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  • Character Card: Ma'Aashi the Fair Mar 8, 2018

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    Ma’Aashi the Fair/ The Pale

    20 YEAR OLD FEMALE SUTHAY
    HEARTFIRE, MISTRAL ELSWEYR, THE LADY

    “Power is no blessing in itself, except when it is used to protect the innocent.” - Jonathan Swift
    PERSONAL DETAILS:
    Alias: Her name is followed by one of two titles, both in reference to her colouration. She is known as both “Ma’Aashi the Fair” and “Ma’Aashi the Pale.”
    Apparent age: Her frame and size may lead those who are not knowledgeable on the variety of khajiit to assume she is a youth or a child. Those who know better can still see her youthfulness, though she is no kit.
    Sexuality: When first afflicted with romantic feelings the target of affection for the girl was a rather androgenous khajiit with whom she traveled for a short time. Though nothing came of it the two made eyes and flirted often, and never did it occur to Ma’Aashi to inquire as to their biological gender. It seemed unimportant and continues to be. She would be identified as pansexual for this reason.
    Marital status: Single
    Occupation: She requires none of her own funds as her family can provide for her and so she treats the ill and injured without asking for anything in return.
    Residence: As she travels the healer offers her services to those she meets as well as the temples and often will stay with them when granted entrance to the cities. When traveling she enjoys sleeping under the stars and by the flame of a fire.
    Family: She was born on a quiet and unseasonably cold night into a prosperous and close-knit family of four. With two doting parents, she always knew love and having been preceded by two brothers was well watched over. The eldest brother, a Cathay like her father, had an even temperament and dotted on his youngest sibling with endless patience. The bond between them was strong despite the large age gap between the two. What lessons she did not learn from her mother and father were imparted through him. Her second brother was a larger creature and though he inherited his father's talent for delicate work he was indelicate in every other sense. His temper was easily stirred, and he lived life with a fiery confidence. He would always defend his sister, though he was just as quick to snap at her.
    Their wealth was fed by trade and skill, her father a master jeweler and metalsmith while her mother commanded an impressive affinity for business and trade. The two were a perfect pair, complimenting each other beautifully, and would become the foundation of what the girl would view as an ideal relationship. They traveled often following new opportunities, exposing the khajiit to many different cultures and people, as well as tragedies. Empathy called to her, and her hatred for war and conflict which damaged the innocent became evident early on.
    Seeing her affinity for charity and compassion her parents were quick to seek out the best available tutors to mold the young mind. She took immediately to restoration and by her brothers' urging also studied alteration. He would protect her in this way, even when far from her side. When they did settle she could often be found offering her time to aid those less fortunate. She was well liked, though slightly peculiar.
    When her mother died unexpectedly it shook the family to its core. Her eldest brother had left years before to break out on his own, to trade in goods and explore Tamriel, returned with great haste. He made it just in time to see his father also pass of what was in truth a broken heart. The sudden loss of both parents brought two of the siblings even closer together, while it isolated the middle sibling as he threw himself into taking over his father's clientele and grew solum.
    She attempted to remain in her families home and managed to do so for the passing of a year. The cause of her departure was the increasingly erratic behaviour of her brother, for which she was most often the target despite her best efforts. Though she aided his mate with their son and gave her time where she could her brother began to view her as a pest. Following an incident that left her burned quite badly in his shop, she was retrieved by her eldest brother so that she might travel with him. She follows his ventures and remains in the same province that he occupies, always rendezvousing with him as he departs.
    Affiliations: Some of the khajiit that travel within Skyrim will recognize her brothers' name, and so too at times his sister. She can often rely on them for aid in traveling from one place to another. Though she does not follow the same religious pantheon that the temples of Skyrim worship she has offered aid to many and so has a generally positive relationship with many priests and priestesses.
    Noteworthy Personal Relationships:
    • Qa’Takaar (Youngest brother)
    • Ra’Zankir (Eldest brother)
    Political Views: Though Talos and his divinity means little to her the war has wounded her deeply for the suffering that it has caused. She wishes for an end to the conflict that does not lead to further harm and war.
    Religion: Her beliefs are those of her parents who followed the customs of their parents before them, following the khajiiti pantheon. S'rendarr, also known as "the Runt" has her patronage and her deviation above all others as the god of mercy and compassion.
    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: None
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    PHYSIOLOGY:
    She was a thing of finery, and so delicate that at times I dare not breath for fear of breaking her. Those who did not know better might think she was frail, for she was thin with prominent bones and narrow wrists. Her frame itself was wispy, fine-boned, and all of her curves were subtle. Standing at no more than 5’2 she took up little space and was far from imposing though she made room for herself humbly in the aura that she radiated.
    Her pelt was reminiscent of mist over the water. It was a glowing, healthy white without being stark or crisp. Fading along the upper half of her appendages, between her ears slipping over the top half of her face, and along the majority of her back a muted beige, grey tone added dimension and complexity. Her markings ranged in shades of brown, the lightest of these being the gentle spots that dotted her back and stripes that slid along her cheeks and began along her thigh and the base of her tail. Those stripes over her arms were similar, though less structured in shape. In all places but her face these markings darkened as they continued onwards though never becoming dark enough to disturb the impression that she had been set in the sun too long and had been bleached by its rays. Her eye sockets remained white while above each of them an oval marking could be found and from the inner corner of her eye, a marking resembling the staining of tears ran. Framing a diminutive pink nose a sandy colour bloomed, covering the lower portion of the bridge of her nose.
    The fur itself was plush and silky to the touch. Of average length over the majority of her body, it grows long and feathery on her elbows, cheeks, and tail. It was well groomed, as were her sharp translucent claws. The hair on her head was ashy and fell in loose waves instead of the popular dreaded style. It's layers framed her face and tapered off beneath her chest. Erupting from the crown of her head two exaggerated ears stood proudly. Almost comical in their size, and featuring small brown tuffs, they were one of her most expressive features. Though largely sandy a white spot was at the center of each while their interior and all other visible skin, including the large burn scar that covered her left shoulder and collarbone, was pink.
    Her face featured a serene countenance with refined features. A certain quality that made it hard to read also made her appear pensive or cold, and her lids heavy when she was deep in thought. Her eyes were peerless, like stars and constellations reflected on a still pool. Flecked with white, and webs of smoke they appeared almost milky but where in fact blue in tint, bordering on lilac. Her muzzle was small, and from it sprang long white whiskers. Hers was a distinctly enticing, attractive visage complimented by her tendency for motionless placidity.
    Voice: Growing up amongst a variety of cultures and people her accent is not as strong as that of many khajiits and is more so an undertone to a soft and even voice filled with rich and warm tones.

    Reference: Catherine Zeta-Jones
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    “A clear and innocent conscience fears nothing.” - Elizabeth I
    PERSONALITY:
    As a healer, Aashi is generous and giving, as well as patient beyond what anyone would expect of her. Mending others is her calling, her desire, and her drive. The opportunity to carry out her purpose, to instill hope and banish suffrage is all the payment she requires for her efforts. Regardless of the despair that surrounds her the good and the innocent fill her with hope and keep her own spirit from becoming dark. She seeks them out and attempts to guard them against pain, using herself as a shield if necessary.
    Conversely, she can also come across as apathetic at times due to her quiet demeanor and her tendency to observe before speaking. For a supportive figure, she is surprisingly independent and gets easily frustrated when she is assumed incapable. When angered a cold, icy air slips over her to defend against the tears that come with strong emotions. In these cases, she maintains a level voice and head. Believing that she is entitled to her opinion and the right to follow her own judgment she can become bullheaded, though never aggressive. Passive resistance is her favoured tool.
    She prefers to surround herself with people of skill and knowledge who are authentic in their lives and to themselves. One dimensional or typical people bore her and are easily discarded and given less value. She enjoys being dotted on and appreciated by those around her, beautiful words entice her, though she plays coy and disinterested. Unfortunately, her desire to heal others has resulted in her adopting a handful of harmful “friends” in the past with the hope of giving them the space they need to become whole once more. The resulting breaks always leave her torn up and are particularly difficult.
    Positive Traits: Kind, Charitable, Gratuitous, Well-Mannered, Meticulous, Calm, Capable, Empathetic, Modest, Mature, Selfless
    Negative Traits: Stubborn, Disobedient, Picky
    Likes:
    • Cultural songs: She believes that one can tell a lot from the songs a culture produces and so enjoys endlessly listening and examining the intricacies of each one
    • Unique architecture
    • Children and their innocents, as well as all others pure and true in heart without stupidity or ignorance
    • The warmth and glow of a fire, especially under the twinkling of stars and a full moon
    • Sparkling gems, as they remind her of her parents
    Dislikes:
    • Discrimination for her people who have experienced too much of it, and for any person who has suffered it without cause. She personally fights against the prejudice by giving rather than taking and living righteously.
    • Any individual who claims to be perfect, or acts as such. Likewise those that are shallow and lacking depth bore her and irritates her endlessly.
    • She abhors having to suffer fools
    Alignment: Neutral Good
    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:
    Ma’Aashi does not generally involve herself in combat, she is a healer and not one to deal injuries. When healing in the heat of conflict she uses mass spells as well as targeted wards to protect others and herself. Alteration is also used as protection and somewhat of a defense, though any offensive spells are a last resort. Even these spells are simply to give her time to escape and not meant to deal permanent damage. She also is quite familiar with herbal cures and remedies, though those are usually only used outside of battle.
    Class: Healer
    Major Skills:
    • Restoration
    • Alteration
    Other Noteworthy Skills:
    • Herbal Medicine
    • Jewel Appraisal
    Weapons: None, though she can often be seen with a simple wooden staff.
    /GEAR/: Her simple robe is made of a luxurious material resembling dupioni silk of reflective silver. It wraps around her side to be fastened with buttons caved of seashells and splits at when reaching her hips. Its lengths go past her knee by some but allow for ease of movement. Over this, a shall of grey, embroidered intricately with white thread, similar to those seen over the robes of many mages, hangs. The sash that holds this is white, and weaving in out of its length a fine silver chain with pendants of polished moonstone dangles. Attached to the belt hidden beneath is a leather contraption within which a book is bound.
    The trousers she wears are cream in colour and rather simple. They are loose without being baggy and are wrapped around her calf in a light pink material. Otherwise, her adornments are few and include silver cuffs and a long, thin silver chain with a diamond pendant crafted by her father. In colder weather, she wears foot covers as well as a heavy shall of white fur. A bag is slung over her shoulder to carry her possessions as she journeys between cities.
    Laterality: Ambidextrous
    Inventory: TO BE ADDED
    HISTORY:
  • Character Card: Cerys Feb 25, 2018

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    “Cerys”
    20 YEAR OLD FEMALE BOSMER
    1ST OF FROSTFALL, UNKNOWN BIRTHPLACE, THE TOWER


    “And just like a midsummer night’s breeze, she ran away, into the moonlight, a fox, proud and strong. The lone wolf walked away, saddened she was gone.” – Jason Winchester


    PERSONAL DETAILS:

    Alias: None

    Apparent age: Youth nearly defines her, from her behaviour to her appearance it is a tool used to disarm and to give her an upper hand. It goes without saying therefore that she is not often mistaken for a woman beyond her years.

    Sexuality: Though never having entered into a relationship before she appreciates the appeal as well as the process of courting. Thus far she has only found herself attracted to men although she is not above a cheeky flirt in order to get what she wants from the fairer sex.

    Marital status: Single

    Occupation: As a second class citizen the bosmer was nothing but a thief and an imaginative problem solver, yet never a beggar. She would take what charity was offered but always, in her own way, attempted to pay back each kindness as well as each unkindness. She evolved with age, however, cleverly using her knowledge of the city to “retrieve” items of value, returning them to their rightful owners to demonstrate her skills. She was the thing they never knew they needed, or at least she had convinced them of such. Her main occupation is now retrieving goods, a venture on which she can support herself without crime and give back. This doesn't mean she has completely given up pilfering valuables, only that she reserves such treatment for the less savory characters she encounters.

    Residence: She grew up on the streets of Markarth, though she was not born in Skyrim, and boasts an intimate knowledge of each street and of the people that walk them. After escaping an attempt to send her to live amongst the other orphans she found some shelter amongst the vagrants in beggars row, learning from them what she could. This is no longer her residence, however, as she has quite literally moved up in the world. During the warmer months, she lives above the city on a covered balcony long forgotten by the rest of the world where she can watch the streets, and be alone.

    Family: The orphan has no recollection of a father figure, though she knows of course that she must have had one, even if only in a biological sense. He was no more than an idea in her mind, an explanation for features on her face who played no role in the dreams she had fancifully created as a lost child. She had never depended on him for hope, he was nothing like the mother she had fought desperately to hold on to, as she slipped from this world. She had pieces of that woman, memories that had been worn from years of being held too tightly. Her favourite of them all being the vague and solitary memory of feeling love.

    Affiliations: Her only affiliates don’t organize under any one name. They are the unfortunate and the impoverished, the unwanted and the undeserving, the beggars and wretches that society has deemed unfit. She grew up amongst them, and would have been one of them had fortune not decided against it.

    Noteworthy Personal Relationships: (Open for editing)

    Political Views: The disdain she holds for the politics of Markarth began with the death of her mother and had continuously been reaffirmed throughout her life. The corruption and treatment of the less wealthy occupants disgusts her, and the guards and leaders who allow it all to happen are met with something closely resembling hate. Distrust was the most she could think to reward them for their past trespasses, caution was a necessity.

    Religion:

    Affliction/Disease/Ailments:



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    “The only thing I was trying to portray was serenity. Also, innocence, vulnerability and elegance.” -Sylvia Kristel


    PHYSIOLOGY:

    She was unexpected, that I could say for certain, in the same way that saw the sun break through the grey of winter to make you realize there was unappreciated beauty all around you, that you had only failed to notice. Likewise, she was a fire, a slow-burning flame that fed itself on tinder and pieces of lumber collected from the parts of the city that could no longer support themselves, that were useful to no one but her. She had that look about her of something that could not be held but only appreciated, more of a feeling or a fleeting experience had always existed on its own volition and came at no ones call or bequest. Snow and fire, like the exquisite paleness of her complexion against the deep auburn of her curls that framed the fox-like face, dotted with muted freckles and pink-hued cheeks.

    Excusing all the frivolously romantic statements, she was to me still a thing of intrigue. Mountains of curls spilled around her like a river, gleaming in the light, through which slender ears appeared to always be in a state of blushing, glowing as the sun passed through them. When she would bind the mane in braids and leather strips it was revealed that she possessed a rather swan-like neck, elegantly poised between two small shoulders housing a sprinkle of freckles.The rest of her frame I could only assume followed suit, from what I could see her greatest strength was in her legs though she was ultimately svelte, lissome and slender. It was all so clear in her elegant and seamless way of conducting herself, each movement completely natural and spirited. Also worth noting were her quick fingers that would have been ideal for the mastery of any number of instruments which often left me to wonder if the melody I had once thought imagined, playing illusively on the breeze, was of her making. It was all rather mysterious, which only served to draw me in further, mystery being somewhat of a pastime of mine.

    However, I was most transfixed and often enchanted by her eyes above all else. Her face was lovely of course, as already described. High cheekbones and heart-shaped with a slim nose, it complimented her other features kindly, sharp and soft all at once. Her lips could have hoped to rival her gaze should it not have been so piercing, with a deep cupid's bow and an enticing fullness bathed in a gentle rose palette, but there was no hope for me there. I got lost somewhere between the ring of deep dusty green that hinted at blue that circled her iris, and the fern, seafoam green-hued backdrop upon which the rest of the colours reached. Webs of white began to entangle me, holding my lungs captive as bursts of yellow faintly trailed them, as I neared the darkness of the pupil only to find a brilliant burst of fiery orange encircling the black, and defining its borders. Red, I would blush a thousand times to linger on the unique show of colours, but of course, it was her nature that I should never have my wish. She was too sly to ever let me know her as more than a mirage, dancing and ever-changing against the heat of my desires.


    Voice: A breathy, warm, soft, murmured voice. Feminine, evokes a sense of innocents with a playful seductive tone.


