tracking, Heavy Armor, Athletics, Acrobatics, Smithing, Block
Weapons: the ancient nordic claymore Dragon's Fang, a one handed silver nordic battle axe, 5 nordic daggers
Armor: Krom wears full plate ebony armor in a nordic style. it has none of that gold gilding in it just some silver to make the nordic symbols more clear. His armor is truly unique having been made by a smith as a gift for saving him from raiders 6 years ago. Krom wears no helm though perfering to have his head out in the open so he can see and smell better.
Misc. Items: Across his shoulder like a cape Krom wears the pelt of the snow bear that he had slain when he was younger and who had also given him the scars he has to this day. He prefers to carry little aside from his weapons and armor he carries his pack which holds a simple tent some food and of course his Rotgut ((its a very strong nordic drink)) He also has a few small traps so he can find game when he is out in the wilds.
History: Krom Grimblade is from the village of Dragon Wood. It is a very old town settled with the first of the Nords came to Skyrim. Krom could trace his bloodline to the 500 hundred warriors who had come to skyrim to battle the elves in times long past. Krom's Grandfather was the village leader and was a bear of a man standing almost seven feet tall His name was Roran Grimblade also known as the Bear. The village though small was of heart people each villager was a warrior in their own right. One day when Krom was out hunting with a few of the Village elders Raiders attacked. Though caught by surprise The people rallied and made a stand at the ancient mead hall. For Krom's family it would be there last for every one of his kin that fell they took at least three. Krom ran back to the village when he heard the sound of battle but he would never forgive himself for not being there to fight beside his family. The village had been saved but his family had fallen defending it, saving the young and elderly. Walking over to the corpses of his family Krom fell to his knees at the side of his grandfather and there he made a vow to avenge his people and his kin to defend the weak and the innocent. Krom took the ancient family blade Dragon's Fang and in doing so sealed his fate. For the sword was no mere weapon but an ancient blade that had defended the people in times long past from the creatures it was so named after and carried within itself almost life it did not speak to it but he felt its rage its hatred the hatred of his ancestors in taking the blade he no longer had a choice he was the last of his bloodline and he was going to set things right. After the battle after all the wounded and dead were taken care of Krom left. To find the raiders and to aid his people in any way he could. He has tracked down each and every raider slaying each one without mercy, but he never felt the peace he thought he would find with each kill his inner fury only grew his rage starting to consume him. He has helped countless people and saved many lives and now wanders skyrim in hopes of finding a worthy opponent. A messenger has finally found him and gave hims a missive from the king. Maybe now he finally has a worthy quest perhaps in performing the deeds of his ancestors he can finally forgive himself.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Honor and aiding his people in time of need and if all else fails something he can direct his berserker rage on.
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: Warrior
Physical Description: Krom is short for a Nord standing at exactly 6 ft tall, but dont count him out as massive for he is like a boulder weighing 270 pounds of solid muscle. His body is covered in blue Nordic ruin and symbol tattoos. Krom's face has three long scars across it from a long distant fight with a snow bear which runs across his face from the left side of his hairline to the right side of his jaw just missing his eyes. Krom wears his hair shaved so that there is barely stuble. As for facial hair he has a short black braided beard.(in a chinstrap fashion with the growing longer into the chin area were there can be found the braids)). Krom's eyes are hazel and often change color between green and brown. His eyes are piercing like they can look right through you. These are the eyes of a man who has seen terrible things. His skin is a bit darker than most Nords from having spent most of his time outside.
Mental Description: Krom is calm and quite which is strange for a nord . He speaks only when he feels he must and only then if it is worth saying. Though not overly complex Krom is a good man. Though in battle he becomes consumed by a uncontrollable rage and any that stand in his way will be slaughtered. Krom is a heavy drinker, a warrior with noble intentions but also he is a survivor. He is loyal to his few friends and will die to protect those that can not protect themselves. If you are his enemy you will die. He will not stop and he does not show mercy to those of have wrong him or innocent people.
Class: Berserker Warrior
Class Description: Like the Warrior he is a melee fighter skilled with almost any weapon but having almost no talent with magic. Berserkers live off the land so are skilled hunters. Unlike the warrior they are consumed with a inner rage so they will not back down from a fight and will fight till they or their opponent are dead.
Skills: Blade,Blunt, Tracking, Heavy Armor, Athletics, Acrobatics, Smithing, Block
Weapons: the ancient nordic claymore Dragon's Fang, a one handed silver nordic battle axe, 5 nordic daggers
Armor: Krom wears full plate ebony armor in a nordic style. it has none of that gold gilding in it just some silver to make the nordic symbols more clear. His armor is truly unique having been made by a smith as a gift for saving him from raiders 6 years ago. Krom wears no helm though perfering to have his head out in the open so he can see and smell better.
Misc. Items: Across his shoulder like a cape Krom wears the pelt of the snow bear that he had slain when he was younger and who had also given him the scars he has to this day. He prefers to carry little aside from his weapons and armor he carries his pack which holds a simple tent some food and of course his Rotgut ((its a very strong nordic drink)) He also has a few small traps so he can find game when he is out in the wilds.
History: Krom Grimblade is from the village of Dragon Wood. It is a very old town settled with the first of the Nords came to Skyrim. Krom could trace his bloodline to the 500 hundred warriors who had come to skyrim to battle the elves in times long past. Krom's Grandfather was the village leader and was a bear of a man standing almost seven feet tall His name was Roran Grimblade also known as the Bear. The village though small was of heart people each villager was a warrior in their own right. One day when Krom was out hunting with a few of the Village elders Raiders attacked. Though caught by surprise The people rallied and made a stand at the ancient mead hall. For Krom's family it would be there last for every one of his kin that fell they took at least three. Krom ran back to the village when he heard the sound of battle but he would never forgive himself for not being there to fight beside his family. The village had been saved but his family had fallen defending it, saving the young and elderly. Walking over to the corpses of his family Krom fell to his knees at the side of his grandfather and there he made a vow to avenge his people and his kin to defend the weak and the innocent. Krom took the ancient family blade Dragon's Fang and in doing so sealed his fate. For the sword was no mere weapon but an ancient blade that had defended the people in times long past from the creatures it was so named after and carried within itself almost life it did not speak to it but he felt its rage its hatred the hatred of his ancestors in taking the blade he no longer had a choice he was the last of his bloodline and he was going to set things right. After the battle after all the wounded and dead were taken care of Krom left. To find the raiders and to aid his people in any way he could. He has tracked down each and every raider slaying each one without mercy, but he never felt the peace he thought he would find with each kill his inner fury only grew his rage starting to consume him. He has helped countless people and saved many lives and now wanders skyrim in hopes of finding a worthy opponent. A messenger has finally found him and gave hims a missive from the king. Maybe now he finally has a worthy quest perhaps in performing the deeds of his ancestors he can finally forgive himself.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Honor and aiding his people in time of need and if all else fails something he can direct his berserker rage on.
Kyrill
Spoiler
Name: Elynniel Arthedaine
Age (apparent age): 21
Gender: Female
Race: Nord/Imperial
Birthsign: The Shadow
Physical Description: Standing at 5 ft 5 with a slender frame, Elynneil doesn't cut a particularly imposing individual Though slim, she sports an athletic build, certainly providing evidence of an active life, though no hint of any strength is readily apparent. Her features are pleasant, though they wouldn't especially stand out in a crowd. She sports auburn hair, kept in a practical ponytail, reaching just past the shoulders when unbound while her eyes are a vibrant emerald colour. Her skin is pale, no doubt coming from her Nordic blood.
Mental Description: Driven by her insatiable curiousity, she nevertheless tempers it with (questionable) sense and intellect. She has a disposition towards relics of past ages and eras, often enjoying stories and myths about fantastical creatures and the like. Some would say she also has a tendency to 'borrow' things, though what that means is anyone's guess.
Class: Burglar
Class Description: Skilled at getting in and out of places where people just aren't meant to go, often without even being noticed, the burglar is an expert at dealing with traps, locks and the occasional creature that guards the treasure that a burglar is so often seeking. The occasional scuffle from being caught, or with customers that just aren't willing to pay, has given the burglar some skill in the art's of combat, no matter how underhanded the tactics a burglar employs may seem.
