Thomas Rakinson
(sorry, not the best pic, all I could find on this computer)
Full name: Thomas Ramal Rakinson
Race: Redguard
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Bitrhplace: Sentinel, Hammerfell
Alliances/Afflictions: Boethia's Curse*
Occupation: Mercenary, Hunter, Tracker
Appearance: (see above). Grey, wizened eyes, long braided brown hair (including dirt & tears), Lightly tanned complexion (based upon linearage & environment), Youthful yet dark brown Beard.
Apparel: Stolen Redguard Clothes & boots, supplemented by compact leather armour underneath for protection. Golden bands to support hair braids.
Weaponry: Sharp, ebony-coated Schmitar, Novice-Adept level fire destruction spells. Basic Conjuration magic, primarily spells that repel daedra. carries a quiver of arrows, but no bow.
Personality: Despite his young age & cheerful persona, Thomas has suffered a hard life, & it shows, despite his attempts to hide it. Subsequently prone to mood swings, ranging from a sociable, charming member of society to a quiet, silent outcast. Likes combat almost as much as peace, & can sometimes get carried away during times of bloodshed. Thoughtful of people's personal issues, even if it dosent appear so. Angered by force of change.
History
Childhood: Born to the Ramal-Rakinson family of Sentinel, Thomas was a strong child, perhaps destined for a life as a dockhand or traveling merchant. His father was distant for unknown reasons, But his mother & Older brother Hamir gave him love & support. His life, though perhaps not the most interesting, was a safe one.
Yet all this was to change. By the age of 10, Thomas had developed an unpredictable behaviour, & at some point found himself lost on the outskirts of the city. Captured by cultists who had been operating in the area, Thomas was kidnapped, never to be seen by his family again.
Brought to Skyrim under the forced disguise of a slave, Thomas found himself presented as a sacrifice of Boethia's Champion, an infamous worshiper of the respective daedric prince. Fortunatly he was saved by the unprompted arrival of a Altmer warrior named Cyrus Guallious. In the confusion Thomas managed to fatally injure his would-be executioner, unwittingly taking on the Dunmer's curse.
After escaping with Cyrus, the Altmer took pity on the lost boy, & decided to adopt him. from there they traveled to the Mer's retreat up in the Falkreath-Riften mountain range. There he met who would become his surrogate family; Cyrus, his Nord wife Angi, & their daughter Brendela, who was a few years younger than him. All of them were outcasts of society, yet they all accepted one another.
Teenhood: Thomas spent over Eight years with his new family, with his old one becoming mere memories to him. He learned to hunt, produce fire via magic, & when to approach & avoid society. As Thomas grew up in seclusion he never developed any romantic attachments, meaning the concept of non-platonic love simply passed over him. In his later teen years this caused him to avoid setlements completely, avoiding them during hunting trips.
As Thomas prepared to say goodbye to his family as he set off into the world at 19, his home was attacked by a dragon, one of the few who had survived the Dragon conflict years ago. Unable to defeat the beast the family were seperated, each presuming the others dead.
Adulthood: For the next few years Thomas wandered the plains of Skyrim & Cyrodil, unsure where his life would take him. Earning money as a hunter & mercenary, he formed attachments to some people, but deep down desired to have a family again. He endlessly wandered hoping to find the his surrogate parents & sibling, yet never encountered them in his travels. Only rarely did he rejoin society, more out of loneliness than protection.
After Five long years Thomas had given up on his search, realising the cruelty of the world & how it weighed down on him, through his loneliness & daedric affliction. After thinking it over he made plans to return to his Blood family in Hammerfell, only to hear of the dictator Tiberius had conquered his homeland, & was en route to claim Skyrim.
mad at Tiberius 7 what he stood for, Thomas decided to join the Nords in their freedom fight, heading to Whiterun through knowledge of its military power.
*Affliction- Boethia's instrument
The effect this curse has had on Thomas could be linked to his darker personality & desire to be alone. When Thomas fatally wounded Boethia's champion, he unwittingly beame the new champion of the daedric prince of plots. Refusing to take on this dark role, Thomas became cursed; In times of selfishness, desire or rage, he... transforms. Into an ebony coated warrior with destructive intent, zero morality & inhuman skill.
(Dont mistake this for being an OP twist. This affliction is uncontrollable & rarely strikes, balancing out BI's skill. it shouldent really come up in the RP, but as it largely contributes to his story, I feel it was worth including, rather than telling you all later).
Writing sample:
(What lurks in the dark, expired)
The scream was what woke him up.
He had no idea where it came from, the noise was so loud it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once. He grabbed his ears and quickly stumbled over to the steps, trying to figure out the source. once he reached the roof of his little turret he stared through the misty fog, tracking down the direction of its owner to the bottom of the mountain. the voice seemed human, so he automatically stared in the direction of riverwood.
"oh cr**" Thomas Rakinson muttered.
The scene was terrible-looking, even from a distance. Buildings, or at least what remained of them, were on fire, omniously illuminating a river turned deathly crimson from the streams of blood trickling down from the villages pathway. And the corpses.
Some looked relatively unscathed, like whoever; or
whatever had killed them had been in a rush. Others looked like they were fresh out of quagmire, with missing appendages, skin and, in some instances...
Thomas looked away. It was just too much.
As he sat there, trying to withold both tears and vomit, he tried guessing what may have painted such a grotesque, twisted scene.
Dragons? No. The buildings were destroyed, but the flames were too small and he would have heard roars. Vampires? It couldent have been, there was too much blood left.
Someone had to be warned. What had happened here must never be repeated. He could not- no he
would not let this happen again. He would head to Whiterun and warn the authorities of what had happened here, even if someone else had.
But then he heard the scream again, and this time it was closer, on his side of the river, and he knew that he could not let the owner of the scream down. Grabbing only his sword and robes he rushed out of the turret into the looming wall of fog.
Dialouge colour:
Red
"Longest. CC. Ever!"