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    “...I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world…” -Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

    PERSONALITY:

    As far as most onlookers are concerned two main conflicting traits dominate the lithe bosmers personality. The first of the two was embodied in the way that she carried herself through life with an intoxicating youthfulness and sweet demeanor that made her delightfully unassuming. An Innocents characterized by her age and cultivated by careful presentation and denial of knowledge known to her in order to appear unthreatening. In this, her kindness lived as well, perhaps the most genuine and disingenuine aspect of this specific grouping of traits. Her eagerness to aid coupled with her naive belief that she could make a change that was so often thought to be a weakness, only a lure for a lesson sorely learned to reveal the second grouping or characteristics.

    The second painted her as a sly, crafty character whose role would have been the trickster in any myth or tale. Sharp-witted beyond anyone's assumptions she was almost exclusively able to use these traits in conjunction with the first to leave targets feeling the impact but confused as to where to place blame for the fallout. Deeply manipulative it is wholly unclear if her kindness is genuine in each individual case as she will often choose to treat others as a friend for her own personal gain. With a set of warped yet stanch values that define her she is willing to use others to obtain her goal and having been abandoned and dismissed so often finds it easy to slip away without much of a second thought. This makes her typically disloyal, not finding anyone deserving of such treatment. Those that push her should be cautious as her false demeanor can be abandoned to reveal a rather unsavory vicious edge.

    Beyond the Cerys presented and utilized when facing a harsh world a more playful and true nature exists within the small space she has created for herself, high above the city. Curious beyond reason and with an innate ability to climb and desire to sit atop the tallest spires of the city she often escapes to heights that others should quiver in fright to simply consider. Above the streets, the chaos can not reach her, and she is able to enjoy the solitude of her own company. Cheeky and somewhat scrappy she was not without humor and grit though she had few to share in this aspect of her. She understood survival, and had a great knack for it, but ran into problems considering anything beyond this. Relationships made one weak, she had come to understand, and no one loves a sad girl. She was always quick to learn and had a desire for knowledge, and this lesson she had come all too quickly.


    “A fox is a wolf who sends flowers.” -Ruth Brown



    Positive Traits: Youthful, Confident, Kind, Perceptive, Intelligent, Giving, Humble, Controlled, Street-smart, Driven, Adventurous, Spontaneous,


    Negative Traits: Emotionally manipulative, Distrusting, Selfish, Deceptive, Fickle



    Likes:

    • A favourite past time of the mer is to climb to great heights in the city, and on sporadic outings into the surrounding hold. She is extremely adept in this venture being quite dexterous and takes full advantage of this for tactical reasons as well as for personal enjoyment. She finds great satisfaction in looking over the streets and valleys, watching life unfold.

    • She has an insatiable need to learn and a quick mind to keep up with most anything thrown her way, therefore she is always looking to learn something from the world, and people around her.

    • Freshly baked pastries and fresh fruit are amongst her favourite treats, though she almost exclusively avoids meat.

    • One of her earliest memories is that of running her fingers over the leather of one of her mothers' old books and learning to read over those same pages. She finds great joy in them because of this.

    • Warm furs and skins were once a luxury, and remain so to a degree. Being warm and comfortable was never a guarantee in beggars row and so her own sheepskin bedroll is a prized possession.

    • Feeling of being freshly clean and of clean cloth on her skin gives her the sense of a more simple and gentle world. When possible she also enjoys swimming in remote pools of water within the reach.

    • Fragrant flowers are amongst her favorite flora, those with pure white petals enthrall her that much more.

    • Rising with the sun, and finding peace under the light of the moon.

    • As many others do she finds herself quite enraptured by poetry and beautiful words. The same can be said of music and song, both of which she seems to possess a natural talent for.


    Dislikes: Corruption, Sexism, Elitism, Pompous behaviour, City guards, Most of Markarths governing powers, The smell of cooking meat and the sound of sputtering fat


    Alignment: Chaotic Good


    "Down the violet wind slid syrinx melodies, wild as foxes, mad as love, strange awakening." Cecilia Dart-Thornton

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    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:

    Being a rather gifted thief has meant that Cerys has not had to face as many confrontations as some in the same line of work, however living on the streets has taught her to defend herself with adequate skill. As a young child she was an easy target for those whose morals did not stop them from preying on children. To avoid going hungry she quickly learned to use her speed, size, and knowledge of the city to defend herself and flee while also remaining constantly alert, relying on her ability to remain in the shadows whenever possible. She learned when to strike first and when to stay hidden and slowly how to fight back.

    With the introduction of daggers she had the opportunity to become lethal, though she always preferred to disarm or incapacitate a threat. Still, the daggers were useful in many other ways and became a staple along with her lockpicking tools, climbing gear, and trusty rope. Should she not be able to talk her way out of something, which was rare, she would be prepared.

    As far as magic is concerned the mer can boast no more than a few simple spells taught by the odd vagrant or patient citizen. She desires to learn and the wit to succeed however she has not been presented with the opportunity which was, as she saw it, everything when it came to magic. For this reasons she will not depend on even those spells familiar to her in a pinch as she believes them to be unpredictable in their outcome.


    Class: Thief/ Rogue

    Major Skills:
    • Sneak

    • Pickpocketing

    • One handed

    Other Noteworthy Skills:
    • Lock Picking

    • Speech

    • Unarmed

    • A tentative command of various low-level spells
    Weapons: The only true weapon she carries are daggers, of various makes but suitable quality. Though one rests on her hip in a fringed sheath the others are more carefully hidden, calculated in their placement for ease of use. Aside from this some of the tools hanging from her belt for use when climbing could also make for glorious weapons should she feel the need.


    /GEAR/:

    The Bosmer avoids being obvious within a crowd and will openly laugh at any thief who clothes and arms themselves as one would expect a criminal to do. The most successful thief is the one that no one suspects is the truth of her practice and the rule by which she adorns herself. When not necessary armor of almost any sort are abandoned, leaving her with only the basics.

    Her boots are sturdy brown leather, comfortably worn and soft. Ending below her knee they reveal brown and white herringbone winingas each pinned with a simple pendant within which her slate grey pants are neatly tucked. Loose along her body and made of what appears to be thick linen they are only interrupted by leather knee guards and a few brass buttons. She sports two reliable belts, with one snuggly around her waist and the other falling to one side. Boasting a number of small pouches, a few dagger sheaths, a length of rope, climbing implements, an embroidered cloth and many small trinkets they are largely utilitarian in nature. Around her waist and ending beneath her bust a more supple and thin leather piece holds her, pale brown leather with cream sinew along it's seams with a loose cream chemise beneath. Other articles depend largely on the season though she wears various gloves throughout the year and always appears in a grey cape capable of concealing her face and form.


    Laterality: Ambidextrous

    Inventory: TO BE ADDED



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    HISTORY: TO BE ADDED





    CapObvious likes this.
  • Character Card: Céleste Moulin (UNDER CONSTRUCTION) Jan 4, 2018

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    Céleste Moulin
    27 YEAR OLD FEMALE BRETON
    12TH RAIN’S HAND, HIGH ROCK, THE MAGE


    “...unforgivingly, and forcefully magnificent...” - Maquita Donyel Irvin


    PERSONAL DETAILS:

    Alias: She takes pride and or ownership of all her actions and needs no other name attached to them. This means that some more informed may recognize her name and her status.


    Apparent age: The tenderness of youth has not left her to wrinkle and shrivel and yet there is an age to her face, a weight on her shoulders that denied any illusion of innocence. She is not young enough to be coddled but still within her prime, made evident in her movements. She appears in this way to be exactly what she is, a rare occurrence.


    Sexuality: She would keep the company of men, should she be able to find one she thought suited her however unlikely that may be. Despite that, she does appreciate beauty, an appreciation that extends to the finery and tenderness of women. With an inclination to covet beautiful things this could be confused with desire and has managed to create the occasional spell of uncertainty.


    Marital status: Single


    Occupation: Her family name presented her with the opportunity as one of many advisors to a young lord, however, she was able to quickly distinguished herself amongst them. Her voice held more weight, and her words and opinions more appreciated. She was important in all of the many roles she played. Someone that commanded respect and fear and so often sent out from court to court in search of solutions that she could easily have been considered a diplomat, likewise manipulative and sly enough to be called a politician. She had claimed the secrets of many and knew just how much of her hand to show, just when to play each card. Officially she was an advisor but there was not a soul who knew of her that believed she was that alone. Perhaps most accurately she was a facilitator.


    With all this lost she tends to travel aimlessly with no need to make extra coin for all her hidden wealth and ability to make something of so little. What she does do serves to occupy her attention, to aid in ignoring the void left by lack of purpose.

    Residence: Her old haunts are vacated, dust gathering and their old tenant cast out to drift in the wind. She roams now, searching.


    Family: Her living, immediate family consists of her mother, father, and brother (Émile) all of whom are estranged. Her twin sister (Cécile-Élise) died suddenly as a child.


    Affiliations: Having mostly operated within Highrock and other surrounding territories only when needed her affiliations in Skyrim are limited.


    Note-worthy Personal Relationships:

    Camille: He goes by one name, though recognizes none. While living he was known as a great hero to many within his homeland, a brilliant tactician and an exemplary warrior sadly killed in his prime. While it was a loss for most it presented an opportunity for a select few. It was rumored that after his tragic death the body disappeared. In truth it was collected and gifted by a lord, as reward for the discretion and loyalty of one of his advisors. Once decorated with titles and notoriety for his service, his animated corpse now goes without such formalities.

    As things stand he would have been unrecognizable in his current state even uncovered in Highrock. His wounds and mutilations only aided in maintaining the facade. When brought out in public, as well as when hidden in storage, he wears a respectable set of heavy armor that seemed to never be in disrepair. His visage hides in a simple helm, while his shoulders support a worn cape with layers of fabric falling around his neck and across his chest. His weapons and shield, though without flash, were well made. One might not, therefore, immediately recognize him as a husk if caught off guard.

    Frédéric Bouchard: The closest thing to a true companion she had ever gained during her adulthood was this man. A romantic affection existed between the two, alluded to often but kept unspoken publicly due to a love of mystery which injected the whole affair with excitement. As was proper they shared the same social and political circles and were both otherwise unattached. Nothing forbidden or inappropriate existed there which might have foreshadowed the traumatic betrayal that saw them separate, though it came regardless.

    Auguste: A proud and loyal creature, of fine breeding who commands the uptmost adoration. Magnificent in his colouring, a dark bay steed worthy of nobility whose black mane, tail and stockings contrasted beautifully with the blood red undertones, and small blooms of amber. Certainly not a draft horse, the trim and sleek stallion offered both stamina and speed but would never pull a plow.
    Political Views: Her thoughts on the politics of Skyrim are very critical as she finds them and their guardians often indelicate and brash.

    Religion: Though she recognizes “Talos” as a hero, a notable figure within history, she does not view him as a god. She believes that his worship should be treated more so as ancestor veneration. It's a middle ground which can be manipulated to be minimally abrasive if ever it was to be brought up in a political setting. Otherwise, religion is not what motivates her. She has a healthy respect for the divines and recognizes them but she is no temple priestess.


    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Most likely she could be diagnosed with some form of anxiety and depression.


    [​IMG]


    PHYSIOLOGY:


    She was dark, in presence and in look with just enough mystery to put one ill at ease. Even The air that hung about her seemed to be heavy as if it was difficult to breathe in her midst. It could have been that deep-set gaze, distrusting and only a hair's breadth from ebony that made her beautiful in the way all things unobtainable are, or perhaps it was simply the way she held her shoulders back as she considered the room with an inexplicable sternness resting like a veil over her face. She was like smoke, I decided then, as I watched the delicate pale skin of her throat grow taunt before a curtain of inky black tresses obstructed my view. If she came too near, and I should breathe her in, I feared I would never recover.

    She walked as if the world waited on her alone, a slow and purposeful walk which emphasize the smooth sway of her hips and the long legs that lead her. She was never generous with her laughter, no smile lines marked her, preferring to languidly extend a slender, soft hand in greeting with an undeniable sense of poise. It was all she needed, to cast her net of intrigue and to pull the unsuspecting in, a knowledge that was conveyed perfectly by the overwhelming intensity of her eyes. Indeed, she had a way of commanding respect, and expected it, as only those who had been impressive throughout their lives could. She was elegant and controlled but the darkness circling her eyes betrayed many sleepless nights, almost as much as that which lived in her gaze. Celeste Moulin was an embodiment of the pure essence of midnight, it pumped through her veins, with tragedy being its terrible consequence. It went without saying that within that women, somehow condensed to fit her 5’6 frame, was the power to build an empire or ensure it's destruction.


    Voice: A voice soaked in bourbon, raw and smokey. Steady and unwavering.



    [​IMG]


    “Confident and strong, and as all of the best stones, most likely formed under intense pressure.”


    PERSONALITY:

    The ability to take what was given to her and grow it into something far more fantastic, as she had done with herself, was learned young. She had been subjected to constant pruning and pushing, and many other such attempts to manipulate her to fit into the tight space they wanted her to fill throughout her youth. Whereas many would have submitted, and been tempered she rejected limitations and thrived.

    Each opportunity became tenfold with her own effort and tenacity, her overwhelming desire to succeed, and ambition for which she made no apology. There was always a drive for excellent fueled by recognition she refused to seek out or accept without earning it first. It brought her more pleasure than most anything else, and although not immune to pride, it had always been confidence that consumed her and helped to define the elusive woman in the eyes of the onlookers. To others, she was reliably true to her own agenda and strong beyond what was expected of her. Her charm, a particularly palatable variety of poison.

    She was an unpredictable team player, however, and not opposed to exposing the weaker members. The gift of her loyalty was so incredibly rare, and temporary alliance much more common, that it made her intense passion for safeguarding those she pledges herself to seem extreme, an opinion not without truth. Balancing diplomacy and a blunt and fiery temperament with unsettling ease made her uniquely suited to her position and though she felt no need to bite her tongue or hide her opinion she was still deeply private. Always keeping her own secrets hidden.

    In the political sphere she seemed to operate seamlessly but away from the space in which she shone, Celeste was profoundly tragic. She discouraged most physical affection, like her bones were made of glass and she was wary of being broken. Though she had built herself something worthy of gratification no satisfaction was awarded to her for any length of time, a soul stuck perpetually between questioning her worth and knowing exactly what she deserved. She was desperate for relief from the weight of her own scrutiny and the pressure that gripped her lungs and caused her heart to flutter wildly. But she had no right to feel this way, she believed firmly, for all she had and all those whose troubles here far beyond her own. So she caged her tortured thoughts and presented only her strength to those that were allowed to know her intimately, to her own detriment.

    Despite these dramatic statements, however, darkness did not rule her. Forceful, and pensive behaviour hid a dark sense of humor and the enjoyment of a little foolishness between friends for which she yearned. Likewise, though appearing serious she found that frivolous things pleased her, so much so that she fought herself not to collect them for the joy of it. It meant she made constant reminders that like people, possessions needed to have some use, to fulfill a purpose or she would drown in her own imprudence. A thought that likely revealed something unsettling about the way she viewed others. This was not helped by a concealed yet deeply sentimental nature and great tendency towards nostalgia. For this reason, all of her possessions held more meaning as they had utility, and were injected with traits that brought her happiness often through their luxury.

    Due to a great disturbance in her life, however, it is important to note, she has become increasingly unpredictable. What still lives of the political player is fractured, a creature evolved to suit a specific environment then cast from her biome. The risk of danger associated with her presence, therefore, has increased tenfold.

    “she was completely whole
    and yet never fully complete”

    -Maquita Donyel Irvin


    Positive Traits: Headstrong, Smart, Problem solver, Independent, Thorough, Disciplined, Discrete


    Negative Traits: Moody, Evasive, Pessimistic, Demanding, Mistrustful, Abrasive, Spiteful


    Likes:

    Gems and other finery
    Hot springs or being drawn a hot bath
    A strong and astute leader
    Stimulating and complex conversation
    Intricate lace and the feel of velvet
    Triumphing over an adversary
    Solving a difficult problem


    Dislikes:


    Incompetence
    Sexism
    Unseemly public displays of affection
    Being impacted by the social ineptitude of others
    Underserved or foolish leadership
    Having outsiders expect services of her


    Fears: Failure, Betrayal


    Current Goals: To redeem herself and expose those who have wronged her and chased her from her home. She is also ever searching for another hero to fall in her midst and to be recruited into her personal ranks.