Skills: Blades (Small Blades being her main area of expertise), Marksman (Throwing Weapons are her forte), Stealth, Security (She has worked with a wide range of traps, though particularly ancient or arcane locks may elude her), Athletics, Acrobatics, Light Armor (She prefers not to wear armor, though when heading into dangerous situations, she wisely dons a suit of armor)
Weapons:
- 4 Silver Throwing Daggers - Heavy (Relatively) weapons balanced for throwing, though in a pinch they can be used for melee, though ill made for it.
- 1 Elven Shortsword - A rather exquisite looking blade, it's a graceful and sharp weapon, though whether it brought or pilfered is unknown.
- 1 Elven Dagger - An elegant weapon, it's edges are wickedly sharp and are well suited for poking holes.
- 1 Smoke Bomb - Made out of two pieces of wood containing some foul mixture, when thrown with enough force it does what it says on the tin.
Armor:
- Mithril Shirt - A beautiful shirt made of Mithril, it appears to be have been made for a person of some social status, with intricate designs woven into the shirt. Despite being a shirt of chainmail (Well, mithril chainmail anyway) It hardly makes a noise even with movement, perhaps being enchanted so to provide the wearer with better protection without a cost to her stealth abilities.
- Long Sleeved Tunic (Worn over Mithril Shirt) - A relatively form fitting garment, woven in such a way to limit the amount of rustling and other noise it makes. It's colored in earthen tones and appears to be largely practical.
- Tights - Simple Medieval Tights, colored black.
- Knee High Riding Boots - Soft and Supple leather boots that reach up to the knee, designed for traveling and horse riding.
Misc. Items:
-250 Septims (Or just Gold, whatever it may be nowadays)
-A small pouch (Enchanted with a slight-medium feather spell, just enough to keep the things inside feeling weightless)
-Rope And Grapple Hook
History: Being raised by Professional Treasure Hunters certainly leads to an exciting life. Elynniel never had much of a normal childhood, she was raised by two parents who both imparted bits of their quirks onto her. Her father, a charming imperial, was an avid collector of artifacts, be they Akaviri, Ayleid, Dwemer, all of these things were of interest to him. Her mother on the other hand complemented her father perfectly, her skills of thievery were more than a match for many of the traps thrown their way. So it was that when Elynniel was born, she was born a nomad, never staying in one place for long, except for her family's mansion, located in a quiet corner of Skyrim, miles away from the cities or the law. Her father would often give Elynniel books and spin tales of the wonders and myths of the world, while her mother taught her the skills she needed to look out for herself in the world.
And so it was for many years, until Elynniel came of age (16). With the blessing of her aging father, her mother having died only a year before, she set out alone into the open world, hoping to better the lot of her family, and forge her own reputation for herself.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Dragons! Creatures of Myth and Legend! How could she refuse to heed such a call. Besides, with any luck she might happen upon the Dragon's horde!
Age (apparent age): 21
Gender: Female
Race: Nord/Imperial
Birthsign: The Shadow
Physical Description: Standing at 5 ft 5 with a slender frame, Elynneil doesn't cut a particularly imposing individual Though slim, she sports an athletic build, certainly providing evidence of an active life, though no hint of any strength is readily apparent. Her features are pleasant, though they wouldn't especially stand out in a crowd. She sports auburn hair, kept in a practical ponytail, reaching just past the shoulders when unbound while her eyes are a vibrant emerald colour. Her skin is pale, no doubt coming from her Nordic blood.
Mental Description: Driven by her insatiable curiousity, she nevertheless tempers it with (questionable) sense and intellect. She has a disposition towards relics of past ages and eras, often enjoying stories and myths about fantastical creatures and the like. Some would say she also has a tendency to 'borrow' things, though what that means is anyone's guess.
Class: Burglar
Class Description: Skilled at getting in and out of places where people just aren't meant to go, often without even being noticed, the burglar is an expert at dealing with traps, locks and the occasional creature that guards the treasure that a burglar is so often seeking. The occasional scuffle from being caught, or with customers that just aren't willing to pay, has given the burglar some skill in the art's of combat, no matter how underhanded the tactics a burglar employs may seem.
Skills: Blades (Small Blades being her main area of expertise), Marksman (Throwing Weapons are her forte), Stealth, Security (She has worked with a wide range of traps, though particularly ancient or arcane locks may elude her), Athletics, Acrobatics, Light Armor (She prefers not to wear armor, though when heading into dangerous situations, she wisely dons a suit of armor)
Weapons:
- 4 Silver Throwing Daggers - Heavy (Relatively) weapons balanced for throwing, though in a pinch they can be used for melee, though ill made for it.
- 1 Elven Shortsword - A rather exquisite looking blade, it's a graceful and sharp weapon, though whether it brought or pilfered is unknown.
- 1 Elven Dagger - An elegant weapon, it's edges are wickedly sharp and are well suited for poking holes.
- 1 Smoke Bomb - Made out of two pieces of wood containing some foul mixture, when thrown with enough force it does what it says on the tin.
Armor:
- Mithril Shirt - A beautiful shirt made of Mithril, it appears to be have been made for a person of some social status, with intricate designs woven into the shirt. Despite being a shirt of chainmail (Well, mithril chainmail anyway) It hardly makes a noise even with movement, perhaps being enchanted so to provide the wearer with better protection without a cost to her stealth abilities.
- Long Sleeved Tunic (Worn over Mithril Shirt) - A relatively form fitting garment, woven in such a way to limit the amount of rustling and other noise it makes. It's colored in earthen tones and appears to be largely practical.
- Tights - Simple Medieval Tights, colored black.
- Knee High Riding Boots - Soft and Supple leather boots that reach up to the knee, designed for traveling and horse riding.
Misc. Items:
-250 Septims (Or just Gold, whatever it may be nowadays)
-A small pouch (Enchanted with a slight-medium feather spell, just enough to keep the things inside feeling weightless)
-Rope And Grapple Hook
History: Being raised by Professional Treasure Hunters certainly leads to an exciting life. Elynniel never had much of a normal childhood, she was raised by two parents who both imparted bits of their quirks onto her. Her father, a charming imperial, was an avid collector of artifacts, be they Akaviri, Ayleid, Dwemer, all of these things were of interest to him. Her mother on the other hand complemented her father perfectly, her skills of thievery were more than a match for many of the traps thrown their way. So it was that when Elynniel was born, she was born a nomad, never staying in one place for long, except for her family's mansion, located in a quiet corner of Skyrim, miles away from the cities or the law. Her father would often give Elynniel books and spin tales of the wonders and myths of the world, while her mother taught her the skills she needed to look out for herself in the world.
And so it was for many years, until Elynniel came of age (16). With the blessing of her aging father, her mother having died only a year before, she set out alone into the open world, hoping to better the lot of her family, and forge her own reputation for herself.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Dragons! Creatures of Myth and Legend! How could she refuse to heed such a call. Besides, with any luck she might happen upon the Dragon's horde!
Person From Anticlere
Spoiler
Name: Undrad Tall-Brow
Age: 64
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Serpent
Physical Description: When not hunched over, Undrad stands at 6’3, however he usually appears shorter than that. Hunching and the fact he rarely journeys anywhere without the support of his staff means he can give off the appearance of an ordinary old man, however if one looks at his aged face, it’s possible to spot a certain something that betrays he’s not exactly what he might appear to be. Though it is completely obscured below Undrad’s large, crooked nose by the scarf, his brown eyes can tell an observant person enough – though they look a bit dim, as though the light behind them was fading, their gaze is still deep and piercing. His brow, as suggested by the way he is referred to, is tall and by now wrinkled, like the rest of him. The Greybeard’s shoulder-length hair, once blonde, is now almost completely white. Numerous strands often drop on his face, obscuring some of his features.
Mental Description: A Greybeard, Undrad is obviously a very silent person, though that has a lot to do with reasons aside from the obvious. He prefers quiet contemplation over noise of almost any kind and can be easily annoyed by louder people. Decades spent atop High Hrothgar tuning himself to nature left him with a respect for it, though it didn’t help his social skills a lot – even if he rarely means ill, Undrad can nevertheless break a taboo of some sort while speaking with others without knowing it.
Class: Greybeard
Class Description: Undrad is one of the Greybeards, powerful Tongues who have sworn an oath not to use their Thu’um in combat as they seek to attune themselves to the voice of the sky. Before the reappearing of the Dragons he spent his days on top of High Hrothgar in silent contemplation.
