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Main (everyday, multi-RP use):
- Dreven T. Valaandas - Dunmer, Male. Neutral Evil assassin/spellsword.
- Nadir - Bosmer, Female. Chaotic Neutral rouge.
- Natesse - Bosmer/Nord, Female. Chaotic Good mage.
- Sebek - Falmer, Male/Female. Lawful Evil vampire necromage.
- Aringoth - Bosmer, Male. True neutral archer.
RP-Specific (created for a specific storyline):
- Keira Xentarezz - Dunmer/Nord, Female. Neutral/Chaotic Good/Neutral Evil/Chaotic Neutral battlemage/warrior/assassin/battlemage. Note: has multiple personalities.
- Rythe Syndelius - Dunmer, Male. Neutral Good mage.
- Jedah Daniel Dawson - Caucasian/Asian, Male. Chaotic Neutral wastelander. Note: Fallout 3 RP ONLY.
Useful Info: Good vs. Evil, Law vs. Chaos: The Alignment System.
Class: Spellsword (Archer)
- 5'5, slender framed but with muscular arms
- Medium blonde hair, shaved into a mohawk
- He has dichromatic eyes: the right is the typical orange-yellow, the left is half yellow, half brown
- His nose has a high bridge and arch, which sometimes makes him self-concious
Aringoth is a gentle soul. He works as a hunter out of Riften, having found that those woods are rife with game. Everyday he gets up at dawn, breaks his fast either at home or The Bee, and then begins his day of hunting. He brings his kills back to town around dusk and sells them to various people around town for humble, honest prices. He is a bit of a pushover at times, and can be bit of a goofball but that doesn't stop him from having a positive outlook on life.
Arin was born and raised in Skyrim. His childhood was good, peaceful and full of love. He didn't have many friends, but the ones he did make were good and true. He experienced very little hostility from the natives but then again, he was raised in The Reach where people were more tolerate of elvenkind. When he came of age, he left his small farming village and headed west. He was tired of living the quiet life and wanted to see all of Skyrim. He promised his parents that he would return home one day. However, he met and fell in love with a beautiful Breton huntress and they moved to her home in Riften. Shortly after, his wife became with child and they fell on hard times. With his wife unable to go out and hunt, the task to provide for himself, his wife and his child-to-be fell on Arin's shoulders alone. When winter came and the game either died out or moved to warmer lands, he took to becoming a cutpurse. He picked pockets, broke into homes and lived in fear of being found out by the city guards and his wife. After a while, he was approached by a man claiming to know about his thieving. Instead of turning him in, the man, Brynyolf by name, offered him a place with his "organization"...and so began Arin's life of organized crime. In the spring, he and his wife were back on their feet and happily expecting their baby. However, that happiness turned to ash...Arin lost both his wife and his son in childbirth. The priests who tended her birthing have no idea why such a thing came to pass, as both mother and baby seems perfectly healthy. Arin was stricken with a grief that no one should ever know. He had wanted a family o his own more than anything else but fate, it seems, had other plans. It has been many years since that and Arin has tried his best to move on. He is no longer a ghost of his former self but from time-to-time he mourns his wife and the child he never knew.
- Sneak (Expert)
- Archery (Master)
- Illusion (Adept)
- Conjuration (Adept)
- He prefers to be called "Arin" in stead of is full name.
- He has scars on his face and back from having literally fought a bear.
- He is shy and awkward around women, behaving as if he's a teenage human. To some, it's endearing, to others, it's annoying.
It was as if the snow brought him in. Winterhold hadn’t seen a blizzard like the one that arrived with the pale elf boy who knew only his name: Sebek. For a while, people thought the snow had made him sick, and with skin as pale as his, it was easy to believe. However, once he can overcome the trauma, he remained the same, and the rumors began to surface. A snow elf, a live snow elf, had come to Winterhold… He wasn’t any more than 10 or 12, but his skill with magic was extraordinary, particular frost spells. Eventually, he took a fondness of necromancy and after reading countless books on the subject (unbeknownst to the college seniors) he managed to raise a dead skeever back to life. However, another student had told on him; he was found and, despite his uniqueness, harshly punished for using the forbidden magic. He released his interest in the subject, but only for a while, as he took to practicing in the dead of night, outside in the cold.
Sebek has the most unusual of “gifts”. Before he became more knowledgeable of the Deadra and their realms, he made a very rash and life-changing decision. At the college, he had heard about the Deadric prince of wishes, Clavicus Vile, and instantly wished to convene with him. He was warned by many of the students and teachers to leave such ideas alone, but he would hear nothing of it. He set off almost immediately, under the cover of night, to find this prince, and ask him to help save the Falmer, or at the very least grant him the wish for a mate with which to rebuild their broken race. It didn’t take long. It was as if fate itself wanted him to find Clavicus, because less than a fortnight of travelling, he came across the shrine, half-buried in the snow.