    Alignment: Chaotic Good

    [​IMG]



    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS

    It was always excepted and natural that magic should be her field of study, though she could never accept being ordinary. Not that there was ever much of a choice. Céleste would have liked to claim that she had chosen necromancy, that it's taboo nature and intrigue drew her in, but it had chosen her in a most terrible of ways. From the unsettling past, however, she was able to build on a skill many refused to acknowledge with immense speed as if gifted. Using such skills, combined with a variety of other wells of knowledge she fortified herself to be a formidable opponent both in the verbal sphere and in the realm of physical warfare.

    She used them like walls to guard her, or did once. It is more accurate to say she used him to guard her with shield and sword and unshakable devotion. Camille was her wall, pushing against the tide as she sent courage through a body where nothing but emptiness lived. As in life, when her walls failed, she used fear to poison them and send the enemy to cower and await their demise in the shadows. To wait for the moment that she would choose as the end or to turn them against each other. Sending ice to hold them, to burn their skin with sick irony. To appear without a sign and use an embodiment of her power, summoned to take their souls. A shadow of a blade, glowing blue with its hate.


    Class: Necromancer, Witch

    Major Skills:


    Speech
    Conjuration
    Ilusion

    Other Note-worthy Skills:


    Destruction
    Sneak
    Lock Picking
    Alchemy
    Other Schools of Magic (varying degrees)


    Weapons: Her biting wit and magical talents don’t tend to fail her, however, it is always prudent to carry a supplementary dagger or two. Dagger and cloak as the saying goes…



    /GEAR/:


    The black velvet of her doublet was perfectly fitted and seemed to hold her in a way that no other was permitted. Bordered with a half inch of white ribbon with overlaying lace along its hem and climbing along each side of it's joining point which ran along its front. An inch away another similar ribbon mirrored the placement of the first. Structured until it reached the waist it gave way to flattering pleats and opened at this point in the front. Pearls were sewn carefully, scattered like stars bursting from the darkness of the upright collar though they faded and never reached very far. The scoop of its neckline could reveal any number of chemises, though while traveling a luxurious and lightweight linen was preferred for its breathability.

    During inclement weather, a great, heavy woolen cape swallowed her in its expanse, hood all but eliminating her from sight. Over black trousers and long leather boots which ended just above her knee, a layer of elegant travel skirts could be used to fight off the bite of cold. A jacket was also available, with long tails and demonstrating exemplary tailored work. Finally, though wool was often sufficient in its ability to retain warmth when soaked, a roll of waxed canvas was almost always to be found on her steed while she traveled.


    Laterality: Right-handed


    Inventory: TO BE ADDED


    HISTORY: TO BE ADDED

    [​IMG]

    “She was a genius of sadness, immersing herself in it, separating its numerous strands,appreciating its subtle nuances. She was a prism through which sadness could be divided into its infinite spectrum.” ― Jonathan Safran Foer

    REFERENCES:

    Pronunciation of Céleste:
    Pronunciation of Moulin:
    Auguste: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/13/60/02/13600276eb3c5322ff59ef3146225d5f--cleveland-bay-horse.jpg


    A WEIRD SONG/ POEM TO FOLLOW THIS CARD:
    Ellen Ripley and CapObvious like this.
  • Character Card: "Ther" Ethel Matius (Under Construction) Mar 22, 2017

    [​IMG]

    "Ther" Etheril Matius
    25 YEAR OLD FEMALE IMPERIAL
    1st OF FIRST SEED, CYRODIIL, THE LORD

    PERSONAL DETAILS:

    Alias: None, though those she is on friendly terms with often come to call her “Ther” as opposed to Etheril.

    Apparent age: Youthful in face, body, and movement yet clearly of age to be considered a woman one would place Etheril, quite rightly, in her mid to early twenties.


    Sexuality: The Imperial woman, as a number of those in Tamriel, is attracted to both sexes, though more often found in the company of women. She has experienced a number of relationships in her life though she does not love nor chose another to share in indiscriminately.

    Marital status: Unattached.

    Occupation: Preferring the role of support as a healer she does not often travel on her own, and certainly does minimal adventuring in such a state. Hired, or enticed by wealth into action alongside others she has found herself comfortable enough and wanting little for material possessions. Always searching for a new journey to embark on, it is not unheard of for the woman to hire her own help and journey out on the trail of some treasure or myth.

    Residence: Though there is a home somewhere, surrounded by wildflowers and tainted memories, to which she could return she has chosen not to do so and in that way claims no residence.

    Family: This is a rather complicated matter and one best not discussed as it will simply be glossed over and is not worth the waste of time. That being said both her mother, father, and biological father still survive.

    Affiliations: As of this point she has yet to find a notable group to attach herself to, however in her home province she has been a member of several mercenary groups of varying note and reputation. She no longer considered herself affiliated with any group after having left its ranks, and so flies under no banner.

    Note-worthy Personal Relationships: ( Open for editing. )

    Political Views: She supports the Empire if only for the fact that is would break her father's heart should she do otherwise. However, she does not put down those that support the storm cloaks and gives aid where it is needed regardless of uniform.

    Religion: Having been raised in a religious home it has been ingrained by her upbringing to respect and praise the divines, giving them the credit they are due and the worship which that entails. It is difficult therefore for her to accept that a divine can simply be denounced and struck from the record, however, she also recognizes the pressure that created such a situation. Her mother's patron saint was, and perhaps still is, Mara and so Mara holds a special place too in the heart of the healer.

    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Has a tendency to indulge in illicit substances, some may label as a problem though it has yet to become such in her eyes. Sleeping tree sap is amongst the current favourites.


    [​IMG]


    They shone, as though each soul she had come across was visible there in what they left behind. As the wood on a well loved trinket polished by its wear, by the grace and touch of its master's hand. To simply have described them as brown would be a slight, and a true loss.



    PHYSIOLOGY:


    A slender, lean figure holds the lively spirit of the young imperial girl captive and grounded, a curved back and shoulders which are thrown back confidently accentuating an exemplary posture. Standing at no more than 5'6 her stature is nothing spectacular, though her presence remains an elusive mixture of commanding and soft. Her long strides likewise exuded a confidence and authority, as though she belonged unquestionably exactly where she chose to place herself.


    Years of wearing heavy armor have made their mark on the willowy healer, strengthening her muscles and leaving her firm and well toned. Her small shoulders and generally thin build have, however, refused to take on any extra bulk despite this. This translates to a preference to keep her pack light and choose loot conservatively as to offset the extra weight.



    Often found outdoors, with a penchant to bask in the warmth of the sun and sleep under the stars, the girl has been marked with a warm and healthy glow. Likewise, the sun has set upon her face, sprinkled over her small nose and cheeks, a dusting of freckles which seem to fade slightly in winter months. Long locks of golden blonde hair, ranging to a light brown at its deepest points, have a polar reaction and take on a darker tone during the colder months.



    A free spirited, impish smile is surely the focal point of a decidedly attractive face, brought to life with visible dimples and neat rows of white teeth. Following suit, her eyes seem quick to betray a smile, crinkling under the fringe of her full lashes. Housing a pair of gently curved brows the expressive visage is often easily read, as the imperial most often wears her emotions there for others to see. However, this is not a permanent trait as with some effort she is able to reign in her reactions and guard them in privacy.



    Voice: Mellifluous, Lilting, Honeyed


    [​IMG]

    PERSONALITY:
    Upon first meeting Ther it would be a fair assessment to deem her both friendly and warm, however, those that assume this may be taken advantage of are soon rectified in their opinions as such conduct is met with equally harsh and aggressive behavior. Quick to take up friends and lovers with passionate zeal she is also one to quickly cast an individual aside if feeling wounded and is a notoriously fickle partner. Though the situation may be rectified it will only occur with significant effort from the second party.


    Those that have earned her respect, however, are treated to a vastly different set of rules. With a strong desire, urge to please such characters her own moral compass is at times overlooked in their service, though not without significant internal struggle. There is also a tendency to put the aforementioned objects of her admiration on a pedestal, a difficult view to be rid of, the upset of which causes her great emotional pain.

    With a fiery disposition comes a temper, the masses are treated to a short fuse. The outcome of which if conflict arises leans one of two ways. The first is rage, hostility that seems uncharacteristic. The second is withdrawal and overall meek behavior. Regardless of the chosen path, the imperial is predispositioned to play a rather convincing victim regardless if the title is deserved or not and due to her depth of emotion and ability to make friends often wins other to her side at times out of spite. Needless to say, if you do not earn her respect you may be subject to such outbursts as she cares very little of what most think of her.



    Likes: Adventure, Learning from those close to her, Temperate/ sunny condition, New locations, Warm soup or stew on cold nights, The glow of torch bugs, The full moon


    Dislikes: Infidelity or those with similarly loose morals, Being deceived, Unfair judgement, The grey skies of winter, Being bound to a person or group (being robbed of her freedom), Assumptions made based on her appearance or class, Being forced to micromanage a group, Others using magic for gaudy or superfluous reasons


    Alignment: Chaotic Good


    [​IMG]

    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:

    Though classed as a healer Ther is much more than the basic priestess, healing the weak and ill who congregate at the temples. Tested and proven in battle the Imperial uses high-level restoration to target individuals and whole groups for immediate results. Wards and other such spells are used to protect and strike fear into the hearts of the undead, providing relief from incoming damage. When targeted, or when a group member is overwhelmed, illusion spells are made use of to dissuade enemies from attack. Finally when attack is unavoidable destruction spells, such as various cloaking spells, are used offensively.


    Class: Healer

    Major Skills:

    • Restoration
    • Heavy armor

    Other Noteworthy Skills:

    • Destruction
    • Alchemy
    • Illusion
    • Speech

    Weapons: The only physical weapons to be listed are a simple elven dagger and a staff. The staff however, is mainly used as a walking stick, and occasionally as a last resort for whacking enemies over the head.


    /GEAR/: Foregoing simple robes in favour of protection and safeguarding her own life plate is worn to ensure she may focus on the wounds of others rather than waste resources on avoidable injuries of her own. Wrought of a metal, silver in colour, the chest plate as with each piece of her armor fits her body perfectly as it was not scavenged but made in her image. The chest plate is simplistic, decorated by a fine detailing of flowers and vines which gather first around the neck, falling down the center of the piece and finally fan out to spread across the hem, the metal guard altogether ending at the smallest point of her figure. Protecting the neck from the bite of the metal is a scarf, neatly folded and pristine white in colour. Attached by a metal disk each pauldron is equally uncomplicated and lacking in grandeur, rising slightly with her shoulders to come to a minute point, from under which sprouts a light pale green cloth cloak. Lashed to her upper arm a number of overlapping plate pieces guard her, though the buckles and leather pieces which bind them to her remain visible over sleeves of black cloth which tells of a chemise worn beneath the armor. Once more adjoined by a circle with a center of gold, the gauntlets leave no section of her forearm uncovered, outfitted also with an elbow guard which rises slightly for added defense. Intricate finger guards lay over black leather gloves, allowing full mobility.



    Attached with a simple gold clip from the base of the chest plate guards fall to either side, leaving space to her front. Made of several ribs of metal they appear to follow the curves of her shape and provide a pleasing illusion to the eyes. At the center, which is left without the protections of these guards a metal triangle falls at its center, point down and with similar floral designs covering it in its entirety. The lower half of a tabard, hidden previously by the armor, flows freely between her legs. White and trimmed with gold it comes to a point past her knees. The back part of the tabard, splitting from the front somewhere under the plate, is much wider and descends with the guards. Trimmed this time with the same pale green of the cloak which breaks away from the edge to meet with its opposite side, forming a half circle, this section of cloth likewise comes to a point around the same area.



    Of the legs very few glimpses of the black material beneath the armor are made available, as is the same with the buckles which hold together each piece. Protecting the thighs and upper legs the metal comes to rise along the front of her thigh. Those same flowers begin sparsely at the top of the rise, though golden in colour and begin to spread as they reach the knee. The knee guards are covered in the same design and scalloped decoratively on their edges. The last larger section of armor is scalloped in a similar way along its top, and at its widest point. In the opposite way that the upper leg had flowers growing in numbers as it descended, the lower displayed fewer as the eyes followed the sleek lines to the feet which are shielded with sleek armored boots.



    Laterality: Right-handed


    Inventory: TO BE ADDED


    HISTORY:


    Of the Matius family, there were three. Head of the family was a prosperous merchant who was first a father and second a businessman, though his work stole him away often. Always the first to offer a kind word and a smile, he was good to his wife and child and loved them deeply and received nothing less from his devoted daughter. Her mother was a charming woman and pious as she was gentle. It was by her hand that the young child was nurtured and tended, and taught to heal as to make something of herself in years to come. And of course, there was the girl, Etheril.


    Her family had money enough to keep her comfortable as she danced barefoot through her childhood against a backdrop of the countryside and old stone walls, gripped tightly by the creepers which filled each crack. It was an enchanted time, and place which shielded her from the world outside the large property and kept her entrance long enough to make her believe that life could be blissful and sweet. In her youth, the lies which gathered like cobwebs in the shadows of the quaint villa seemed to escape her, and leave her to laugh and trust with the innocence of a child. Yet they weaved their webs around the girl, as she was born of them and could not hope for escape.

    Her companions in this time were not other children but rather the animals and people that lived alongside her, trapped in her small world. One man in particular, who seemed as much of a part of the villa as each stone which had been laid in its construction, filled her hours with tales and companionship, guarding her as though she was his own. The bosmer seemed to fill the yearning she felt for a father whose attention was hers to have, and not borrowed time she waited desperately to steal. He helped to weave the charmed lie she lived but also helped to tear it away and taint the sunny days which had come to define her.


    The signs of childhood had lost their grip on the girl just as her rose colored glasses were to be violently shattered. It was only by chance that she had caught them together, and finally after years of betrayal was shown the truth behind her own conception. Her mother, the devout and loving wife, had been involved in an affair long before the birth of her child. Furthermore, Etheril was herself a product of this affair, the Bosmer worker was, in fact, her father.


    The discovery understandably shook not only the girl but her perception of relationships and fidelity. That her father should not know and love her so deeply and unconditionally was painful, even more, so that her mother should take no issue in deceiving him and Etheril both while playing at being devout. It would come to define her future relationships, by a lack of belief that any romantic bond could be genuine or lasting without deception. It taught her to reject attachment and that life was not blissful nor sweet, a truth which chased her from her home.


    With a sum begged of her true father, the man whose name she carried, she took her leave disavowing her mother as she stepped over the threshold and into a world of uncertainty. Yet, in this world, she found a need for people like herself and a fulfillment of her desire for adventure. Beginning with only her knowledge of healing, some tutelage in the use and wear of heavy armor as well as her charm and joie-de-vivre she soon won the hearts, and knowledge of lovers and friends alike. Over time she would come to learn from them destruction and illusion magic, only improving through study and paid training as she left them behind, as she inevitably did everyone.

    [​IMG]


  • Character Card: "Bram" Bramwell Ackerly Feb 22, 2017

    upload_2017-2-22_22-51-18.png

    "Bram" BramwellAckerly
    MALE BOSMER
    PERSONAL DETAILS:

    Alias: Silverthorn

    Apparent age: As with many of the longer lived races the only indication of age is the eyes which hold the knowledge and pain of undeniable age and the slight crow's feet that accompany them. Due to this, even his apparent age is ambiguous, one might place him somewhere in his twenties.

    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Marital status: Single

    Occupation: The Bosmer has many titles and has many uses though they generally fall under the same shadow. Bram is an excellent source of sensitive information, for a price as well as a procurator of secrets and other such documents. In short, he deals in knowledge and has quite the impressive wealth. Quick fingers and an addiction to script, the smell of fresh ink and new paper, as well as rare alcohols, means he is a very specialized thief. Aside from that, he has been rumored to have organized the covert exit and entrance of individuals to and from Skyrim for a hefty price. Word is however that he is very selective of his clientele.