Skills: His primary skill is, of course, the fearsome power of Thu’um, which he has developed over the years to the point where he, like all Greybeards, can no longer talk without causing destruction. He has sworn an oath not to use it in war, however. Asides from that, Undrad can boast fairly sound knowledge of Skyrim, having once travelled through it extensively, as well as being capable of defending himself against more mundane threats with his staff.
Weapons: An oak staff, nearly as tall as him, which looks ordinary at first glance. On closer inspection one would find that the whole staff is covered with Nordic runes, some apparently newly carved, others barely legible.
Armor: Undrad wears no armour, only a brown horsehair robe with a hood, similar enough to a monk’s habit for him to be constantly confused for one. What separates him from one in appearance is the fur scarf he wears over his mouth at all times.
Misc. Items: He carries a pouch that contains some modest supplies of food and water and a map of Skyrim. Around his neck Undrad wears an amulet of sorts – a rather ordinary looking small rock, taken from the top of Hrothgar as he was leaving.
History: Undrad was born in Solitude into minor nobility. At an early age it became apparent the boy was born able to use Thu’um; his father had him enter the Imperial College of the Voice in Markarth Side to further develop his abilities and learn how to use them for warfare. However, the College, well known in higher circles to be little else than an expensive parody of the art of Thu’um, proved dissatisfactory for Undrad; at the age of 19 he left, angering his father greatly, and took to travelling Skyrim as an adventurer. It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t ignore his increasingly potent Thu’um, however, as it began becoming a hindrance in everyday life. Remembering tales of the ancient Greybeards, Undrad climbed the seven thousand steps of High Hrothgar. This would be the beginning of his life in seclusion from the rest of Tamriel, seeking to attune himself to the voice of the sky.
The recent rumours of sightings of dragons reached not only the court of Whiterun; the Greybeards learned of this soon enough. Realizing the significance of this, they elected to send one of their order to the aid of the King, to find out whether these were truly the dragons whose appearance would signify the coming of Alduin the World-Eater. Undrad was the one they elected to send, and so, the aged Nord now waits in Riverwood for these dragon-hunters that have assembled in Whiterun.
Motivation For Aiding the King: He intends to seek out the dragons the rumours spoke of and bring a firsthand account back to Hrothgar so it can be decided whether the time of the prophecy is truly at hand.
Age: 64
Gender: Male
Race: Nord
Birthsign: The Serpent
Physical Description: When not hunched over, Undrad stands at 6’3, however he usually appears shorter than that. Hunching and the fact he rarely journeys anywhere without the support of his staff means he can give off the appearance of an ordinary old man, however if one looks at his aged face, it’s possible to spot a certain something that betrays he’s not exactly what he might appear to be. Though it is completely obscured below Undrad’s large, crooked nose by the scarf, his brown eyes can tell an observant person enough – though they look a bit dim, as though the light behind them was fading, their gaze is still deep and piercing. His brow, as suggested by the way he is referred to, is tall and by now wrinkled, like the rest of him. The Greybeard’s shoulder-length hair, once blonde, is now almost completely white. Numerous strands often drop on his face, obscuring some of his features.
Mental Description: A Greybeard, Undrad is obviously a very silent person, though that has a lot to do with reasons aside from the obvious. He prefers quiet contemplation over noise of almost any kind and can be easily annoyed by louder people. Decades spent atop High Hrothgar tuning himself to nature left him with a respect for it, though it didn’t help his social skills a lot – even if he rarely means ill, Undrad can nevertheless break a taboo of some sort while speaking with others without knowing it.
Class: Greybeard
Class Description: Undrad is one of the Greybeards, powerful Tongues who have sworn an oath not to use their Thu’um in combat as they seek to attune themselves to the voice of the sky. Before the reappearing of the Dragons he spent his days on top of High Hrothgar in silent contemplation.
Skills: His primary skill is, of course, the fearsome power of Thu’um, which he has developed over the years to the point where he, like all Greybeards, can no longer talk without causing destruction. He has sworn an oath not to use it in war, however. Asides from that, Undrad can boast fairly sound knowledge of Skyrim, having once travelled through it extensively, as well as being capable of defending himself against more mundane threats with his staff.
Weapons: An oak staff, nearly as tall as him, which looks ordinary at first glance. On closer inspection one would find that the whole staff is covered with Nordic runes, some apparently newly carved, others barely legible.
Armor: Undrad wears no armour, only a brown horsehair robe with a hood, similar enough to a monk’s habit for him to be constantly confused for one. What separates him from one in appearance is the fur scarf he wears over his mouth at all times.
Misc. Items: He carries a pouch that contains some modest supplies of food and water and a map of Skyrim. Around his neck Undrad wears an amulet of sorts – a rather ordinary looking small rock, taken from the top of Hrothgar as he was leaving.
History: Undrad was born in Solitude into minor nobility. At an early age it became apparent the boy was born able to use Thu’um; his father had him enter the Imperial College of the Voice in Markarth Side to further develop his abilities and learn how to use them for warfare. However, the College, well known in higher circles to be little else than an expensive parody of the art of Thu’um, proved dissatisfactory for Undrad; at the age of 19 he left, angering his father greatly, and took to travelling Skyrim as an adventurer. It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t ignore his increasingly potent Thu’um, however, as it began becoming a hindrance in everyday life. Remembering tales of the ancient Greybeards, Undrad climbed the seven thousand steps of High Hrothgar. This would be the beginning of his life in seclusion from the rest of Tamriel, seeking to attune himself to the voice of the sky.
The recent rumours of sightings of dragons reached not only the court of Whiterun; the Greybeards learned of this soon enough. Realizing the significance of this, they elected to send one of their order to the aid of the King, to find out whether these were truly the dragons whose appearance would signify the coming of Alduin the World-Eater. Undrad was the one they elected to send, and so, the aged Nord now waits in Riverwood for these dragon-hunters that have assembled in Whiterun.
Motivation For Aiding the King: He intends to seek out the dragons the rumours spoke of and bring a firsthand account back to Hrothgar so it can be decided whether the time of the prophecy is truly at hand.
Sannes Vallen
Spoiler
Name: Revis Cervin
Age: Appears 37(Actually around 250)
Gender: Male
Race: Bosmer
Birthsign:The Ritual
Physical Description: Revis is thin and short, only standing at about 5' 5", like most other Bosmer, with bright green eyes a thin face. His hair is a copper blonde and falls loosely around his shoulders. His skin has a deep tan from years on the coasts of Valenwood and the Summerset Isles.
Mental Description:Revis is, seemingly, desintesized to fear, which, knowing what horrors that exist within the deep Jungles of Valenwood, isn't surprising. He's naturally inquiring, but is fairly gruff, for a Bosmer. He bears dozens of tiny scars across his face, and his back and arms wear similar markings of struggle.
Class: Bosmeri Endblade
Class Description: The Endblades are the elites of Valenwood's Rangers, versed with various weapons and magical solutions to problems. The sole purpose of such rangers is to hunt down monstrosities that are seen to no longer be natural creatures. They are sent to kill such Abominations at the will of the loosely structured Valenwood High Royalty. They have likely killed something in every continent of Cyrodiil.
Skills: Archery, Hunting, Tracking, Alchemy, Bladework, Minor Magick's
Weapons: A dozen foot-long straight-edged silver Poniards in sheathes on his vest, for his original mission of slaying Werewolves, Two silver-edged shortaxes sheathed cross ways on the back of his belt, an Oaken Longbow with an ebony knuckleguard, along with three dozen arrows in a waist quiver, of both mundane, magical, and poisonous sorts, and a long-shafted pole-arm with an embossed silver spearhead, an axehead slightly below it, and curved up, reaving blades along the length of the reverse, for maximum injury upon impalement.
Armor: Thick, treated oaken plates over his torso, back, shoulders, forearms, thighs, and shins that have been cured not to burn under the hottest flame, nor break under all but the sternest assaults. The armor was designed with flexibility in mind, with only copper-banded leather filling the gaps. The armor, being wood, does have the advantage over metal of weighing much less than steel of similar volume, and allowing impacts to be absorbed into the armor without harming the user in cases of straightforward attack. Over the armor he wears a complex leather vest that holds his weaponry fast.
Misc. Items: A pack slung over his shoulder containing flasks of herbal medicines, invigorating serums, and potent bottled spells that release their energies when shattered, and are designed for a variety of purposes based on the users need. A flask of bottled flame can be lightly poured to start a fire or thrown for a violent flaming explosion, or even just uncorked and used as a heat source.
History: Revis was born in Valenwood in the great roving Graht-Oak capitol of Falinesti. He was trained as a ranger early in his life, and embarked upon many campaigns under the well-famed ranger Captain Sannes Vallen, direct relative to the Royal Family. After several years, he was inducted as an Endblade to combat first the Scourges of Black Marsh and the Summerset Coast, then later the Daedra threat. Few oblivion Gates opened in Valenwood, as it was far from an Ideal Target for the Daedra, and so he was given several dozen recruits and sent to fight in mainland Morrowind. Though they closed several gates in coordination with house Redoran's standing armies, but nonetheless, Morrowind was left in ruin. Revis spent the next 200 years traveling the continent, combating the horrors that came with the chaos. His latest mission was to Solstheim, to combat a growing threat of Lycanthrope's, but his mission quickly changed with the arrival of the Dragons to Skyrim.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Revis was originally sent to slay werewolves in Solstheim, but, after the return of the dragons, once his mission was completed, he knew that his duty as an Endblade would be to combat the threat by whatever means possible. He saw it prudent to pass up both a reward and powerful comrades and attempt the slayings himself, and so he is now here, in Whiterun.
Age: Appears 37(Actually around 250)
Gender: Male
Race: Bosmer
Birthsign:The Ritual
Physical Description: Revis is thin and short, only standing at about 5' 5", like most other Bosmer, with bright green eyes a thin face. His hair is a copper blonde and falls loosely around his shoulders. His skin has a deep tan from years on the coasts of Valenwood and the Summerset Isles.
Mental Description:Revis is, seemingly, desintesized to fear, which, knowing what horrors that exist within the deep Jungles of Valenwood, isn't surprising. He's naturally inquiring, but is fairly gruff, for a Bosmer. He bears dozens of tiny scars across his face, and his back and arms wear similar markings of struggle.
Class: Bosmeri Endblade
Class Description: The Endblades are the elites of Valenwood's Rangers, versed with various weapons and magical solutions to problems. The sole purpose of such rangers is to hunt down monstrosities that are seen to no longer be natural creatures. They are sent to kill such Abominations at the will of the loosely structured Valenwood High Royalty. They have likely killed something in every continent of Cyrodiil.
Skills: Archery, Hunting, Tracking, Alchemy, Bladework, Minor Magick's
Weapons: A dozen foot-long straight-edged silver Poniards in sheathes on his vest, for his original mission of slaying Werewolves, Two silver-edged shortaxes sheathed cross ways on the back of his belt, an Oaken Longbow with an ebony knuckleguard, along with three dozen arrows in a waist quiver, of both mundane, magical, and poisonous sorts, and a long-shafted pole-arm with an embossed silver spearhead, an axehead slightly below it, and curved up, reaving blades along the length of the reverse, for maximum injury upon impalement.
Armor: Thick, treated oaken plates over his torso, back, shoulders, forearms, thighs, and shins that have been cured not to burn under the hottest flame, nor break under all but the sternest assaults. The armor was designed with flexibility in mind, with only copper-banded leather filling the gaps. The armor, being wood, does have the advantage over metal of weighing much less than steel of similar volume, and allowing impacts to be absorbed into the armor without harming the user in cases of straightforward attack. Over the armor he wears a complex leather vest that holds his weaponry fast.
Misc. Items: A pack slung over his shoulder containing flasks of herbal medicines, invigorating serums, and potent bottled spells that release their energies when shattered, and are designed for a variety of purposes based on the users need. A flask of bottled flame can be lightly poured to start a fire or thrown for a violent flaming explosion, or even just uncorked and used as a heat source.
History: Revis was born in Valenwood in the great roving Graht-Oak capitol of Falinesti. He was trained as a ranger early in his life, and embarked upon many campaigns under the well-famed ranger Captain Sannes Vallen, direct relative to the Royal Family. After several years, he was inducted as an Endblade to combat first the Scourges of Black Marsh and the Summerset Coast, then later the Daedra threat. Few oblivion Gates opened in Valenwood, as it was far from an Ideal Target for the Daedra, and so he was given several dozen recruits and sent to fight in mainland Morrowind. Though they closed several gates in coordination with house Redoran's standing armies, but nonetheless, Morrowind was left in ruin. Revis spent the next 200 years traveling the continent, combating the horrors that came with the chaos. His latest mission was to Solstheim, to combat a growing threat of Lycanthrope's, but his mission quickly changed with the arrival of the Dragons to Skyrim.
Motivation For Aiding the King: Revis was originally sent to slay werewolves in Solstheim, but, after the return of the dragons, once his mission was completed, he knew that his duty as an Endblade would be to combat the threat by whatever means possible. He saw it prudent to pass up both a reward and powerful comrades and attempt the slayings himself, and so he is now here, in Whiterun.
Scow2
Spoiler
Name: Sir Davian Hawkstar the Welostcounteenth.
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Race: Old-school Breton
Birthsign: The Lady
Physical Description: Davian Hawkstar's build is heroic, if not outright Herculenean. Broad shouldered, and practically muscular, he carries himself with a pride that borders on arrogance. His face is surprisingly light, weathered through past attempts at being awesome.
Mental Description: The eagerness to engage in combat, combined with his lack of an indoor voice lead some to believe he's at least somewhat axe-crazy. Whether that's true or not is up to debate, but he's consistantly honorable and loyal. It's the thrill of combat and desire for the fame that comes from being awesome that drives him, not the act of killing. He holds himself to a strict standard of behavior, though it does not exclude all annoying activities. (Classic Alignment: Lawful Good)
Class: Knight/Walking Arsenal.
Class Description: He's a Brother of Daggerfall's Knightly Order of the Dragon, who happens to be very diverse in his weapon proficiencies and combat styles.
Skills: Davian Hawkstar is trained and highly skilled with all weapons and armors including his own body and the environment, having learned the martial arts from his father and grandfater, and from studying the codex of the entire Hawkstar line. His broad range of proficiencies also means he can pick up unfamiliar weapons and figure out ways to use them effectively (If not always optimally) quickly. He is also skilled in fighting with sword-and-board, two weapons, and two-handed weaponry, in addition to Classic Longbow training. However, his focus on such a broad range of weapons means he can't claim mastery of any one weapon or style, save for mastery of combining the various weapons and styles to devastating effect. He's also lacking in social skills, and mathematical and language arts.
Somewhere along the line, he's developed an uncanny ability to emulate snow/skate/sail/surf-boarding.
(Pending Skill: Proficiency in Destruction magic, from a Correspondance course offered as an outreach program from the Mage's Guild of High Rock. Nothing really powerful: Just fireballs and lightning)
Weapons: He carries a versatile arsenal: a Yew Longbow and Quiver of 20 arrows on his back, crossed by an expertly crafted Steel Claymore, not a single notch in its blade. A waraxe crafted by irreplicable Aldmeri processes at his left side, its exotic, lightweight design proof that even simple weapons can be as elegant as they are deadly, and a simple silver-plated shortsword hangs opposite it. On his left shoulder, he wears a steel kite shield.
Armor: All his armor is a combination of steel and mithral, with some Ebony worked in: over his chest, he wears asteel briastplate with a skirt of scale-like plates protecting his waist and thighs, while greaves over a chausses protects the rest of his legs, leading to simple sabatons over his feet. A classic barbute protects his head, while a full set of Pauldrons, vambraces, rebraces, and plate-reinforced chain gauntlets protect his arms and hands. Of course, no suit of men's armor is complete without a steel codpiece. Over his armor, he wears a bright crimson tabard (it may not be good for his health) prominently displaying his heraldic icon: A white gryphon over a red-and-gold Shield.
Misc. Items: A few changes of clothes, and an armor/weapon maintenance kit in a pack.