    Residence: Though he is a proprietor of several safehouses he does not claim one as his center of domesticity. Often on the move he does dedicate a more substantial time to theDawnguard grounds if one central location had to be identified.


    Family: He has known the warm glow of love and family, though the light has been snuffed and the warmth is no more.

    Affiliations: Once a spider spinning his own silk in a dangerously complex web he was cursed with the truth and tore himself from it rather than be ensnared, and bled dry. Though that is a life past, and tentative affiliations have been forged anew. He is loosely affiliated with the thieves guild as he is both a source and a procurator of delicate and sensitive information and material, it is through them that one may contact him. Bramwell is also a member of the Dawnguard, though he takes his own personal freedom seriously.

    Note-worthy Personal Relationships: Alder Fal'Cey. The only relationship from his past to survive his exodus, though he is lost in space and in mind.

    Political Views: His political concerns have long been geared towards the shadows, the politics that hide within the underground channels andthe murk of his past. His mind still lingers on such things, the careful watch for the slightest hint of a resurgence of any group involved, because though he has fled such things and cast himself outside of their circles transgressions are not so easily forgotten. Therefore, despite his intimate knowledge pertaining to those within politics his interests are otherwise entertained.

    Religion: None that he makes obvious, though there is no intimate detail that is obvious to be had from him.

    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Alcoholism

    It is clear that Bram is on friendly terms with the drink and has a knack for obtaining rare vintages and other such brews. This being said, despite his problem, he will not be found belligerently drunk and once working requires of himself a clear head, and no fire in his veins. One might classify him as a high-functioning alcoholic.


    PHYSIOLOGY:

    Bramwell has a decidedly weathered look, both lingering in his eyes and pooling in the lines that run across on his face. More than simply touched by the sun his skin has a certain warmth that pairs well with the rugged appearance that contrasts many more feminine of his kin. Crows feet line his piercing brown eyes, framing the pools that burn with a contempt for his past and astute shine.

    His long, pointed ears are unmarked and unnotched, hugging his head and exposed by the sheared sides of his locks. Atop his head cool toned brown hair flows like water, to be tamed by a leather strip and pulled from the face. Cascading downwards it is falls over his shoulders and down his back. At times it is adorned with bone pendants, otherwise it may contain the odd piece of flora.

    When comfortably covered scars appear predominantly though sparsely on the tops of his hands, while ink has stained a select few fingers on his left. When uncovered the marks of his past are more sovisible. Those largest and thus most noable are as follows; one scar runs across his hard abdomen, another over his shoulder and collar bone. A spray of smaller scars claim his back, appearing to result from the infected wounds caused by arrows piercing the skin.

    As opposed to his features his build is not uncommonly found amongst his people. Not particularly stocky the elf leans more towards willowy though his shoulders do display some notable width. His body is firm, with muscles earned through years of trials and hardship. Standing at 5'8 he is taller than most Bosmer, nearing the maximum height reached by his kind.



    Voice: Smooth, Laconic, Blasé



    PERSONALITY:

    As a business man the wood elf is professional and to the point, efficient with little tolerance for time wasted. He is sure to make it clear that he is selective, exclusive and is not to be toyed or trifled with, and will react in both a cold and blunt manner. That being said he is reliable and dedicated, always completing jobs within reason.

    On a personal level Bram can be surprisingly giving of material items and of time, though only to those he deems fit and in need. He does this not to seek any of his own advancement but because he feels it is his duty to give. He has a deep capacity for kindness, though it has not survived his past unscathed. He shows respect to those that deserve it, and may choose to engage in a friendly manner though he has little patience for the tiresome tribulations and pleasantries. He refuses small talk almost completely.

    However if he feels others attachingunnecessarily or attempting to insert themselves in to his life and prying in to his past they will find him unyielding and cold. Shutting down the more pleasant aspects of his company with little trouble he can be seen as harsh. He requires a professional relationship and touch.

    He prefers to sit in silence or surrounded by the gentle sound of his own music, to remain unaddressed when drinking. He does tend to brood, though he rejects others doting on him for it rather than encoruages it. He very much wishes to stew in his own misery, as old wounds have been torn open and must be licked. He is haunted by his past, seemingly nothing more than relic of it.

    Positive Traits: Giving, Professional, Intelligent, Kind

    Negative Traits: Brooding, Secretive, Cold

    Likes: Likes:Good drink, Writing as well as the materials required, Literature, The smell of old pages, Learning, Knowledge, Secrets, Good music, Witty poetry, Reading, Solitude (not the city), The scent of lavender, Visits to Solstheim, Honey combs, Elsweyr fondue

    Dislikes: Unruly Vampires, Pity, Not being taken seriously/ his time being wasted, Show-offs, Disorderly drunks, Discrimination

    Hobbies: Drinking, Anything musical, Reading

    Alignment: Chaotic Good


    upload_2017-2-22_22-50-3.png


    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:


    Class: Sneak Archer

    Major Skills:
    • Archery
    • Sneak
    • Pickpocketing
    • Unarmed

    Other Note-worthy Skills: Musical inclination, Alchemy, One handed, Light armor(its wear andconstructionie leather working), Fletching, Speech


    Weapons: With the knowledge that Bramwell fits within the class of archer one might assume that under the cloak or found somewhere on his person is a well-loved bow, polished by the oils of his hand and time though to assume is a dangerous and often fruitless game. While most archers prefer such a weapon, and somewhere leaning against a wall this bow does exists, a cross-bow is more often poised in his agile hands. This paired with an impressive arsenal of bolts with varied properties comprises his main method of delivery when dealing in death.

    That being said there are other weapons that find themselves in use. His excellent aim paired with the need to improvise over the ages had led to his ability to use a variety of weapons as accurate projectiles, including but not limited to such things as hatchets and knives. Daggers are also a necessity for his kit, as close range surprises are always a possibility, so much so that it would be safe to called them an inevitability. Finally, he may also chose to substitute the aforementioned bow, most frequently when hunting animals. Though he is capable with other weapons it is seldome necessary that he venture beyond these parameters.


    /GEAR/: A simple white tunic is the start of it all, a base for all other pieces to come. Atop this a simple leather jerkin, well-worn and fitted trimmed with a dark leather and cream sinew and brought together by several buckles along his torso. The leather garment reaches just passed his hips parting just above his groin. Over this the thick dark brown leather band, with an ornate silver buckle holds his quiver or crossbow to his back or at least offers the option. Around the thinnest part of his torso, just below his ribcage a deep tan belt hugs close to his body at about 4 inches in width being held together by a number of lashes and small buckles. Starting above the larger belt and meeting to buckle at the adjacent side resting firmly against it is let another more ornate belt, its edges scalloped on one side and holes punches to accentuate the decoration. A thin cheery-walnut coloured sword belt begins just below this falling as it reaches his other hip, a leather band breaking from this to hold a quiver of bolts.

    A basic leather pauldron is attached to his left shoulder, well-made but uncomplicated. Buckles for the attachment of a cape most often hug their counterpart though the material and colour of such would vary widely situationally though always sporting a hood. Along his arms both elbow guards and laced leather gauntlets act as protection, matching the deep brown of the quiver strap.

    His lower trappings were equally simple. Thick, soft cloth pants of a worn brown colour cover his legs, thin leather sides and lower front adding protection. To supplement this supple knee guards are paired with matching leg guards. His boots are likewise without any gaudy additions, plain black leather is all the decoration afforded though no more comfortable boots were to be found.

    These are his most common raiment's, though in times that require more protection such gear is donned. Other such obstacles, such as inclementand brutally cold weather, require different protection. A heavy fur and skin coat, much like those worn by the skaal in the same earthy brown is the solution to such a problem and Bram sees no shame in indulging in its relief.

    Laterality: Right-handed


    HISTORY:

    I'll write this when/if I feel like it.

    Whatever this is:


    She begged him with her eyes, so innocent and wishful, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He returned her gaze but his eyes were empty, he felt nothing for the woman whose arm he pulled away from. HIs face turned, offering her his profile and a bank expression.

    "Don't" was all he said, his voice clear and even.

    Her eyes were confused, somehow she had mistaken his intentions though he had given her no reason. The drink had only made him colder, it did not loosen his tongue nor stir carnal desires. She was mistaken indeed for he did not crave her flesh, he did not want for her. He wished only to be alone, in the flickering light of the fire, in the flickering memories of his past where he could hope to feel them once more. His only desires to be plagued, he was no ordinary man.

    Though he had aided her and offered kindness, a wave of disgust washed over him turning him even farther. His time was not payment to be accumulated, buying him access to intimacy. To be misunderstood once more, to be shaken from his nest and given cause for flight to lose his pursuer and lessen the pain of rejection was the outcome. Though he expected no good in return for the good he did it was no less off-putting.

    "Take your leave," He indicated, replacing his arm on the polished banister, letting his weight shift to the left foot which rested on the stone step "And let me take mine."

    He had no need to let his gaze drift over her face to feel the shock and the confusion which lived there, he could feel it in his bones and responded by pushing his teeth together, locking his jaw. The fault was not his he knew, though the shuffling of feet and the silence spoke of some blame. He had lived through too many similar moments to let it permeate his skin, emotions wicking off of his frame like water as if his skin had been treated with wax.

    Like a ghost he took to the steps, floating through the still air with the grace of a dancer and the listless expression of one whose emotions existed only in the abstract limits of his own mind. The wine that warmed him left his head feeling wooly, pushing out all thoughts of the previous interaction with a sigh. In the darkness his fingers dropped to his waist, maneuvering themselves instinctually to the smooth wood surface of the small woodwind instrument. In the darkness he walked in circle after circle, slowly rising on a familiar path.

    He had no need for his eyes as the flute met his lips and clear, haunting notes began pouring from him expressing and enciting emotion in a way that no combination of words could. As his lids folded blackening his vision, he lost himself in the tune. The sound of it echoed, bouncing against the stone confines of the stairway, filling his heart with its message. She had already faded from him.


    This character is very near and dear to my heart, thank you for taking the time to read his card.
  • Sneak Peek Jan 25, 2017

    Hello there, I thought I might post a sneak peak of a CC I've been working on for one of my first two characters to be created for the forums. This is an excerpt from the history of my character "Hlíf 'Ulfr." Enjoy.

    -*-​

    The man known now as "Hlíf 'Ulfr" was once a child with no name or at least one long forgotten replaced by the insults hurled, spat at him since his earliest memories. His father was a drunk, cast out by his people, the Skaal, for reasons beyond the boys grasp that his mother dare never share. His younger years revolved around a small cottage, a short distance from a sparsely populated mining town, and the comings and goings of his father. When his father arrived smelling of the sweat of labor and the sharp bite of liquor he lived in fear, doing all he could to escape detection. Yet despite his efforts the sting of words, the welts, bruises, cuts, and broken bones could not be avoided, changing him to resemble more his mother than his father. Tears stained his skin, the screams of his mother ringing in his ears replaced only by the hollow silence as he beat her and the years progressed. He knew not his name, he knew not his age, but he knew as he slept on the cold wooden floor that he was nothing but a dog to be kicked.

    If he was to remember now it brought nothing but pain, her raven hair, her nearly translucent skin and his eyes, their eyes. Though he was still a child he could see her fade away to the point where she was no longer a human, just like him, but a thing. They would sit in silence so often, waiting, knowing what was to come but with nothing but her own pain to consume her not having any comfort to give, no love left to offer. She was beautiful, but she was empty and so he could not love her. She could only appreciate the relief it gave her to have his attentions turned to the boy, and the relief of some menial tasks he presented. At time she would blame him, that she could not run for his sake but he knew better. In years to come, he would see that she would never run, because she was too weak.

    There was no chance to breathe within those walls, heavy with all of the pain that they held, all of the secrets. However, as the boy grew and his body was able to bear the weight of labor he was thrust outside of this world and into another completely. From the haunting quiet of the forest to the mines he was sent, to make some use of himself. Though the women would talk amongst themselves of his origins and of his young age it was a terrifying respite for him and he would not have relinquished it. Paid at half the wages of a grown man he worked in silence, afraid to make the slightest disturbance, to have a single question addressing his scars and injuries. In this way, he drew little attention and though he faced the same cruelty, the same cold floor as he returned home his body began to strengthen itself in a way his mind and heart could not.

    It came to be, however, despite his best attempts, that he did draw the interest of one of the towns residence. An elder warrior past his time of usefulness looked to the town to rest, a place to end his days. Widowed and without children, the man brought no more than a tent, bent on having his home built for him, specific and uncompromising in his old age. In the boy, approaching tentatively a taste of manhood, perhaps he saw himself or perhaps he saw only the abuse that plagued his image and actions. Whatever the cause he set about striking a hard-won friendship that consisted of little words but many small actions. The boy with no name was good at heart as well as a hard worker and the warrior wanted for little else. Offered full wages and with the begrudging permission of his father and harsh beating the warrior had won himself a worker. This is not to say that there were not others but these men came and went when there was need, there was always room for the boy.

    Despite the warriors liking for the boy, the work was not easy, and the boy was offered no shortcut in any aspect. Though some of the more entitled men would gripe about his lack of experience wishing the position had been theirs to take, the man could not have been more pleased for there was not a more zealous laborer to be found. The motive, however, went beyond a simple need. The boy had a great desire and capacity to learn, to share in something more than pain with another human being but no knowledge of how to have such an experience. Likewise in the man having fathered no children, there was a void, a need in his age to pass on his skill and the good in him that was left. So the two slowly bridged the gaps, and began to each one fulfill their hopes. The boy began tutelage in basic reading and in a variety of subjects in which the old man had knowledge. Predominantly, however, he was taught in the ways of war.

    The man had managed to grow old not by chance but by the wealth of his skill and all he could impart he passed to the boy. It was the way of the shield that he was taught as well as how to wield a weapon most effectively alongside and how to carry oneself under the weight and protection of plate. It took time to develop, but under the gentle guiding hand of the warrior the once silent boy bloomed, gaining confidence despite the home he returned to every night. It was beautifully blissful, though unfortunately it could not last.

    The downfall began with a number of harsh beating, brought on as his father sensed what he was becoming, or perhaps simply because there was more coin for the drink. The boy, now adolescent was bound to him home, for days at a time, unable to work for his injuries. As the warrior grew weaker, and the beatings continue his heart grew heavier and though he had kept the boy on upon his homes completion to do menial labour, it pained him more daily to see the burden the young shoulders bore. His own body had little more to give, but he wished to see the boy's progress continue. Gifting him a shield, the man made himself a promise to free the boy and give him all the opportunities he deserved.

    The shield would remain hidden however in a cache in the forest until the night that the warrior's plan would come to take shape. The boy had been asked to arrive later that day, he felt it odd as with dusk approaching there was little work that could be done. The warrior was also absent, which was unusual in itself. However, the boy was not one to disobey and for some time sat rooted on the porch. It was not until the moons had risen into the sky and the eerie howling of the wolves had begun that he took his leave, fearing his father's wrath would continue to worsen with each minute spent astray.

    Upon arriving at his "home" he entered tentatively to find only his mother present. She had become listless and grown ill since the last season's change and refused him any answer, turning her head from him though it was clear that something was wrong. Back out into the night, he left the cottage, for the last time as he retrieved his shield. Nearing the chopping block, weapon in tow, he was met with a grisly sight. As the wolves howled once more the light of the moons revealed to him the bloodstains that decorated the woodpile and surrounding foliage, along with a blood trail he followed as if in a trance. As he came upon the light of the lantern everything became clear.

    His father had killed the warrior. Approach by the man with a large sum of gold for the boy's freedom the drunk had become enraged and turned the ax upon the elder man. He lay now, in pieces in the hole his father had dug, and was now covering, glowing eyes looking on hungrily from the darkness. It took the boy, who slowly became a man as he stood watching the only kindness he had ever felt die, time to move or even breath. He grieved in that moment, in a way he never had for his own lost life, or that of his mother's letting the hurt grow and evolve into something far more dangerous.

    Stepping forward he drew the attention of his father who spat more vile words in his direction, lifting the shovel to strike him, but it never landed. Swinging the shield across his body the young man impaled his father on one of the spikes, after which it seemed as though all control left him. As though he was watching himself from somewhere outside of his body he beat his father endlessly, falling to his knees as the wolves surrounded them. They did not attack, however, letting the young man finish off their prey. Kneeling in the blood of his abuser he was reborn. No longer without a name, no longer living under the hand of his tyranny.As the wolves moved into feast, leaving him untouched he rose the shield wolf, Hlíf 'Ulfr.


    -*-​
  • Character Card: Abelle (Beaulieu) UNDER CONSTRUCTION Dec 27, 2016


    upload_2016-12-27_14-0-39.png

    Abelle (Beaulieu)

    21 YEAR OLD FEMALE BRETON

    23RD OF SECOND SEED, THE SHADOW, THE REACH SKYRIM


    PERSONAL DETAILS:



    Alias: Valdis


    Sexuality: Heterosexual


    Marital status:
    Single

    Occupation: I suppose the nearest thing to what she is would be called an assassin. Who she works for is unknown but she shows no signs of being under the flag of the Dark Brotherhood.


    Residence:
    None that is obvious to the common rabble, nor to those that observe her. She frequents inns and the like, her residence appears to be defined only by where she chooses to lay her head.


    Family: Cosset("Long-lost" Sister)


    Affiliations: If you have to ask then no, you're either in the know or not. It's as simple as that.


    Note-worthy Personal Relationships: (Open for editing)


    Political Views: is tired of Imperials telling her it's none of her business but otherwise has no clear affiliation.


    Religion: She may make veiled references to one divine or another but her overall devotion is questionable, she clearly doesn’t rely on faith to see her through.


    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: None that are apparent on the irst contact though vampirism does "ail" the young woman. As she stays well fed this usually means nothing physically other than the occasional appearance of fangs.

    upload_2016-12-27_14-2-39.jpeg

    PHYSIOLOGY:

    She moves with an elegant strength, her stride full of purpose with each enticing movement of her long legs and slightly rounded hips. It could be said she struts, rather than simply walks. This air permeates all of her movements along with an unidentifiable sense of danger, giving her a slight air of mystery.

    The Breton's skin is pale but smooth and radiant like the petals of a pastel flower under the light of the full moon, graciously complimented by long tresses of ebony hair and dusty rose lips. They part often languidly, bee-stung to reveal neat rows of white teeth. Likewise, her steely-eyed gaze is like winter, the color of ice covered with a light dusting of snow. Her features themselves are subtly striking and on her visage, there are no marks to mar her image. Over her slender right shoulders and visible collar bone, however, a scar runs, healed but not quite faded into the alabaster skin.

    Her body type, in general, could be described as slender yet fit though the fluid lines do give way to buxom chest. This is not to say she appears sickly but rather fine boned and well worked.

    Voice: Smokey, Velvety


    PERSONALITY:

    To those who merely touch her life at its most base level she comes across as cold as well as headstrong, with the cool control extending even into the most heated battle. Stubbornness may also be identified early on in her character as she is in pursuit of her goals. This may lead her to some rather dangerous situations and to some personal limits being pushed. In such events she may make little of wounds or other such injuries, playing them off and focusing on the task at hand.


    Caring very little for worldly possessions the intelligent woman dedicated all she has to better herself, and her skills which makes her a fabulous killer. Due to the fact that she cares very little for what a vast majority of people (If not all) think of her, she is also inclined to speak her mind and is unyielding when it comes to her own values, which do not always match those written laws.


    Beyond that, it becomes a much murkier mess. In her life Abelle has not experienced anything worthy of breaking through the cold exterior since youth and would most likely have difficulty recognizing it immediately if it did appear. However when a cause or person was able to fill this void some variants on her usual denemor would obviously occur.


    Positive Traits: Fierce, Wickedly Intelligent, Dedicated, Independent


    Negative Traits:
    Cold, Stubborn, Closed off, Independent


    Likes:

    • Observing the phases of the moon
    • Nightshade flowers
    • The soft whispering of the wind on a quiet night
    • The sound of water beating against the shore
    • Winter

    Dislikes:

    • Overly loud or pig-headed individuals
    • High summer
    • Materialism

    Alignment: Chaotic Good



    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:


    Abelle is first and foremost a creature of the shadows, relying heavily on her impressive stealth abilities. Though she may choose to use this as a majority of assassins do, simply sneaking up on a target with a blade or a well placed arrow she prefers infinitely to silently use magic. The Breton makes use of several aspects of the Illusion spell trees to complete her missions. Frenzy is often used in place of a blade In both the form of runes and direct application. Fear ensures she remains hidden, untouched and in control giving her the perfect opportunity to deliver a killing blow. Likewise calm is available to give the same effect especially when in situations that are more socially delicate.

    If the situation does not call for the above there are many other practical applications of the schools alteration as well as destruction on a less frequent basis to be used in battle.
    Class: Mage/ Assassin


    Major Skills:

    • Illusion
    • Stealth
    • One handed
    • Unarmed combat
    • Athletics


    "Minor" Skills:

    • Lockpicking
    • Other schools of magic in varying degrees
    • Speech

    Weapons: for the most part Abelle is all the weapon that is needed, her magic often leaving her with not a drop of blood on her hands. Otherwise the woman makes use of two custom forged ebony daggers, leaving one strapped to her left leg at all times. Amongst acollection of assorted "tools" a beautiful set of silver throwing knives also exist and see frequent enough usage.


    /GEAR/:

    From head to toe black sums up the overallcolor scheme of her equipment. Hugging to her frame without restricting movement a black leather like material covers the majority of her build. Ending at her feet and leaving hands as well as neck visible it is the base of her "costume." Atop of this high leather boots are worn extending to the mid-upper calf, with a leather corset type garment decorating her torso and chest. As an added layer of protection from both prying eyes and weathera heavy cloak hangs over her with a hood to match. A thick layer of plush fur whispers gently with each movement around her shoulders, leaving tails to fall forward connecting along her back, fastened by ebony clips and connected by a thin silver chain.



    Laterality: Left handed


    Inventory: TO BE ADDED



    upload_2016-12-27_14-2-11.jpeg

    HISTORY:


    (I am just going to leave this picture here and not explain... because I'm a jerk.)
  • Character Card: Brynn Ráðúlfr Nov 23, 2016

    [​IMG]

    Brynn Ráðúlfr
    23 YEAR OLD FEMALE NORD
    5TH OF SUN'S DAWN, THE LOVER


    "She reeked of animal, both in ways and scent, her eyes were the eyes of predators, more than of any man."


    PERSONAL DETAILS:

    Alias:

    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Marital status: It's complicated

    Occupation: Gold comes easily through contracts as a companion as well as her own choice of jobs. As well as this adventuring does tend to bring in some wealth. In short, she has no trouble finding work nor supporting herself. Rather she takes on what brings her joy and fulfillment.

    Residence: She moves from place to place though she makes it a point to spend time at Jorrvaskr.

    Family: The young Nord woman has been left with nothing but her shield brothers and sister and the shadows of ghosts from her past.

    Affiliations: The huntress is a proud member of the companions and those around her would do well to respect its members. Instilled in her from a young age was the impression of the group as a respectable and proud group of warriors. It is a tie to her father, one of the only ones that remain.

    Note-worthy Personal Relationships:

    Political Views: As a Nord one can imagine she might support the Stormcloaks but for Brynn it goes beyond that. The idea that one group would systematically remove an important part of any people's culture and those that wish to hang on to it is appalling. That being said she does not support Ulfrics racist views and would stand against them at all costs.

    Religion: Believes in The Nine Divines as her father's father before her.

    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Lycanthropy, PTSD, Night Terrors (come and go with severity of PTSD or triggers)


    PHYSIOLOGY:

    Years of the hunt, of stalking her target have instilled a certain animalistic grace into Brynn. Her eyes, in shades of bright to grey blues, may flicker in an instance from the full intensity of what lay in her heart or mind to a cold, protected, indifference but always contain a certain intelligent feral shine. For all her time spent outside the confines of four walls Brynn’s skin remains fair in colour drawing further attention to the dirty mulberry of her war paint surrounding messily each eye. Her face, framed by long brown hair falling in large, soft, loose waves or curls remains my some miracle void of visible scarring. However, with the perfect combination of the ideal company and enjoyable situation a broad smile breaking across her full lips will cause the barely visible indent of dimples to appear.

    As an active huntress, Brynn remains trim and fit. A slightly high waist and round hips lend a certain swing to her step, giving her a rather distinct walk. Although not easily lost in a marketplace crowd the same cannot be said for a shaded forest.

    Voice: Feminine, Smooth

    [​IMG]

    PERSONALITY:

    Brynn has a kindness of heart and compassion that would make some underestimate her, though there could not be a more unjustified thing. She is quick with a kind word and even quicker with a supportive shoulder and a listening ear. Familiar with traveling about she can easily endear herself to a group, whether it is completely genuine or not can be difficult to decide. She is the type that most confide in and can meet inquiries with surprisingly wise words. She is mature for her age, which most likely contributes to this. She is fiercely loyal and passionate, one could also say she loves love. That being said she is also extremely content to be alone and needs time to herself. That is one side to Brynn. However, there is one thing that makes up all of this, at her core she is her values.

    This makes for a rather interesting character with a most surprising ability to take a complete 180-degree switch. When the she-wolf's values are violated she becomes a fierce defender. Harsh, manipulative, condescending, cunning and snide she will aim to tear those who find themselves against these values down, providing her own style of justice. Nothing is more important to her than this.
    Positive Traits: Loyal, Passionate, Loving, Good Listener, Compassionate, Dedicated

    Negative Traits: Vicious, Condescending, Secretive, Defensive


    Likes:

      • Large fluffy snowflakes that fall like feathers and shine like diamonds
      • The hunt
      • Companionship but also being alone
      • The taste of fresh berries
      • The wilds
      • Birch in the fall and pine trees in the winter
    Dislikes:

      • The clicking of the chaurus
      • The heat
      • Immoral people
      • Attention seeking behavior

    upload_2017-2-9_22-41-3.png

    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:



    COMING SOON
    (TO EDIT THIS WHOLE SECTION)
    Class: Hunter/ Warrior

    Major Skills: Dual wielding Swords (one-handed), Heavy-Mid weight armor, sneak, archery, Tracking & Processing (animals)


    "Minor"/ Secondary Skills: Alchemy, Visual Arts, Lycanthropy abilities, Speech

    Weapons: Brynn carries with her twin swords special made for her hands, by her specification. They are simple but beautiiful in make, the leather on their hilts supple and well worn in. Aside from this the nord also carries a bow, likewise made specially for her. It is mid range in size to accomodate long range accuracy as well as quicker draw rate.

    Gear: When going in to battle Brynn wears a hybrid gear that allows for mobility but also can defend her against the more brutal attacks. When simply hunting she wears a more stealthy leather set of armor.

    For those situations that call for a heavier set of armor Brynn dons a custom set comprised largely of ebony. Layered atop a typical fitted leather bodice is a chestplate that gives the appearance of being ribbed leaving the raised sections to come together in the central line. Beyond her bust the plate is no longer visible hidden under a cloth that falls from around her neck and can also be raised to protect her lower face. The left shoulder guard is not metal at all, and instead is a leather pauldron that attaches under the chestplate. The opposite shoulder armor is much heavier, and is made of a number of metals with an ebony base decorate triangular spikes rise from it in assorted sizes, increasing in such as they near the shoulder. This piece of armor rests atop a black fur that circles around to attach to the opposite side of the chest plate.

    Protecting her arms on the upper side a unique plate design is in place. Like the teeth of some beast sharp spikes rise and turn inwards so that if the woman was to pull these spikes across a target they would rip the skin and even at times catch the flesh on the arm allowing for control. The hands are also protected though the gauntlets are bare of any additions.

    The left hip is covered by a molded hipguard with metal falling beneath it as well, though the right is left bare. Also around her waist a mulberry cloth hangs much like that decorating bone mold armor to fall between her legs. A cape may also be at times attached beneath the pauldrons of the same colour. The legs are also protected by a mixture of the samebeautofulysmithed leather and a black dyed leather with boots to match.





    Inventory: Coming soon


    [​IMG]
    HISTORY:

    “Mama,” The most innocent voice, that of a child questioned from behind huge blue eyes “Where’s Daddy?”

    The question was simple; none could have expected a child of her age to know what had happened when many of the elders had not a single inkling. All she knew in her small child mind was that her father, who had always loved her, had seemed to have disappeared. She could remember even now stories before the blowing out of the candle beside her bed, how he used to twirl her around making her feel as if she could fly, allowing her to be the hero of every story, making her believe that she could do anything, she could remember the warm embrace and his rough shirt against her face when hot tears spilt down her face. She knew then and knew even now that he had loved her but still again to this days she was blind to the events that had torn her away from him.She couldn’t have known how such an innocent question would lead to the stripping of all innocence in her world and illicit such a brutal response.

    Her mother turned to look at her and sneered ripping her dress out of the young girls hands. Her mother had never been what anyone would call a loving woman but something had broken within her that opened the flood gates upon this little girl.

    “Where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy?” she mocked her brutal tone cutting through the little girls fragile psyche “Am I not good enough for you dearest? Well Daddies not coming back for you he’s gone. Don’t you dare look at me that way, what did you expect. It’s all your fault he left anyway.”

    The little girl looked up at her in shock bringing her hands up to her mouth as her eyes filled and began to overflow with hot tears.
    “Mama!”

    She said throwing herself towards her mother arms widening for a hug but she never quite made it there, her mother’s hand came flying down and across her face was left a throbbing red mark. The girl fell catching herself wither her hands she cried out;
    “Mama!”

    “Get away from me”

    Stumbling back up she watched her mother turn her back to her and walk further back in to the room of which she stood in the door. She stood and cried as any child of her age, between 6 and five would do with one hand near her mouth with a balled fist and the other hanging to her side but she instead cried quietly. She could see her mother begin to walk back towards the door and she stared babbling apologies

    “I’m sorry Mama, sorry” she cried out as she stood in the doorway “I’m… I’m sorry.”

    Although she cried and pleaded as her mother approaches all she had was a hard look across her face then as she came closer she looked down at the girl trying to get her attention and smacked her hard with whatever was in her hand and said:

    “get out of my way. Learn your place girl.”

    Brynn fell to the floor and could feel the blood rushing from her head. She slowly lay down and the last thing she could remember was everything going black.

    She woke up in the “servants quarters” as her mother called them or “The downstairs bedrooms” as her father referred to them, mother had always told her not to go down here so why was she here? She decided to lay still for a while, well as long as a 5 year old would consider a while. She began to reflect on what had happened, she resisted the desire to curl up and sob but wouldn’t shake the feeling that if she couldn’t trust her family who could she trust and if her mother couldn’t lover her who could? She could no longer hold still or hold back the tears and thinking no one was around she began to sob, she sat up with her small feet dangling over the bed and her hands over her eyes with her loose curly golden blond hair hanging over her beet red face. Her sobs grew louder and she began to breathe in short jerks. Over her weeping she could not hear the sound of footsteps quickly approaching.

    “Little one,” crooned the voice as its owner whomever he was sat down next to her drawing her into his arms “Do not cry, you are healed now. All is well sweet girl.”

    Brynn looked up with her red puffy eyes and beheld a young Dunmer man. She wanted to speak but couldn’t stop blubbering, the Dunmer handed her a glass of water. Grasping it with both hands she drank it all and finally managed to stop crying. Handing it back to her she parted her pouty lips slightly looking up at the man then she reached with her little arm and felt her head. She looked confused, there was no bloody clump in her hair and although there was a scar and it continued to ache and she was confused.

    “Don’t touch it,” said the Dunmer kindly as he looked at her with a smile “as I said all is well.”

    Over the years her mother’s fits became a regular occurrence and the Dunmer became her best friend as well as a regular healer. She learned from him that their fathers had been close friends they had grown up together in Windhelm. Her father ignored the racism as he seemed to share many traits with his daughter believing all were equal. It seemed as well from childhood to when they were both grown her father coming from a more privileged family had aided in the Dumner’s father in every way he could. When it happened that her father married her mother and was convinced to move to Hammerfell he agreed to allow his friend’s son, her protector to come along and see more of the world.