History: Davian Hawkstar can trace his house back to before the Warp in the West, and his name is a relic of those times before Bretons adopted silly names. Davian Hawkstar the First, a friend of the Empire and alleged agent of the Blades started the family line by joining Daggerfall's Order of the Dragon, and established himself as a noble by reclaiming the ruins of an ancient estate that bore his surname by killing, destroying, and driving out the assorted Giants, Harpies, Centaur, Undead, brigands, Orcs, Spriggans, Gryphons, Slaughterfish, and Daedra infesting the labyrinthine halls and catacombs. He forgot the reason he was sent to High Rock in the first place, and missed an important meeting. Since then, the house has had a legacy of Glory-seeking, martial aptitute, bravado, and politics through asskicking.
Every other noble who's ever had to deal with him, his father, or has a direct ancestor who's ever dealt with one of his direct ancestors, are glad he's out trying to get himself spectacularly killed instead of performing his duties as a lord such as attending councils and other courtly matters. However, their plots to prevent him from attending every single feast and tournament held in High Rock have all been foiled so far.
This generation's Davian Hawkstar is not fundamentally different than any of his predecessors, and has spent his life amassing a personal fortune and armory through crawling dungeons, fighting in tournaments, and surviving the craziest circumstances against tremendous odds (Betting on himself every time). Now that there's a dragon to kill, he's jumping on the opportunity to get his name in history books.
[The reason for the Xerox naming the house uses: At some point in the future, people will lose the distinctions between generations, and it will look like one person achieved all the deeds throughout the ages]
Motivation For Aiding the King: He seeks fame, glory, and the thrill of defeating such an awesome foe.
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Race: Old-school Breton
Birthsign: The Lady
Physical Description: Davian Hawkstar's build is heroic, if not outright Herculenean. Broad shouldered, and practically muscular, he carries himself with a pride that borders on arrogance. His face is surprisingly light, weathered through past attempts at being awesome.
Mental Description: The eagerness to engage in combat, combined with his lack of an indoor voice lead some to believe he's at least somewhat axe-crazy. Whether that's true or not is up to debate, but he's consistantly honorable and loyal. It's the thrill of combat and desire for the fame that comes from being awesome that drives him, not the act of killing. He holds himself to a strict standard of behavior, though it does not exclude all annoying activities. (Classic Alignment: Lawful Good)
Class: Knight/Walking Arsenal.
Class Description: He's a Brother of Daggerfall's Knightly Order of the Dragon, who happens to be very diverse in his weapon proficiencies and combat styles.
Skills: Davian Hawkstar is trained and highly skilled with all weapons and armors including his own body and the environment, having learned the martial arts from his father and grandfater, and from studying the codex of the entire Hawkstar line. His broad range of proficiencies also means he can pick up unfamiliar weapons and figure out ways to use them effectively (If not always optimally) quickly. He is also skilled in fighting with sword-and-board, two weapons, and two-handed weaponry, in addition to Classic Longbow training. However, his focus on such a broad range of weapons means he can't claim mastery of any one weapon or style, save for mastery of combining the various weapons and styles to devastating effect. He's also lacking in social skills, and mathematical and language arts.
Somewhere along the line, he's developed an uncanny ability to emulate snow/skate/sail/surf-boarding.
(Pending Skill: Proficiency in Destruction magic, from a Correspondance course offered as an outreach program from the Mage's Guild of High Rock. Nothing really powerful: Just fireballs and lightning)
Weapons: He carries a versatile arsenal: a Yew Longbow and Quiver of 20 arrows on his back, crossed by an expertly crafted Steel Claymore, not a single notch in its blade. A waraxe crafted by irreplicable Aldmeri processes at his left side, its exotic, lightweight design proof that even simple weapons can be as elegant as they are deadly, and a simple silver-plated shortsword hangs opposite it. On his left shoulder, he wears a steel kite shield.
Armor: All his armor is a combination of steel and mithral, with some Ebony worked in: over his chest, he wears asteel briastplate with a skirt of scale-like plates protecting his waist and thighs, while greaves over a chausses protects the rest of his legs, leading to simple sabatons over his feet. A classic barbute protects his head, while a full set of Pauldrons, vambraces, rebraces, and plate-reinforced chain gauntlets protect his arms and hands. Of course, no suit of men's armor is complete without a steel codpiece. Over his armor, he wears a bright crimson tabard (it may not be good for his health) prominently displaying his heraldic icon: A white gryphon over a red-and-gold Shield.
Misc. Items: A few changes of clothes, and an armor/weapon maintenance kit in a pack.
History: Davian Hawkstar can trace his house back to before the Warp in the West, and his name is a relic of those times before Bretons adopted silly names. Davian Hawkstar the First, a friend of the Empire and alleged agent of the Blades started the family line by joining Daggerfall's Order of the Dragon, and established himself as a noble by reclaiming the ruins of an ancient estate that bore his surname by killing, destroying, and driving out the assorted Giants, Harpies, Centaur, Undead, brigands, Orcs, Spriggans, Gryphons, Slaughterfish, and Daedra infesting the labyrinthine halls and catacombs. He forgot the reason he was sent to High Rock in the first place, and missed an important meeting. Since then, the house has had a legacy of Glory-seeking, martial aptitute, bravado, and politics through asskicking.
Every other noble who's ever had to deal with him, his father, or has a direct ancestor who's ever dealt with one of his direct ancestors, are glad he's out trying to get himself spectacularly killed instead of performing his duties as a lord such as attending councils and other courtly matters. However, their plots to prevent him from attending every single feast and tournament held in High Rock have all been foiled so far.
This generation's Davian Hawkstar is not fundamentally different than any of his predecessors, and has spent his life amassing a personal fortune and armory through crawling dungeons, fighting in tournaments, and surviving the craziest circumstances against tremendous odds (Betting on himself every time). Now that there's a dragon to kill, he's jumping on the opportunity to get his name in history books.
[The reason for the Xerox naming the house uses: At some point in the future, people will lose the distinctions between generations, and it will look like one person achieved all the deeds throughout the ages]
Motivation For Aiding the King: He seeks fame, glory, and the thrill of defeating such an awesome foe.
Tanvar
Spoiler
Name: Kordin The Furious
Age: 56 (Approximately 28 to the eye)
Gender: Male
Race: Nord/Dunmer
Birthsign: The Steed
Physical Description: http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Persona.jpg's body reflects much of both his parent's races. His mother, a dunmer, has passed on to him a tall and slender body shape, as well as fiery red hair that holds no curls or waves. From his father, Kordin was bestowed with pale skin, a heavy set of muscles, and a deep and powerful voice. Kordin's face shows many scars, the largest of which runs from the middle of his forehead to his right cheek. This was received when he was young when an older boy decided it would be fun to heave a large, jagged at rock at his face. The rock cut his face deeply, and left him with a rather prominent scar. Three burn scars mark the middle of his chin, and his jawline aligned with the corners of his mouth. These burns symbolize the claws of the dragons he is destined to battle.
Mental Description: Kordin is a man of few words, the reason seems to be merely that he has a hard time connecting with others. While the average man has lived an average life, Kordin's life of harsh treatment and general lack of willingness to associate with others drives him away from the rest of the pack. In absence of spending time with others, Kordin spends much of his time reading. Thanks to the expanse of literature that he has gone through, he has an expansive knowledge of the realm, it's people, their faiths, and all other kinds of general knowledge that one can learn from books.
Class: Dragoon
Class Description: To be a Dragoon is to be a warrior of the dragon. It takes several years to be trained to battle dragons. A Dragoon is able to leap several times their own height, to run like the wild winds, and their strength is unmatched by all but the most powerful warriors. The fire of a dragon's breath flows from their fingertips and threatens to make ashes of anything that stands in their way.
Skills: Can perform incredible feats of strength and speed, such as leaping several feet into the air or lifting objects far beyond his own weight. Heightened reflexes, ability to use unconventially lengthy weapons, and powerful fire magic.
Weapons: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Spear.jpg, measuring nearly eight feet long, six of which make up the pole, the rest is the long blade fashioned from black steel.
Armor: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Armor.jpg fashioned to mimic the scales of a dragon, the boots of which are enchanted to further enhance his leaping and bounding abilities. He wears a http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Helmet.jpg, and often tends to look at a downward angle so that the brim of his helmet covers the large scar next to his eye.
Misc. Items: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Pendant.jpg, stained red with his own blood.