    Perhaps it was for this reason that her protector did all he could for Brynn but Brynn believed it was because he had a kind heart. He would always take care of her, watch out for her, and on top of this all he taught her everything he knew. There was no shortage of funds in the house as Brynn had come from a family of privilege but it had become law that she was not to leave the house. The bruises were becoming too hard to explain for her mother she’s clumsy only work for the first while. Thus it became that the Dark Elf was her only friend. This did, however, play in her favor from time to time. Her mother was a social butterfly and liked to show off all her things Brynn being one of them. She would give her reprieve leaving her untouched for a short while to allow all her bruises and cuts to vanish just in time for her friends to arrive. She would dress Brynn in beautiful clothing and spend hours making her look like a perfect porcelain doll. Brynn would sit with her hands clasped on her lap looking down her body present but her spirit, her mind would be safe somewhere far away finding safety in a land of fairytale and make believe. In her mind she was free to be that great warrior her dad had always told her she would be one day, she was a companion. One of the great warriors that her Dunmer protector told her stories about; in her mind she was free. This state, however, safe it was like purgatory. She no longer had to sneak around when her mother was home or hideaway but she knew that soon after the afterglow of the parties and of the old money was gone from her mother’s face she would receive all the pain she had missed those weeks or days before.

    She did, however, being locked away in her home develop skills that perhaps she would not have before. Brynn found that she had a love to pain and draw. She would sit when her mother was away visiting one of her gentleman friends up looking out the highest windows and paint all these things she longed to touch and all these colours she wished to properly see. This was again thanks in all part to her Dark Elf-friend. He somehow managed to procure the paints and hide and as she found out much later keep all the paintings she had come to finish. She had other similar hobbies such as reading. It was lucky then that they had an extensive library and had an endless supply of interesting books. She did, however, crave to be in the outdoors and when her mother went on trips this was her heaven. She was almost exclusively outdoors during these times supervised to a point but allowed to explore. This was when she rediscovered her intense connection with nature. There was no company she liked better than the animals of the forest and would sit still for hours in order to catch if only one glimpse. She would run with an expression of pure bliss barefoot through the forests laughing her haunting bell-like laugh as the air would whip against her face. These were again the best times of her childhood but they could not last and were the most fleeting of her childhood days.

    It went on in this way for years, growing as an animal in a cage not truly knowing the outside world. She had however not grown without knowing love, her and her protector had come to be as brother and sister and the bond became stronger and stronger every day. Looking back on these days she would refer to him as her first shield brother. This did, however, begin to around when Brynn was the age of 11 cause problems. She began to notice her protector acting strangely. He was hiding something from her she could tell as well as he began to grow angrier. As was to be expected seeing someone you love being hurt he had always been hurt himself but he had constantly managed to keep level headed around Brynn for her sake. This new brother scared her at times, he had been the only calm she had known for her childhood she could remember and although she enjoyed change this was unsettling. It could have been due to the fact that Brynn’s situation was getting worse. She was no longer a small doll and her mother no longer found joy in dressing her up this hand in hand with the fact that Brynn looked nothing like her mother distanced Brynn as a daughter in her mother’s eyes even further. She had become as distant as hired help, no good for anything but releasing pent up aggression.

    It was one day that the tension boiled over and things became unfamiliar. She was at her mother’s feet, lying on the ground with her vision starting to blur from the pain. She refused to let a single tear fall from her stone face. For the past few years, it had been the hardened exterior she had taken on if she could see how badly she was hurting her physical she would not let her see how much she was hurting on the inside. To her tears were worth more than blood. She could see her mother starting to walk away. She tried to remember what had brought this on but she could not recall if there had even been an incident to prelude the violence. She could tell her mother was talking but she couldn’t quite hear, she did, however, notice a shape appearing in the shadows. Her mother had turned back around and began walking towards her, a hot iron poker in hand. Brynn’s eyes widened in horror and sat up pushing herself backward. Everything seemed to go slowly after this moment. Her mother started laughing at her horrified face and as she drew nearer she began to swing the poker more and more. Then suddenly she stopped. Her face looked off, to blank for a moment then a dark hand quickly glided around her mother’s waist and reaching out grabbed the poker then disappearing once again. She was so confused, why had her mother just stopped.

    “Wha…”

    She began squinting her eyes then widening them as her mother’s eyes rolled back into her head and she began to fall backward. Quickly the same dark figure caught her in its arms and began carrying her away. Brynn began to stand up and shouted at the figure.

    “WAIT!”

    She now had her wobbly feet beneath her, her head was spinning and her fragile body demanding her to sit back down. Then firming her stance she yelled again;

    “Where are you going with my mother?!”

    It was strange, although she had not a good experience with her mother for years she was not about to let this figure take another parent without explanation. The figure with the shrouded face looked over to her then hiking the mother up in his arms pulled what appeared to be an arrow out of her. He laid her down on the nearest couch then rushed towards the girl. Brynn started yelling for her brother as he approached but he reached her before anyone could have heard her. He covered her mouth with an oddly familiar feeling hand and ripping his face wrappings off he yelled;

    “Brynn! Brynn, little one it is me,” it was indeed her brother “I am sorry to have frightened you.”

    There they stayed for a moment Brynn standing confused and slightly startled while her brother embraced her. She was so confused. Was her mother dead? What would they do now? She was sure not to forget this. Then the Dunmer let the embrace go and with a gleam of excitement and panic in his eyes began to speak.

    “I have no time to explain now, quick little one follow me.”

    He grabbed her realizing it would go faster if he carried her and ran down the many flights of stairs. They came to the rooms in which they both slept, where she had awoken on that first night and all she could think of is how bare the room looked. Where have all our things gone? She wondered her mind swimming. The Dark Elf put her down on her bed and looked her in the eyes and with great intensity gave her these directions

    “I know it is terribly confusing to you now but I’ll need you to, once I leave this room put on those clothing that is on the bed there,” he said point and standing up “Knock when you are done changing. Make haste sweet one.”

    He walked out and closed the door and Brynn did as she was told. She would always trust her brother and she had a feeling whatever was happening was for the best. She hurried and undressed then pulled on the inconspicuous clothing of a traveler. She turned after smoothing everything out. The potions that the Dunmer had given her were taking effect, she was feeling stronger already. She knocked softly and stood back letting her brother come in. she noticed her feet were moving even more silently then what was the norm and was impressed. Then focusing back on her brother whose hand was extended she listened.

    “Come,” he said as she grabbed his extended hand “Follow me, and if we are stopped let me do the talking. That shouldn’t be a problem, at least not for tonight. No one would recognize you anyways. That’s one positive to being caged like a bird.”

    She now knew what was going on, before she had a suspicion but now she knew. She followed both moving as silently as shadows. Leaving the house through the back doors they neared the stables. A horse, a wonderful proud looking black steed she did not recognize stood outside tethered and waiting for them. She could see no bags and looked confused until of course noticing the pack that the Dunmer must have picked up while she was changing. She was lifted up onto the horse and sat poised as Brother lifted himself to sit behind her.

    “Now we ride Brynn,” Brother whispered in her ear “Now you are free song bird.”

    A lovely smile broke across Brynn’s face as the horse began to carry them away, the more distance they covered the broader her smile got. The rest of the journey was just as exciting to her as the first night. Everywhere she looked there was something new. Oh and all the people! During the first night, they had switched from their black steed to a carriage pulled by a much sturdier looking horse. It seemed in the back they had everything they needed to start a new life, wherever it was that Brother was taking them. Along the road, they would run into a few travelers looking to be the same as themselves though obviously not. Due to the limited amount of contact with the outside world, Brynn found everyone and everything absolutely fascinating. She was quite shy at first barely talking or making eye contact but once she was lured out of her shell she would ask as many questions as she could and listen to even the most mundane stories with complete interest.

    It was not long until they crossed the border into Skyrim. It was a beautiful place to Brynn who felt finally as if she was somewhere she belonged.

    “I’m bringing you back to the land of your father,” Said brother to her upon nearing the border “And the place, my dear where you were born.”


    Brynn let the past be behind her leaving any anger or hatred she had in the past asking not to know the fate of her mother. She was ready and happy to accept this new life that Brother had given to her. The two settled in a cabin in the mountain range dividing Falkreath and The Rift. It was a small place but with room plenty enough for the both of them. On the one side was an extensive garden along with a chicken coup, a stable, and an area for the cows and goats to be fenced in. On the other side of the house, there were training dummies to be set as well as targets for practicing archery as well as a shed for pelts as well as a training rack. Within a few months of living in the woods, Brother had begun to teach Brynn how to handle herself in combat. Soon she found herself growing more and more successful with the bow. The two supported themselves off their small menagerie of animals, their garden, but most of their hunting and soon Brynn began bringing in her weight.

    To Brynn however every life she took was important she recognized that they gave their lives for her to live. She appreciated the animals as part of the hunt. Still as before she would spend long periods of time out in the woods attempting to become one with nature, she had particular interest in the quiet foxes and the fearsome wolves. She would as before still sprint through the forest trying to imagine how a deer would feel doing the same enjoying every branched that whipped her face. She loved the fresh air and the feel of dirt beneath her feet. She was meant to be here.

    As time progressed and a year had passed Brynn began training in the usage of weapons and armor. It became apparent that she favored the heavy armor, feeling more secure being encased within it although she had always felt that the lack of manoeuvrability was frustrating. Once she had chosen her armor she moved onto weapons. She began to train in both one handed and two handed but it was by her choice that she found dual wielding. Brother would have much preferred one handed with a sword and shield or perhaps for her to not fight at all but she was determined to fulfill these dreams that unknowingly her father and Brother had instilled within her. Thus as she wished he taught her the prefer techniques and slowly she became more and more skilled. It was a calm life, a satisfying, soul healing life. There was nothing but happiness in those four years but nothing perfect or so happy it seems can ever last.

    It happened during the warmer months, Brynn had been out late. No doubt Brother will be worried but just wait until he sees the hides I’ve got for him now! Brynn though as she moved towards the cabin, it was just becoming night and she knew she should have returned home earlier but she had been trailing deer beginning early that morning. She had a pack full of venison and hides and was sure that she would be forgiven. Brynn had also stopped to gather an armful of flowers on her returning path and would present them as a gift seeking further forgiveness. She had just started breaking rules as out of habit she once followed them to a tee but now that it had started it was not about to stop. With a carefree smile on her face she observed the smoke rising from the cabin and the windows beginning to glow as the light faded. She reached the door and noticing it was slightly ajar pushed it open. Forgetting to close the door, unlike brother she though with an odd expression on her face. Looking down at the ground as she stepped inside and turning to where she assumed he would be seated by the fire she began to recite her apology

    “Brother, I know you must have been ill with worry but I am safe and there is no need to be upset. None at all. I in fact have brought back enough venison to fill our bellies for…”

    Brynn dropped her back and began to unload the meat then noticed the strange silence and looked up. Brother was not in his seat by the fire, not only that but the fire seemed to be dying just lighting s small portion of the room.

    “Brother?” she asked as she stood up grabbing her flowers and began walking towards the area where they slept “Brother I am sorry… Broth-“

    Her words were cut short. Her heart began to race. Her breath coming in short gasps. Time began to slow down for Brynn as the flowers all fell to the floor. She tried to walk forward; she shuffled bringing her hands to her mouth as she had that very first time that she had met her mother’s wrath. She opened her mouth as if to wail but all she could do was shaking. She dropped to her knees once she reached the bed and looked up at the most painful thing she had ever seen. There with an arrow between his eyes was Brothers cold corps. She sat on her knees for what seemed like ages before the silence was broken with a single sob set off a waterfall of tears. She shook violently as she wept; she had never felt so much loss as this moment now. It was a burning, raging, stinging pain that felt as if it were eating away at her soul. It seemed nothing would relive her of this endless darkness that had invaded her heart but finally the morn took pity on her and allowed the sobbing girl to finally escape into sleep.

    It was days before she emerged from that cabin and she emerge not the same person as had entered. Though now as she stood looking down at him in his makeshift coffin it could not be more apparent. Her face was hardened and serious. It was as if she had turned to stone.

    “Brother”

    She called out softly to him wishing for nothing more than for him to rise up and take her hand. He did not. He could not she told herself as she looked down with lost eyes at the Dunmer. His dark grey skin seemed to be stretched tighter across his angular face with his prominent cheek bones jutting out. It made her almost choke again looking down at his lips, they were without the smile that she had loved and it made him look almost alien. She kneeled beside the coffin and adjusted his black hair that fell like wisps around his peaceful face. Who would have wanted you dead brother? If only you could speak to me now… how would the dark brotherhood find us. Why would they leave behind the contract? She mental shook herself and bit her lip then sighing heavily she began to croon her voice choking

    “all is well,” she began to him as he had said to her those many years ago when her tiny feet dangled off of the side of the bed “Can’t you hear me? All is well.”

    These were the last words she spoke for months. The first year without Brother was the hardest but it aloud her in solitude to figure out whom she was. She spent it honing her abilities, hunting, trying to support herself and save enough coin for the adventure ahead. By the time this year had past she had a full set of armor and upon selling all the farm animals she was able to buy herself a horse. This was the beginnings of her true adventure. Brynn spent the first year proving herself as a mercenary worthy for hire and soon found many jobs available. Then once this became boring she set out to explore on her own. She favoured the ancient crypts or ruins as they posed the most challenge as well as the most interesting artifacts and architectural beauty.


    It then became a favorite past time of hers to hunt down bandits. The joy that would make her spirits soar as the bandits called out to her mocking the girl that stood before them. So unsuspecting she would think as she turned to them a huge grin upon her face. Brynn would then turn drawing her swords and begin the massacre. The thrill of besting an opponent and by the same coin riding Skyrim of another threat filled her spirits with glee. She felt as if she was performing perhaps in a silver dance as she slashed and spun about in battle. She became stronger as the years went by and the intricate dance of the swords became more and more beautiful.

    Most of this time was spent in relative solidarity, at first a blessing soon began to devolve into a hindrance. The problem, by chance, would soon begin to solve itself. As Brynn’s mind began to lean to the idea of returning to civilization in hopes of finding company companionship found her.

    It had been nothing if not chance that had found her slowly and painfully plodding down the road. Her face slightly contorted in pain with every rise and fall of her lithe body atop the black steed as she headed for town. She could not help but roll her eyes at the memory of how she had received her bloodied leg and arm as well as her cracked rib. It had been nothing but a fluke, she had made a small mistake and had come out of it broken, bruised and bloodied. She had been on no grand journey and so had not equipped herself for these types of wounds, again foolishness on her own part.


    Approaching a turn in her path the cries of war reached the ears of the huntress. The Nord straightened in the saddle as her horse nickered nervously. Stopping for a moment Brynn hesitated. She was well aware of her impaired abilities and her limitation but after a short time of contemplation curiosity and a sense of duty overtook her. With a clicking of her tongue and a gentle touch of her heel to the side of her horse, she began to move forward.

    (I chose not to edit this as it is the original history written for the character.)

    TO BE CONTINUED...





  • Hands of the Sorrowful Knight (REDUX): Character Card Reference Sheet Nov 22, 2016

    Character Card Reference:

    Hands of the Sorrowful Knight
    Adapted by: CapObvious

    OOC
    IC

    Roster:

    CapObvious : Dolmas Hlerayn/ Daxos Loran
    Simus : Alice Psyrakon / Titus Psyrakon / Cilla Psyrakon
    EpicVakarian: Ella Fisher
    Daryl Dixon: Bryce Montarello
    Hlíf 'Ulfr: Cosset Beaulieu/ Brynn Ráðúlfr
    Gidian the Diva:

  • Cosset Beaulieu (UNDER CONSTRUCTION) Nov 20, 2016

    upload_2016-11-20_18-33-14.jpeg

    Cosset Beaulieu
    23 YEAR OLD FEMALE BRETON
    THE SERPENT

    "There was a danger about her - the pungent odour of magic best forgotten engulfed her every move, from her stares to the rising and falling of her diaphragm." -Ysarth the watcher
    PERSONAL DETAILS:


    Alias: None

    Sexuality: Not defined and I'm quite sure asking would elicit and odd look and an uncomfortable exit from the current conversation.