History: Kordin never knew much of his parents. His mother died after his birth, and his father did his best to raise him alone, but he was stricken by illness and also perished. Knowing that he would die as well if he stayed in his home out in the forests of Skyrim, Kordin set out alone at the young age of six years old. He didn't make it far, as he knew of no way to navigate the woods, and his body could not stand the intense cold. Within a few hours away from home, Kordin had become lost and weary, his frozen body could not bear to move, and his tired mind could stay awake no longer. The next time he awoke, Kordin found himself in a dark room, sparse amounts of small torches hung on the wall were the only bright things to be seen. This place was known as the Temple of Dragonfire. He had been rescued by a group of solemn Dunmer men who had been training their strength in the solitude of Skyrim's dense woods. The strange men could see their own kind of blood within Kordin, and the nordic fire in his heart made him a prime cantidate to begin training as a Dragoon with the rest of the men. And so began the next several years of his life, filled with grueling excersize and battle training. Fifty years later, he left the Temple after learning of the dragons that were advancing into Skyrim, and such has brought him to Whiterun, upon the summons of the king.
Motivation For Aiding the King: It is the duty of a Dragoon to defend the realm from the threat of dragons.
Age: 56 (Approximately 28 to the eye)
Gender: Male
Race: Nord/Dunmer
Birthsign: The Steed
Physical Description: http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Persona.jpg's body reflects much of both his parent's races. His mother, a dunmer, has passed on to him a tall and slender body shape, as well as fiery red hair that holds no curls or waves. From his father, Kordin was bestowed with pale skin, a heavy set of muscles, and a deep and powerful voice. Kordin's face shows many scars, the largest of which runs from the middle of his forehead to his right cheek. This was received when he was young when an older boy decided it would be fun to heave a large, jagged at rock at his face. The rock cut his face deeply, and left him with a rather prominent scar. Three burn scars mark the middle of his chin, and his jawline aligned with the corners of his mouth. These burns symbolize the claws of the dragons he is destined to battle.
Mental Description: Kordin is a man of few words, the reason seems to be merely that he has a hard time connecting with others. While the average man has lived an average life, Kordin's life of harsh treatment and general lack of willingness to associate with others drives him away from the rest of the pack. In absence of spending time with others, Kordin spends much of his time reading. Thanks to the expanse of literature that he has gone through, he has an expansive knowledge of the realm, it's people, their faiths, and all other kinds of general knowledge that one can learn from books.
Class: Dragoon
Class Description: To be a Dragoon is to be a warrior of the dragon. It takes several years to be trained to battle dragons. A Dragoon is able to leap several times their own height, to run like the wild winds, and their strength is unmatched by all but the most powerful warriors. The fire of a dragon's breath flows from their fingertips and threatens to make ashes of anything that stands in their way.
Skills: Can perform incredible feats of strength and speed, such as leaping several feet into the air or lifting objects far beyond his own weight. Heightened reflexes, ability to use unconventially lengthy weapons, and powerful fire magic.
Weapons: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Spear.jpg, measuring nearly eight feet long, six of which make up the pole, the rest is the long blade fashioned from black steel.
Armor: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Armor.jpg fashioned to mimic the scales of a dragon, the boots of which are enchanted to further enhance his leaping and bounding abilities. He wears a http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Helmet.jpg, and often tends to look at a downward angle so that the brim of his helmet covers the large scar next to his eye.
Misc. Items: A http://i31.photobucket.com/albums/c382/jimsocom/Roleplaying%20Characters/Pendant.jpg, stained red with his own blood.
History: Kordin never knew much of his parents. His mother died after his birth, and his father did his best to raise him alone, but he was stricken by illness and also perished. Knowing that he would die as well if he stayed in his home out in the forests of Skyrim, Kordin set out alone at the young age of six years old. He didn't make it far, as he knew of no way to navigate the woods, and his body could not stand the intense cold. Within a few hours away from home, Kordin had become lost and weary, his frozen body could not bear to move, and his tired mind could stay awake no longer. The next time he awoke, Kordin found himself in a dark room, sparse amounts of small torches hung on the wall were the only bright things to be seen. This place was known as the Temple of Dragonfire. He had been rescued by a group of solemn Dunmer men who had been training their strength in the solitude of Skyrim's dense woods. The strange men could see their own kind of blood within Kordin, and the nordic fire in his heart made him a prime cantidate to begin training as a Dragoon with the rest of the men. And so began the next several years of his life, filled with grueling excersize and battle training. Fifty years later, he left the Temple after learning of the dragons that were advancing into Skyrim, and such has brought him to Whiterun, upon the summons of the king.
Motivation For Aiding the King: It is the duty of a Dragoon to defend the realm from the threat of dragons.
Tamira
Spoiler
Name: Tariq
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit (Ohmes-raht)
Birthsign: The Atronach
Physical Description: A rather slim yet average individual as far as height is concerned, he’s physically fit for a Khajiit of his breed. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of striped fur up to his neck bearing a sandy-tan hue. Tariq’s face is handsome and overall human at least from a far but on closer inspections any mannish or indeed merish trait seems to disappear behind alien features. He sports a feline-nose, cat-like ears, and the same ‘carnivore’ dental features of his more feline brethren, their clawed hands and feet despite his overall body physiology remaining human, beyond the fact that he sports quite a long furry tail. His eyes are yellow green in colour, but with a black sclera and the slitted pupils of his feline race, his hair or mane if you will is dark brown falling down to around shoulder’s length often quite wiry and unkempt.
Mental Description: A patient, yet cold and calculating individual, almost to the point of coming off as an emotionless stoic. He’s morally ambiguous; not really shying from any nefarious actions if it means the completion of a goal, to him the ends often than not /do/ justify the means; he’ll opt to burn a town to the ground if it’ll purge it of a curse. But he’s not without a personal honor code even if his morals are often the point of question; like he wouldn’t slay a monster if the creature displayed a high degree of self-awareness border lining that of ‘humans’ and thusly can speak for its own innocence. Or if he has any suspicion that a witch or necromancer has been wrongfully accused; regardless of the reward in question. Tariq is quite philosophical on the aspects of good and evil; believing them to be constructed concepts with little basis in how the real world actually functions.
Class: Witchhunter
Class Description: Witchhunters are dedicated to rooting out and destroying the perverted practices of dark cults, profane sorcery, and monsters. They train for martial, magical, and stealthy war against vampires, lycanthropes, liches, witches, warlocks, and necromancers.
Skills:
Mundane:
Stealth: Can move with almost complete silence, blend into shadows, and keep out of sight, a skill honed after tracking prey across the deserts of his homeland.
Survivalism/Tracking: Can thrive in a harsh wilderness environment, a good eye on concern with his surroundings able to trace and movements of creatures. Another skill derived from his desert life.
Athletics/Acrobatics: A long distance endurance runner, and an excellent, agile climber.
Archery: An experienced and seasoned archer; a sniper/sharpshooter.
Magical:
Overall use: Due to his birthsign he is unable to regenerate magicka on his own, not even sleeping helps making him almost wholly dependent on the aid of potions or other means, apart from his peculiar ability of at times absorbing spells thrown at him. The more magicka he use at a given time the more his fatigue will drain; so he can’t exhaust his entire magicka pool in one sitting without risking unconsciousness, coma, or depending on the circumstance and overall physical health; death.
Conjuration: His main spell focus revolves around this school, perhaps odd for someone that usually hunts and kills conjurers but he does not use it for summoning of daedra or undead. He focuses primarily on Turning/Banishing Undead/Daedra; giving him the ability to either make undead/daedric enemies flee or depending on how much magicka he utilize he’ll destroy/banish them. Another spell which more due its nature than application falls under this school is unique to him alone acquired through a pact he was forced/tricked to make with a Daedra Prince. The ability to summon a powerful weapon; that looks like a hybrid between a sword, spear, and a staff, the spell does not utilize magicka for summoning rather it’s materialization is triggered by will alone making the weapon permanent until Tariq banishes it, unfortunately every time the weapon is summoned a small part of Tariq’s soul is lost to the weapon eventually through repeated summoning the weapon will claim his life.
Mysticism: Serves primarily as a secondary school to the Witchhunter; relying on Dispels to remove magical effects of hostile mages. The amount of magicka used determines the spells power; from removing just one or two effects, to completely purging the magician of any affected spells. Another spell he utilizes is Telekinesis; ability to manipulate the physical world at a distance, the size and weight of the object; be a rock or even another person determines how much magicka be burns when moving it.
Alchemy/Enchant: Alchemy is downright vital to Tariq’s survival in his profession; everything from poisons that harm specific monsters, to highly effective cures, restorations, or enhancements comes from this school. Enchant on the other hand makes the Khajiit able to recognize enchanted objects and quickly learning either how to use and manipulate them, to turning them off, or even how to destroy them. He can’t make enchanted objects himself however.
Weapons: As far as visible mundane weapons go Tariq carry a yew-based composite bow, and a quiver with about 30-35 bodkin arrows. He’s also able to summon a powerful weapon which carries a terrible price, Tzhiazi he has named it.
Armor: He’s very lightly armored trusting his life more to agility and speed rather than a brick wall. Clad in a wolf fur cuirass, boots and gauntlets, the rest of his attire consists of insulated wool cloth.
Misc. Items: A dark grey cloak draqed over his shoulders, a pack slung over his shoulder holding potions, empty vials, herbs and grasses as well as a mortar and pestle. Plus a coin purse tried to girdle.
History: Tariq’s past is not something he openly discuss much less willingly reveal unless he feels the other person really deserves to know about it and only then if it would serve some sort of purpose. Otherwise he finds the tale to be waste in telling, and he quite frankly has more important things to do; The Ohmes-raht Khajiit’s life started out just like that of almost just about any other Khajiit kitten that came before him and very likely the countless that would follow. He was born to a single mother; a Suthay-raht named Sirasha, and of a father that remains unknown. He hails from the northern deserts and grasslands of Elsweyr, born into one of the many nomadic tribes that traverse that stretch of land. His childhood was relativity peaceful considering the political climate of other places on Tamriel.
Discovering his potential for magic at an early age Tariq was quick to put his talent to good use to help his mother in her daily tasks. After his mother passed away from an illness the young Khajiit set himself up as a mercenary at first but finding that serving in some alien army at the whim of a foreign lord was not something he felt suited his skills. He wanted action yet at same time a great reward following it, along with some minuscule amount of fame naturally. Coming to terms that his innate abilities would make him prevail better against enemy mages and other conjurers the Khajiit slowly but surely drifted towards specializing in actively hunting not just profane mages, but also vampires, lycanthropes, liches and other nefarious monsters that the common adventurer rarely went up against; becoming a Witchhunter, but beyond simply hunting and killing these creatures he also sometimes found ways to break the curses so often associated with them and caused by them.
Motivation for Aiding the King: The reward itself plain and simple, he has little interest in playing the hero or doing the people a favor.
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit (Ohmes-raht)
Birthsign: The Atronach
Physical Description: A rather slim yet average individual as far as height is concerned, he’s physically fit for a Khajiit of his breed. His entire body is covered in a thin layer of striped fur up to his neck bearing a sandy-tan hue. Tariq’s face is handsome and overall human at least from a far but on closer inspections any mannish or indeed merish trait seems to disappear behind alien features. He sports a feline-nose, cat-like ears, and the same ‘carnivore’ dental features of his more feline brethren, their clawed hands and feet despite his overall body physiology remaining human, beyond the fact that he sports quite a long furry tail. His eyes are yellow green in colour, but with a black sclera and the slitted pupils of his feline race, his hair or mane if you will is dark brown falling down to around shoulder’s length often quite wiry and unkempt.
Mental Description: A patient, yet cold and calculating individual, almost to the point of coming off as an emotionless stoic. He’s morally ambiguous; not really shying from any nefarious actions if it means the completion of a goal, to him the ends often than not /do/ justify the means; he’ll opt to burn a town to the ground if it’ll purge it of a curse. But he’s not without a personal honor code even if his morals are often the point of question; like he wouldn’t slay a monster if the creature displayed a high degree of self-awareness border lining that of ‘humans’ and thusly can speak for its own innocence. Or if he has any suspicion that a witch or necromancer has been wrongfully accused; regardless of the reward in question. Tariq is quite philosophical on the aspects of good and evil; believing them to be constructed concepts with little basis in how the real world actually functions.
Class: Witchhunter
Class Description: Witchhunters are dedicated to rooting out and destroying the perverted practices of dark cults, profane sorcery, and monsters. They train for martial, magical, and stealthy war against vampires, lycanthropes, liches, witches, warlocks, and necromancers.
Skills:
Mundane:
Stealth: Can move with almost complete silence, blend into shadows, and keep out of sight, a skill honed after tracking prey across the deserts of his homeland.
Survivalism/Tracking: Can thrive in a harsh wilderness environment, a good eye on concern with his surroundings able to trace and movements of creatures. Another skill derived from his desert life.
Athletics/Acrobatics: A long distance endurance runner, and an excellent, agile climber.
Archery: An experienced and seasoned archer; a sniper/sharpshooter.
Magical:
Overall use: Due to his birthsign he is unable to regenerate magicka on his own, not even sleeping helps making him almost wholly dependent on the aid of potions or other means, apart from his peculiar ability of at times absorbing spells thrown at him. The more magicka he use at a given time the more his fatigue will drain; so he can’t exhaust his entire magicka pool in one sitting without risking unconsciousness, coma, or depending on the circumstance and overall physical health; death.
Conjuration: His main spell focus revolves around this school, perhaps odd for someone that usually hunts and kills conjurers but he does not use it for summoning of daedra or undead. He focuses primarily on Turning/Banishing Undead/Daedra; giving him the ability to either make undead/daedric enemies flee or depending on how much magicka he utilize he’ll destroy/banish them. Another spell which more due its nature than application falls under this school is unique to him alone acquired through a pact he was forced/tricked to make with a Daedra Prince. The ability to summon a powerful weapon; that looks like a hybrid between a sword, spear, and a staff, the spell does not utilize magicka for summoning rather it’s materialization is triggered by will alone making the weapon permanent until Tariq banishes it, unfortunately every time the weapon is summoned a small part of Tariq’s soul is lost to the weapon eventually through repeated summoning the weapon will claim his life.
Mysticism: Serves primarily as a secondary school to the Witchhunter; relying on Dispels to remove magical effects of hostile mages. The amount of magicka used determines the spells power; from removing just one or two effects, to completely purging the magician of any affected spells. Another spell he utilizes is Telekinesis; ability to manipulate the physical world at a distance, the size and weight of the object; be a rock or even another person determines how much magicka be burns when moving it.
Alchemy/Enchant: Alchemy is downright vital to Tariq’s survival in his profession; everything from poisons that harm specific monsters, to highly effective cures, restorations, or enhancements comes from this school. Enchant on the other hand makes the Khajiit able to recognize enchanted objects and quickly learning either how to use and manipulate them, to turning them off, or even how to destroy them. He can’t make enchanted objects himself however.
Weapons: As far as visible mundane weapons go Tariq carry a yew-based composite bow, and a quiver with about 30-35 bodkin arrows. He’s also able to summon a powerful weapon which carries a terrible price, Tzhiazi he has named it.
Armor: He’s very lightly armored trusting his life more to agility and speed rather than a brick wall. Clad in a wolf fur cuirass, boots and gauntlets, the rest of his attire consists of insulated wool cloth.
Misc. Items: A dark grey cloak draqed over his shoulders, a pack slung over his shoulder holding potions, empty vials, herbs and grasses as well as a mortar and pestle. Plus a coin purse tried to girdle.
History: Tariq’s past is not something he openly discuss much less willingly reveal unless he feels the other person really deserves to know about it and only then if it would serve some sort of purpose. Otherwise he finds the tale to be waste in telling, and he quite frankly has more important things to do; The Ohmes-raht Khajiit’s life started out just like that of almost just about any other Khajiit kitten that came before him and very likely the countless that would follow. He was born to a single mother; a Suthay-raht named Sirasha, and of a father that remains unknown. He hails from the northern deserts and grasslands of Elsweyr, born into one of the many nomadic tribes that traverse that stretch of land. His childhood was relativity peaceful considering the political climate of other places on Tamriel.