    Marital status: Single

    Occupation: Is compiling information in the written form as many scholars tend to do on oddities, anomalies, and just generally unrecorded subjects across Skyrim. She will also take on the odd jobs that strike her fancy in the moment and procures a decent quantity of coin this way, this vary from the usual adventurers grind to simple jobs of enchanting.

    Residence: Obviously enough to those that would be privy to any kind of information as to her living quarters she would have some sort of space within the bounds of the college of Winterhold, though in truth she rarely passed within its bounds and occupies different inns for ever varying reasons and durations. Her family once owned land, far from these parts. She does not return to it if it does still exist in their names. Speaking of family...

    Family: The "Manmeri" has no family to speak of or perhaps simply chooses not to speak of them. Especially to you, stranger that you are.

    Affiliations: She is certainly affiliated with the college of Winterhold as is made obvious by the ever popular response to those that pry: "I'm on college business." Whether she is or not at the time is another affair entirely.

    Note-worthy Personal Relationships:N/A (Open for editing)

    Political Views: "Neither side is without fault, this is clear. However, more important than any small detail is this; the war must end. One way or another."

    Religion: Beyond facts the woman trusts very little and so is selective of her belief and certainly does not rely on anything outside of her own tenacity to carry her through life.

    Affliction/Disease/Ailments: Is plagued with a suspected "Paranoid Personality Disorder"




    upload_2016-11-20_18-33-14.jpeg

    When decorated with war paint it is a dusty blue that flows in fluid lines over her skin, running from her face and disappearing from her neck into the hidden parts of her body.



    PHYSIOLOGY:

    The Breton is slight in stature, as is in line with the general standards of her people, standing at roughly 5'3. Though she is a traveler, an adventurer and spends much of her time moving about she has so far avoided the squaring of feminine features that often comes to those with heavy weapons and even heavier armor. Her body has a decidedly soft, womanly shape about it despite good muscle tone. Generous curves and ample bust only further this popular opinion, though in no way are used to draw attention. She has a natural conservative way about her, perhaps stemming from the fluid cloth that adorns her and finds her covered, though not hidden.


    Contrary to the subtly hidden figure her face demands attention. It is framed by a halo of soft caramel curls touched with varying shades of blonde and in its darkest parts, the slightest hints of a copper auburn colouring. These stray strands tend to fall to the sides as well as in front of her face demanding to be tucked behind slightly pointed ears. Her own pigment is slightly deeper than a majority of her kin being a healthy lightly sun-kissed colour. The sun had also gifted her a sprinkle of hardly visible freckles dotting sparsely her button nose along with the warm glow. The eyes, filled with a brilliant fire burning under thick lashes, hold many a tint that mingle for a rather beautiful show. The base colour of the iris is a pale blue nestled tightly within a ring of deep indigo. Spirling throughout the colours is a network of webs white as snow, and finally, a rather large brown spot occupies the inner corner of the left eye. A small oddity but still they smile still just as jovially as any other set when called to meet a smile passing over the plump soft rose lips. That being said, this isn't the most common of looks. Her eyes tend to look somehow haunted, the lips often pulled to one side in concentration or contemplation.


    Voice: Dulcet



    PERSONALITY:



    In short, she is no simpleton. The layers and depth of character are vast and often elusive and tainted by hidden mental illness. As an overreaching rule, Cosset is an intellectual to the point of being astonishingly bright and subscribes to logic as most other scholars would do, though individual logic may be tainted. For this reason, she finds shelter within facts and unbiased observation, obviously contributing to her current fields of study. She appreciates any sage though reacts aggressively to her own brainpower being challenged, questioned any perceived threat to it. She also does not stand for others belittling her either as you may have been able to deduce. These are some of her most evident traits to any acquaintance. However beneath the surface, and all other traits aside,a sickness festers.


    A deep seeded paranoia stalks every conversation, every reflection that mirrors in her eyes of those around her. There, behind the icy eyes,a basic lack of trust lives entrenched. She harbors no belief in the commitments, promises, or general trustworthiness of others and in every word sees an attack on her person, a hidden meaning that may be nothing more than a ghost. These perceived wounds are met with no less than swift and unforgiving retaliation often paired with a long-held grudge. If not one can be assured that she is plotting her next calculated move, simply waiting for the right moment. All of this suspicion makes relaxation a difficult goal to achieve and a dangerous and unpredictable host. The process of acting upon such suspicions can happen with little to no notice and lack all mercy. One might go from jovial laughter to having a knife in between their ribs, it is a secret peril that is all too real.


    Positive Traits: Highly intelligent, Open-minded to diversity, Fiercely passionate

    Negative Traits: Unpredictable, Paranoid, Untrusting, Detached, Hostile


    Likes:

    • Cold drinking water & hot cider
    • Intellect. Charm. Are they not one in the same?
    • Literature, scholarly primarily.
    • Soft materials and luxurious furs
    Dislikes:
    • Overly deep bodies of water, especially those with strong or unpredictable currents.
    • Dullards and their ilk.

    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral


    [​IMG]


    COMBAT STATS/ DETAILS:


    Cosset is without question a pure mage. A great wielder of destruction magic the woman prefers the element of fire and uses a great variety of fire-based spells when in the throes of battle. Whether it be a blast of flame or a rune placed carefully there is a tendency to get somewhat lost in the heat of those more involved altercations. Therefore those around her are suggested to carry caution in more intense situations.


    Other schools of magic may be called upon as she possesses a firm grasp on these however the parallel to destruction, restoration, is her second strongest field of study. Providing balance in this way she is able to both heal her own body and those of her compatriots. This makes her a valuable asset to a team or group setting, at least on paper.


    One peculiarity that is worth mentioning is the odd way in which her body reacts to depleted magicka stores. One might notice that this individual seems to be able to push beyond what would be a proper estimate for her capacity, however, it also appears to take a great toll on her body. Once the stores are depleted she begins to draw on her own health, replacing the magicka. It is a dangerous trade-off, though with the combination of restoration and high damage output it is clearly a boon.

    Class: Mage

    Major Skills:

    • Destruction
    • Restoration
    • Alteration
    • Unarmed Combat
    Other Noteable Skills:
    • Sneaking
    • Varying degrees of all other schools of Magic
    • One Handed
    • Enchanting

    Weapons: A number of finely made daggers, hidden on her person.

    Gear:
    As a majority of those mages dedicated to the study of magic the young Breton is rarely if ever seen without her robes. That being said the robes that swaddle her form are in no way ordinary. The fabric that makes up the custom-made, tailored garments are of astounding quality, the craftsmanship being equally impressive. Blue dominates the landscape of the cloth, a colouring mimicking that of the faded paint found upon the shields of Winterhold. Woven into the folds are accents of white and pale silver embroidered threading. All buckles and other hardware fade seamlessly with this scheme, being silver themselves.


    Upon the vestments is the handiwork of the mage herself. With an impressive handle on the process of enchanting the robes are heavily enchanted with 2 enchantments each. Everyone revolves around her favored schools of magic rather than regenerations of magicka. This pairs well with her rather odd style of magicka regeneration. A glint of a fine silver chain disappearing to hide within the cover of her clothing also suggest jewelry of some sort, claiming health properties rather than those of magicka.

    Laterality: Ambidextrous

    Inventory: (COMING SOON)


    HISTORY: (COMING SOON)

    Attached Files:

  • (Bramwell) Snippet: 1 Jun 7, 2015

    A single eerie note sounded from high above and all those who were not working paused to listen. The note soon became a melody, haunted but beautiful filtering down with the gentle rays of light from above. She turned to look through the grey stone doorway in to the grand circular room which was at the center of all the castles pathways. It was from the balcony above that the mysterious musician played.
    I did not know you had need of a bard at castle Dawnguard” she quipped with little effort given to hide the judgment and confusion on her face. Sorine simply smiled and looked away from the travelers probing stare and towards the sound.

    We do not.” She stated calmly, ignoring the tone of the comment completely. This dismissal generated a rather exasperated reaction from the visitor who only moments before had been asking to trade with the expert marksman.
    Well what’s that noise then?” She retorted moving her hands to rest on her hip.
    That, well,” she returned her now slightly amused visage to the imperial “That would be Bram.
    With a slight shake of her head the woman waved away the conversation, seeing that it would lead to no desirable end. The two returned to their conversation, halted by the note only moments before as the sounds of the forge and the music of the lute continued steadily in the background.
    (To Be Edited.)
  • Zihari Character Card Jan 24, 2014

    From under long doe like eyelashes peer enthralling golden eyes, each disk like pupil endless black voids. Each glimmering like precious gems set in equally golden silken skin, above hanging a simple yet elegant circlet of reflective chain. Face framed by fire, shining red, blond hair. A full, petite mouth that smiles listlessly hiding a thousand secrets and a set of pearl like fangs. Cream markings adorn elegantly cheeks and brow while equally exquisite markings of hazelnut cover the entirety of fluttering eyelids only to run like tears from each corner. Elongated bomser like ears peek daintily from under her mane, short red cream fur lining the upper ear ending in tassel like tuffs. The pair ornamented by luminous golden earrings whisper their jingles with each small movement of the regal head. Long, graceful neck flows into refined shoulders. A single petite hand rests near ample bosom, five digits, five fingers each clawed. Sculpted arms lead to fire furred elbows and again to neat shoulders. Her well curved back erupts midway through once more in a line of fire, fur growing in length as the tailbone is neared going no further. Flowing from the fire, a tail of long soft fur sits atop rounded rump, extending to reach at its swishing tip only mid-thigh. Toned legs, smooth and unmarked come to ankles, dancing with the same wispily fluid fur as hangs from the joints of her arms. A carnal exotic voice whispers with a purr. Small clawed feet ready to send the mirage dancing away with no more than a word. “Zihari”
    [​IMG]
    Reference for face, features, hair cut, ears, all except coloration
    Name Zihari


    Race: Khajiit (Ohmes/ Ohmes-raht)
    Sex Female
    Height 5’0
    Fighting style: Hand to hand, dual wields daggers

    Acessories:

    Circlet:

    Earrings:


    Gear:
    Armor

    Small arm shields on both arms that reach from the wrist and extend, but are not attached, slightly past the elbow





    Weaponry:

    Two of each of the following daggers:

    References:


    This as a reference for eye shape:

    [​IMG]
    This as a reference for hair style and colour:


    Reference for fur:




    Reference for Markings on face but in colors descried:










    Reference for eyes (but rounded pupils, this is only for colour)

  • By Night We Rise (Reference) Jan 23, 2014

    References for RolePlay:

    By Night We Rise
    OOC
    An Elder Scrolls RP By: Specter of Death, A. Auditore, and Hlif 'Ulfr
    Will add the CCs as more are accepted
    Character Cards
    Specter of Death:Tryian Rallis and Ri'Zankir Moonblood
    Tryian
    Ri'Zankir Moonblood


    Hlif'Ulfr: Zihari and Brynn Ráðúlfr
    Zihari

    Brynn Ráðúlfr
    CapObvious: Dolmas and ... and Manwe Sedri


    Manwe Sedri




    FarthLion: Natch Lex




    Valin Oakthorn: Alarik Oakthorn



    CapObvious likes this.
  • CC references for RP "And Justice for All" Dec 13, 2013

    CC references for RP "And Justice for All":

    AlmightyGoose: Markus




    UnLonged: Malpenar Valeius




    Torok :Dander




    Jo'rak Vandeni: Jokar Valeri



    Hlíf 'Ulfr: Brynn Ráðúlfr




    Boudica: Abel Ulfsson



    BlackDoom59: Garret Rendon




    Kimrisvik: Jace and Rogga Thorsson



    Osris: Skwtzgarr Trollsblood

  • Character Card: Brynn Ráðúlfr (UNDER CONSTRUCTION) Apr 15, 2013


    UNDER CONSTRUCTION




    [​IMG]

    Brynn Ráðúlfr
    21 YEAR OLD FEMALE NORD
    5THOF SUN'S DAWN, THE LOVER



    "She reeked of animal, both in ways and scent, her eyes were the eyes of predators, more than of any man."
    PERSONAL DETAILS:
    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Marital status: Single

    Affliction: Lycanthropy (Werewolf)



    APPEARANCE:

    Years of the hunt, of stalking her target have instilled a certain animalistic grace into Brynn. Her eyes, in shades of bright to grey blues, may flicker in an instance from the full intensity of what lay in her heart or mind to a cold, protected, indifference but always contain a certain intelligent feral shine. For all her time spent outside the confines of four walls Brynn’s skin remains fair in colour drawing further attention to the dirty mulberry of her war paint surrounding messily each eye. Her face, framed by long brown hair falling in large, soft, loose waves or curls remains my some miracle void of visible scaring. However with the perfect combination of the ideal company and enjoyable situation a broad smile breaking across her full lips will cause the barely visible indent of dimples to appear.

    As an active huntress Brynn remains trim and fit. A slightly high waist and round hips lend a certain swing to her step, giving her a rather distinct walk. Although not easily lost in a marketplace crowd the same cannot be said for an shaded forest.



    HISTORY:

    “Mama,” The most innocent voice, that of a child questioned from behind huge blue eyes “Where’s Daddy?”


    The question was simple; none could have expected a child of her age to know what had happened when many of the elders had not a single inkling. All she knew in her small child mind was that her father, who had always loved her, had seemed to have disappeared. She could remember even now stories before the blowing out of the candle beside her bed, how he used to twirl her around making her feel as if she could fly, allowing her to be the hero of every story, making her believe that she could do anything, she could remember the warm embrace and his rough shirt against her face when hot tears spilt down her face. She knew then and knew even now that he had loved her but still again to this days she was blind to the events that had torn her away from him.She couldn’t have known how such an innocent question would lead to the stripping of all innocence in her world and illicit such a brutal response.

    Her mother turned to look at her and sneered ripping her dress out of the young girls hands. Her mother had never been what anyone would call a loving woman but something had broken within her that opened the flood gates upon this little girl.

    “Where’s Daddy? Where’s Daddy?” she mocked her brutal tone cutting through the little girls fragile psyche “Am I not good enough for you dearest? Well Daddies not coming back for you he’s gone. Don’t you dare look at me that way, what did you expect. It’s all your fault he left anyway.”

    The little girl looked up at her in shock bringing her hands up to her mouth as her eyes filled and began to overflow with hot tears.
    “Mama!”


    She said throwing herself towards her mother arms widening for a hug but she never quite made it there, her mother’s hand came flying down and across her face was left a throbbing red mark. The girl fell catching herself wither her hands she cried out;
    “Mama!”


    “Get away from me”

    Stumbling back up she watched her mother turn her back to her and walk further back in to the room of which she stood in the door. She stood and cried as any child of her age, between 6 and five would do with one hand near her mouth with a balled fist and the other hanging to her side but she instead cried quietly. She could see her mother begin to walk back towards the door and she stared babbling apologies

    “I’m sorry Mama, sorry” she cried out as she stood in the doorway “I’m… I’m sorry.”

    Although she cried and pleaded as her mother approaches all she had was a hard look across her face then as she came closer she looked down at the girl trying to get her attention and smacked her hard with whatever was in her hand and said:

    “get out of my way. Learn your place girl.”

    Brynn fell to the floor and could feel the blood rushing from her head. She slowly lay down and the last thing she could remember was everything going black.

    She woke up in the “servants quarters” as her mother called them or “The downstairs bedrooms” as her father referred to them, mother had always told her not to go down here so why was she here? She decided to lay still for a while, well as long as a 5 year old would consider a while. She began to reflect on what had happened, she resisted the desire to curl up and sob but wouldn’t shake the feeling that if she couldn’t trust her family who could she trust and if her mother couldn’t lover her who could? She could no longer hold still or hold back the tears and thinking no one was around she began to sob, she sat up with her small feet dangling over the bed and her hands over her eyes with her loose curly golden blond hair hanging over her beet red face. Her sobs grew louder and she began to breathe in short jerks. Over her weeping she could not hear the sound of footsteps quickly approaching.