Discovering his potential for magic at an early age Tariq was quick to put his talent to good use to help his mother in her daily tasks. After his mother passed away from an illness the young Khajiit set himself up as a mercenary at first but finding that serving in some alien army at the whim of a foreign lord was not something he felt suited his skills. He wanted action yet at same time a great reward following it, along with some minuscule amount of fame naturally. Coming to terms that his innate abilities would make him prevail better against enemy mages and other conjurers the Khajiit slowly but surely drifted towards specializing in actively hunting not just profane mages, but also vampires, lycanthropes, liches and other nefarious monsters that the common adventurer rarely went up against; becoming a Witchhunter, but beyond simply hunting and killing these creatures he also sometimes found ways to break the curses so often associated with them and caused by them.
Motivation for Aiding the King: The reward itself plain and simple, he has little interest in playing the hero or doing the people a favor.
Uglius Maximus
Spoiler
Name: Xerca Valeci
Age: 89, looks 40.
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Birthsign: The Steed
Physical Description: Physically, Xerca is like many dunmer, he's 6 feet tall, red eyed with gaunt features. His hair is short and jet black and like many dunmer, has a facial tattoo. Xerca's facial tattoo is that of an orange flame, setting a deep contrast to his dark skin. Unlike some, he's not particularly strong, athletic would be the best term to describe him. He has another tattoo, in the form of a word written on his arm, the letters are in bright blue and read, "Valeci".
Mental Description: Being a mage, Xerca has had to overcome his fear through critical anolysis. He has come to anolyze a situation and deal with it using logic and knowledge. However, he has very little combat experience and still buckles with fear at the best of times. When he isn't researching or practicing a spell, Xerca is light hearted and friendly.
Class: Destruction Mage
Class Description: A destruction mage is a mage who specializes in target spells, normally spells which are aggressive in nature. This means that this particular mage has no real ability with healing nor defensive spells.
Skills: Destruction (Sound, Light, Fire, Frost & shock), Illusion (Paralyze, Silence, calm and light), Alchemy, Athletics & acrobatics.
Weapons: A wooden staff with a silver made bear head on the top of. In the staff, the letters "Valeci - Ad serviendum ac protegendum".
Armor: A brown traveling robe with hard leather boots. He also has a pair of fur gloves and a matching fur hat.
Misc. Items: He has a pair of cotton trousers, a shirt and a spare pair of boots in a rucksack. He also carries several books, bedding, healing scrolls and alchemical ingredients with him.
History: Xerca was born into the Valeci family estate. A large building in the elven gardens district of the Imperial City. The family was well known there and are famous for their private college in Morrowind which taught the arcane and melee arts.
Xerca hated his early childhood, he despised being in a strict environment and when he was sent off to the Valeci college or magical arts, he was overjoyed. It was here in this college that he finally met his brother, Allyn. Like Xerca, Allyn was in the arcane campus on the college and both became good friends.
It wasn't at first obvious to Xerca, but Allyn was a far better mage. And the family rewarded him for it. Xerca began to find himself becoming jealous of his older brother, oftentimes he would be put into a fit of rage after overhearing a conversation about Allyn and how great he was.
However, Allyn took ill and was killed a few years after Xerca had entered the college. The family was devastated and now looked to Xerca to live up to Allyns standards. It was hard at first but after staying motivated about his studies, he began to excel at his chosen arts and he started to become noticed by his family. Xerca eventually left the college with the skill and confidence he required to continue to live up to Allyns standards and make his parents and family proud. To that end, he has tried to take on challenging tasks from a whole range of guilds to prove his mettle and his usefulness as both a scholar and a mage.
Motivation For Aiding the King: To prove himself and play a prominent role in defending the world.
Age: 89, looks 40.
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Birthsign: The Steed
Physical Description: Physically, Xerca is like many dunmer, he's 6 feet tall, red eyed with gaunt features. His hair is short and jet black and like many dunmer, has a facial tattoo. Xerca's facial tattoo is that of an orange flame, setting a deep contrast to his dark skin. Unlike some, he's not particularly strong, athletic would be the best term to describe him. He has another tattoo, in the form of a word written on his arm, the letters are in bright blue and read, "Valeci".
Mental Description: Being a mage, Xerca has had to overcome his fear through critical anolysis. He has come to anolyze a situation and deal with it using logic and knowledge. However, he has very little combat experience and still buckles with fear at the best of times. When he isn't researching or practicing a spell, Xerca is light hearted and friendly.
Class: Destruction Mage
Class Description: A destruction mage is a mage who specializes in target spells, normally spells which are aggressive in nature. This means that this particular mage has no real ability with healing nor defensive spells.
Skills: Destruction (Sound, Light, Fire, Frost & shock), Illusion (Paralyze, Silence, calm and light), Alchemy, Athletics & acrobatics.
Weapons: A wooden staff with a silver made bear head on the top of. In the staff, the letters "Valeci - Ad serviendum ac protegendum".
Armor: A brown traveling robe with hard leather boots. He also has a pair of fur gloves and a matching fur hat.
Misc. Items: He has a pair of cotton trousers, a shirt and a spare pair of boots in a rucksack. He also carries several books, bedding, healing scrolls and alchemical ingredients with him.
History: Xerca was born into the Valeci family estate. A large building in the elven gardens district of the Imperial City. The family was well known there and are famous for their private college in Morrowind which taught the arcane and melee arts.
Xerca hated his early childhood, he despised being in a strict environment and when he was sent off to the Valeci college or magical arts, he was overjoyed. It was here in this college that he finally met his brother, Allyn. Like Xerca, Allyn was in the arcane campus on the college and both became good friends.
It wasn't at first obvious to Xerca, but Allyn was a far better mage. And the family rewarded him for it. Xerca began to find himself becoming jealous of his older brother, oftentimes he would be put into a fit of rage after overhearing a conversation about Allyn and how great he was.
However, Allyn took ill and was killed a few years after Xerca had entered the college. The family was devastated and now looked to Xerca to live up to Allyns standards. It was hard at first but after staying motivated about his studies, he began to excel at his chosen arts and he started to become noticed by his family. Xerca eventually left the college with the skill and confidence he required to continue to live up to Allyns standards and make his parents and family proud. To that end, he has tried to take on challenging tasks from a whole range of guilds to prove his mettle and his usefulness as both a scholar and a mage.
Motivation For Aiding the King: To prove himself and play a prominent role in defending the world.
Need to post:
Woolymammoth
Recent Events:
The heroes met at the King's Hall in Whiterun. Kordin the Furious, Gih-Me, Drathyn Verethi, Senes Varvun, and Auelenne were all assigned to travel to Riverwood to meet a greybeard noble. Kordin was given the responsibility of leading the group. Davian Hawkstar, Jarn Imgarth, Revis Cervin, and Tariq were put under the leadership of Xerca Valeci. They were assigned to travel to Laintar Dale to meet Lord Bjordi Bear-Tooth, where more who were called to hunt the dragons would hopefully await them.
Groups
Group A:
Location: Riverwood Governor's Hall
Personnel:
1. Kordin the Furious (Leader, Nordic-Dunmer Dragoon) (Tanvar)
3. Drathyn Verethi (Dunmer Ranger) (A_sapp)
4. Senes Varvun (Dunmer Orinator [former]) (Broken-Scale)
5. Auelenne (Altmer assassin) (dagoth_jeff)
6. Undrad Tall-Brow (Nordic Greybeard) (Person From Anticlere)
7. Cassius (Imperial Nobleman) (Chriso123)
Current Objective: Speak to an agent in the Governor's Hall in Riverwood for information on the last convoy to go north of the city, as well as the recent dragon sightings to accompany the convoy's disappearance.
Group B:
Location: Laintar Dale Lord's Hall
Personnel:
1. Xerca Valeci (Leader, Dunmer Destruction Mage) (Uglius_Maximus)
2. Davian Hawkstar (Bretic Knight) (Scow2)
3. Jarn Imgarth (Nordic Warrior) (foxy)
4. Revis Cervin (Bosmer Endblade) (Sannes Vallen)
5. Tariq (Khajiit Witch hunter) (Tamira)
6. Elynniel Arthedaine (Nedic Burglar) (Kyrill)
7. Baal (Dunmer Murderer) (Darkom)
Current Objective: Speak to Bjordi Bear-Tooth, Lord of Laintar Dale, for information on their next assignment and new personnel that will join them on their assignment.
PM Woolymammoth with any questions you may have. Have fun.