    “Little one,” crooned the voice as its owner whomever he was sat down next to her drawing her into his arms “Do not cry, you are healed now. All is well sweet girl.”

    Brynn looked up with her red puffy eyes and beheld a young Dunmer man. She wanted to speak but couldn’t stop blubbering, the Dunmer handed her a glass of water. Grasping it with both hands she drank it all and finally managed to stop crying. Handing it back to her she parted her pouty lips slightly looking up at the man then she reached with her little arm and felt her head. She looked confused, there was no bloody clump in her hair and although there was a scar and it continued to ache and she was confused.

    “Don’t touch it,” said the Dunmer kindly as he looked at her with a smile “as I said all is well.”

    Over the years her mother’s fits became a regular occurrence and the Dunmer became her best friend as well as a regular healer. She learned from him that their fathers had been close friends they had grown up together in Windhelm. Her father ignored the racism as he seemed to share many traits with his daughter believing all were equal. It seemed as well from childhood to when they were both grown her father coming from a more privileged family had aided in the Dumner’s father in every way he could. When it happened that her father married her mother and was convinced to move to Hammerfell he agreed to allow his friend’s son, her protector to come along and see more of the world.

    Perhaps it was for this reason that her protector did all he could for Brynn but Brynn believed it was because he had a kind heart. He would always take care of her, watch out for her, and on top of this all he taught her everything he knew. There was no shortage of funds in the house as Brynn had come from a family of privilege but it had become law that she was not to leave the house. The bruises were becoming too hard to explain for her mother she’s clumsy only work for the first while. Thus it became that the Dark Elf was her only friend. This did however play in her favour from time to time. Her mother was a social butterfly and liked to show off all her things Brynn being one of them. She would give her reprieve leaving her untouched for a short while to allow all her bruises and cuts to vanish just in time for her friends to arrive. She would dress Brynn in beautiful clothing and spend hours making her look like a perfect porcelain doll. Brynn would sit with her hands clasped on her lap looking down her body present but her spirit, her mind would be safe somewhere far away finding safety in a land of fairytale and make believe. In her mind she was free to be that great warrior her dad had always told her she would be one day, she was a companion. One of the great warriors that her Dunmer protector told her stories about; in her mind she was free. This state however safe it was was like purgatory. She no longer had to sneak around when her mother was home or hideaway but she knew that soon after the afterglow of the parties and of the old money was gone from her mother’s face she would receive all the pain she had missed those weeks or days before.

    She did however being locked away in her home develop skills that perhaps she would not have before. Brynn found that she had a love to pain and draw. She would sit when her mother was away visiting one of her gentleman friends up looking out the highest windows and paint all these things she longed to touch and all these colours she wished to properly see. This was again thanks in all part to her Dark Elf friend. He somehow managed to procure the paints and hide and as she found out much later keep all the paintings she had come to finish. She had other similar hobbies such as reading. It was lucky then that they had an extensive library and had an endless supply of interesting books. She did however crave to be in the outdoors and when her mother went on trips this was her heaven. She was almost exclusively outdoors during these times supervised to a point but aloud to explore. This was when she rediscovered her intense connection with nature. There was no company she liked better than the animals of the forest and would sit still for hours in order to catch if only one glimpse. She would run with an expression of pure bliss barefoot through the forests laughing her haunting bell like laugh as the air would whip against her face. These were again the best times of her childhood but they could not last and were the most fleeting of her childhood days.

    It went on in this way for years, growing as an animal in a cage not truly knowing the outside world. She had however not grown without knowing love, her and her protector had come to be as brother and sister and the bond became stronger and stronger every day. Looking back on these days she would refer to him as her first shield brother. This did however begin to around when Brynn was the age of 11 cause problems. She began to notice her protector acting strangely. He was hiding something from her she could tell as well as he began to grow angrier. As was to be expected seeing someone you love being hurt he had always been hurt himself but he had constantly managed to keep level headed around Brynn for her sake. This new brother scared her at times, he had been the only calm she had known for her childhood she could remember and although she enjoyed change this was unsettling. It could have been due to the fact that Brynn’s situation was getting worse. She was no longer a small doll and her mother no longer found joy in dressing her up this hand in hand with the fact that Brynn looked nothing like her mother distanced Brynn as a daughter in her mother’s eyes even further. She had become as distant as hired help, no good for anything but releasing pent up aggression.

    It was one day that the tension boiled over and things became unfamiliar. She was at her mother’s feet, lying on the ground with her vision starting to blur from the pain. She refused to let a single tear fall from her stone face. For the past few years it had been the hardened exterior she had taken on, if she could see how badly she was hurting her physical she would not let her see how much she was hurting on the inside. To her tears were worth more than blood. She could see her mother starting to walk away. She tried to remember what had brought this on but she could not recall if there had even been an incident to prelude the violence. She could tell her mother was talking but she couldn’t quite hear, she did however notice a shape appearing in the shadows. Her mother had turned back around and began walking towards her, a hot iron poker in hand. Brynn’s eyes widened in horror and sat up pushing herself backwards. Everything seemed to go slowly after this moment. Her mother started laughing at her horrified face and as she drew nearer she began to swing the poker more and more. Then suddenly she stopped. Her face looked off, to blank for a moment then a dark hand quickly glided around her mother’s waist and reaching out grabbed the poker then disappearing once again. She was so confused, why had her mother just stopped.

    “Wha…”

    She began squinting her eyes then widening them as her mother’s eyes rolled back into her head and she began to fall backwards. Quickly the same dark figure caught her in its arms and began carrying her away. Brynn began to stand up and shouted at the figure.

    “WAIT!”

    She now had her wobbly feet beneath her, her head was spinning and her fragile body demanding her to sit back down. Then firming her stance she yelled again;

    “Where are you going with my mother?!”

    It was strange, although she had not a good experience with her mother for years she was not about to let this figure take another parent without explanation. The figure with the shrouded face looked over to her then hiking the mother up in his arms pulled what appeared to be an arrow out of her. He laid her down on the nearest couch then rushed towards the girl. Brynn started yelling for her brother as he approached but he reached her before anyone could have heard her. He covered her mouth with an oddly familiar feeling hand and riping his face wrappings off he yelled;

    “Brynn! Brynn, little one it is me,” it was indeed her brother “I am sorry to have frightened you.”

    There they stayed for a moment Brynn standing confused and slightly startled while her brother embraced her. She was so confused. Was her mother dead? What would they do now? She was sure not to forget this. Then the Dunmer let the embrace go and with a gleam of excitement and panic in his eyes began to speak.

    “I have no time to explain now, quick little one follow me.”

    He grabbed her realizing it would go faster if he carried her and ran down the many flights of stairs. They came to the rooms in which they both slept, where she had awoken on that first night and all she could think of is how bare the room looked. Where have all our things gone? She wondered her mind swimming. The Dark Elf put her down on her bed and looked her in the eyes and with great intensity gave her these directions

    “I know it is terribly confusing to you now but I’ll need you to, once I leave this room put on those clothing that are on the bed there,” he said point and standing up “Knock when you are done changing. Make haste sweet one.”

    He walked out and closed the door and Brynn did as she was told. She would always trust her brother and she had a feeling whatever was happening was for the best. She hurried and undressed then pulled on the inconspicuous clothing of a traveler. She turned after smoothing everything out. The potions that the Dunmer had given her were taking effect, she was feeling stronger already. She knocked softly and stood back letting her brother come in. she noticed her feet were moving even more silently then what was the norm and was impressed. Then focusing back on her brother whose hand was extended she listened.

    “Come,” he said as she grabbed his extended hand “Follow me, and if we are stopped let me do the talking. That shouldn’t be a problem, at least not for tonight. No one would recognize you anyways. That’s one positive to being caged like a bird.”

    She now knew what was going on, before she had a suspicion but now she knew. She followed both moving as silently as shadows. Leaving the house through the back doors they neared the stables. A horse, a wonderful proud looking black steed she did not recognise stood outside tethered and waiting for them. She could see no bags and looked confused until of course noticing the pack that the Dunmer must have picked up while she was changing. She was lifted up onto the horse and sat poised as Brother lifted himself to sit behind her.

    “Now we ride Brynn,” Brother whispered in her ear “Now you are free song bird.”

    A lovely smile broke across Brynn’s face as the horse began to carry them away, the more distance they covered the broader her smile got. The rest of the journey was just as exciting to her as the first night. Everywhere she looked there was something new. Oh and all the people! During the first night they had switched from their black steed to a carriage pulled by a much sturdier looking horse. It seemed in the back they had everything they needed to start a new life, wherever it was that Brother was taking them. Along the road they would run into the a few travelers looking to be the same as themselves though obviously not. Due to the limited amount of contact with the outside world Brynn found everyone and everything absolutely fascinating. She was quite shy at first barely talking or making eye contact but once she was lured out of her shell she would ask as many questions as she could and listen to even the most mundane stories with complete interest.

    It was not long until they crossed the border into Skyrim. It was a beautiful place to Brynn who felt finally as if she was somewhere she belonged.

    “I’m bringing you back to the land of your father,” Said brother to her upon nearing the boarder “And the place, my dear where you were born.”


    Brynn let the past be behind her leaving any anger or hatred she had in the past asking not to know the fate of her mother. She was ready and happy to accept this new life that Brother had given to her. The two settled in a cabin in the mountain range dividing Falkreath and The Rift. It was a small place but with room plenty enough for the both of them. On the one side was an extensive garden along with a chicken coup, a stable, and an area for the cows and goats to be fenced in. On the other side of the house there were training dummies to be set as well as targets for practicing archery as well as a shed for pelts as well as a training rack. Within a few months of living in the woods Brother had begun to teach Brynn how to handle herself in combat. Soon she found herself growing more and more successful with the bow. The two supported themselves off their small menagerie of animals, their garden, but most off their hunting and soon Brynn began bringing in her weight.

    To Brynn however every life she took was important she recognized that they gave their lives for her to live. She appreciated the animals as part of the hunt. Still as before she would spend long periods of time out in the woods attempting to become one with nature, she had particular interest in the quiet foxes and the fearsome wolves. She would as before still sprint through the forest trying to imagine how a deer would feel doing the same enjoying every branched that whipped her face. She loved the fresh air and the feel of dirt beneath her feet. She was meant to be here.

    As time progressed and a year had passed Brynn began training in the usage of weapons and armor. It became apparent that she favored the heavy armor, feeling more secure being encased within it although she had always felt that the lack of manoeuvrability was frustrating. Once she had chosen her armor she moved onto weapons. She began to train in both one handed and two handed but it was by her choice that she found dual wielding. Brother would have much preferred one handed with a sword and shield or perhaps for her to not fight at all but she was determined to fulfill these dreams that unknowingly her father and Brother had instilled within her. Thus as she wished he taught her the prefer techniques and slowly she became more and more skilled. It was a calm life, a satisfying, soul healing life. There was nothing but happiness in those four years but nothing perfect or so happy it seems can ever last.

    It happened during the warmer months, Brynn had been out late. No doubt Brother will be worried but just wait until he sees the hides I’ve got for him now! Brynn though as she moved towards the cabin, it was just becoming night and she knew she should have returned home earlier but she had been trailing deer beginning early that morning. She had a pack full of venison and hides and was sure that she would be forgiven. Brynn had also stopped to gather an armful of flowers on her returning path and would present them as a gift seeking further forgiveness. She had just started breaking rules as out of habit she once followed them to a tee but now that it had started it was not about to stop. With a carefree smile on her face she observed the smoke rising from the cabin and the windows beginning to glow as the light faded. She reached the door and noticing it was slightly ajar pushed it open. Forgetting to close the door, unlike brother she though with an odd expression on her face. Looking down at the ground as she stepped inside and turning to where she assumed he would be seated by the fire she began to recite her apology

    “Brother, I know you must have been ill with worry but I am safe and there is no need to be upset. None at all. I in fact have brought back enough venison to fill our bellies for…”

    Brynn dropped her back and began to unload the meat then noticed the strange silence and looked up. Brother was not in his seat by the fire, not only that but the fire seemed to be dying just lighting s small portion of the room.

    “Brother?” she asked as she stood up grabbing her flowers and began walking towards the area where they slept “Brother I am sorry… Broth-“

    Her words were cut short. Her heart began to race. Her breath coming in short gasps. Time began to slow down for Brynn as the flowers all fell to the floor. She tried to walk forward; she shuffled bringing her hands to her mouth as she had that very first time that she had met her mother’s wrath. She opened her mouth as if to wail but all she could do was shaking. She dropped to her knees once she reached the bed and looked up at the most painful thing she had ever seen. There with an arrow between his eyes was Brothers cold corps. She sat on her knees for what seemed like ages before the silence was broken with a single sob set off a waterfall of tears. She shook violently as she wept; she had never felt so much loss as this moment now. It was a burning, raging, stinging pain that felt as if it were eating away at her soul. It seemed nothing would relive her of this endless darkness that had invaded her heart but finally the morn took pity on her and allowed the sobbing girl to finally escape into sleep.

    It was days before she emerged from that cabin and she emerge not the same person as had entered. Though now as she stood looking down at him in his makeshift coffin it could not be more apparent. Her face was hardened and serious. It was as if she had turned to stone.

    “Brother”

    She called out softly to him wishing for nothing more than for him to rise up and take her hand. He did not. He could not she told herself as she looked down with lost eyes at the Dunmer. His dark grey skin seemed to be stretched tighter across his angular face with his prominent cheek bones jutting out. It made her almost choke again looking down at his lips, they were without the smile that she had loved and it made him look almost alien. She kneeled beside the coffin and adjusted his black hair that fell like wisps around his peaceful face. Who would have wanted you dead brother? If only you could speak to me now… how would the dark brotherhood find us. Why would they leave behind the contract? She mental shook herself and bit her lip then sighing heavily she began to croon her voice choking

    “all is well,” she began to him as he had said to her those many years ago when her tiny feet dangled off of the side of the bed “Can’t you hear me? All is well.”

    These were the last words she spoke for months. The first year without Brother was the hardest but it aloud her in solitude to figure out whom she was. She spent it honing her abilities, hunting, trying to support herself and save enough coin for the adventure ahead. By the time this year had past she had a full set of armor and upon selling all the farm animals she was able to buy herself a horse. This was the beginnings of her true adventure. Brynn spent the first year proving herself as a mercenary worthy for hire and soon found many jobs available. Then once this became boring she set out to explore on her own. She favoured the ancient crypts or ruins as they posed the most challenge as well as the most interesting artifacts and architectural beauty.


    It then became a favourite past time of hers to hunt down bandits. The joy that would make her spirits soar as the bandits called out to her mocking the girl that stood before them. So unsuspecting she would think as she turned to them a huge grin upon her face. Brynn would then turn drawing her swords and begin the massacre. The thrill of besting an opponent and by the same coin ridding Skyrim of another threat filled her spirits with glee. She felt as if she was performing perhaps in a silver dance as she slashed and spun about in battle. She became stronger as the years went by and the intricate dance of the swords became more and more beautiful.

    Most of this time was spent in relative solidarity, at first a blessing soon began to devolve into a hindrance. The problem, by chance, would soon begin to solve itself. As Brynn’s mind began to lean to the idea of returning to civilization in hopes of finding company companionship found her.

    It had been nothing if not chance that had found her slowly and painfully plodding down the road. Her face slightly contorted in pain with every rise and fall of her lithe body atop the black steed as she headed for town. She could not help but roll her eyes at the memory of how she had received her bloodied leg and arm as well as her cracked rib. It had been nothing but a fluke, she had made a small mistake and had come out of it broken, bruised and bloodied. She had been on no grand journey and so had not equipped herself for these types of wounds, again foolishness on her own part.


    Approaching a turn in her path the cries of war reached the ears of the huntress. The nord straightened in the saddle as her horse nickered nervously. Stopping for a moment Brynn hesitated. She was well aware of her impaired abilities and her limitation but after a short time of contemplation curiosity and a sense of duty overtook her. With a clicking of her tongue and a gentle touch of her heel to the side of her horse she began to move forward.

    TO BE CONTINUED