Using the last of his coin, he summoned the Prince, and asked him to help save the Falmer race. Or rather he asked for Clavicus to “give him the means to save his race. A womer who is healthy and strong enough to mate and bring more Falmer into the world”. His request was honest and sincere, but Clavicus was cruel. Days later, it seemed, Sebek awoke at a nearby settlement, only to find that he was now a female. He was terrified and after breaking down several times, he lasped into a shocked silence. Soon after, he set off to find Clavicus again, this time enraged. It only took three days’ worth of travel, following the stars. At the shrine, he did not offer any coin, he simply swore and called out to the Prince, who answered jovially.
Sebek demanded to know what was going on and Vile explained that he had gotten his wish. He had a womer with which he could save the Falmer. She was inside him. Sebek was still a male, but a female, too. To prove this point, he had him change, right then. The agony was excruciating for you see, he really was a womer. A fully functioning female. Vile explained that he could mate with males, become with child and give birth, all naturally. Sebek was stunned, angry, and above all, humiliated. There was no way he was going to do that.
What’s more, he raged, without other male Falmer he could not bare full-blooded snow elves; Vile simply replied saying that “full-blooded” snow elves were not what he asked for. Vile said that if he didn’t intend to copulate, then he should just have fun with it. “Go to bed with men as a female, wake up with them as a male! It’ll be a riot!” Sebek left dejected and depressed. Too embarrassed to return to the college, he took to wandering. It was many years before he changed form again, and he did it mostly out of boredom. After he had gotten used to the pain (and it took many months of shifting between forms), it was exhilarating.
He had long since gave up on ever saving his race and began to live. He moved to the distant isles of Morrowind, where he finally pursued the dark arts of Necromancy and became quite efficient. The entire time he was there, he covered up his heritage by claiming to be an Altmer afflicted with a rare disease that robbed one of their skin tone. He had seen Dunmer that were almost as pale as he, so the story was believable enough. After a while, he decided it was time to leave Morrowind. On his travels across the land to the sea, he decided to finally take Vile’s advice and use his wish to an advantage. As a female, he found that it was easier to get away with petty crimes, and even convince guards to look the other way.
It was during this time he took up thievery and even murder. It was a duel gain; he made easy coin, and got to practice his art with the corpses. He became self-serving and careless of those not useful to him. He was heartless and cold, but oddly charming and likeable. He bedded many women as a man and many men as a woman, but not once letting his seed or the seed of others create a child. He would not soil his race, even if it meant total extinction. That dilemma was soon solved when he ran into a powerful clan of vampires…
Back in Skyrim, shortly after crossing the border, he was accosted by a group calling themselves, the Dawnguard. Due to his skin, he was accused of being a vampire, and captured, tortured, and strung up to a pillar and left in the midday sun to see if he would die. He did not, and was released. The group apologized profusely and explained their cause. Sebek really couldn’t care less but if it meant meeting the masters of death themselves, vampires, he would play along for a while.
He found the clan and immediately appealed to their leader to become one of them. It took many moons of effort, proving loyalty, slaying the very men who sent him to gather intel, proving usefulness by making thralls, enslaving strong warriors and performing various mundane tasks before the leader, Harkon, decided to give him the gift. Even so, the greatest gift, to become what his clan is infamous for, to become a vampire lord, was withheld. It seemed Sebek had more to prove.
Now, he wanders Skyrim as he pleases, doing as he pleases, returning home to his sire only when summoned.
Race: Snow Elf
- 6', slender, small-framed.
- Chest-length platinum-blonde hair
- Sharp, slanted eyes, icy-blue with black sclera.
- Long pointed face, narrow nose
Sebek is a dark, brooding individual who keeps his emotions and business close to his black little heart. He tends to mask his brooding demeanor with outward jolliness. He may not look it, but his heart is heavy; he mourns for his race and laments the facts that he has no idea where he came from, how to came to Skyrim, and that the Snow Elf race might very well end with him. So he jests in the company of others, but broods when left to himself. If he really ends up in a dark place, he is liable to simply snap on the nearest being that bothers him. Any other time, he will do just about anything to keep anyone from asking too many personal questions. He does play around in his female form from time to time, indulging in all races and sexes, including the beasts, sometimes for fun, others for profit. He has no friends, and it doubtful he ever will. The bleakness of his own future, his art, and vampirism are natural repellents so he doesn’t allow anyone closer than a usual tool would be.
It's a LONG story. (Separate blog entry; explains that Male/Female thing, though.)
- Conjuration (Master)
- Illusion (Expert)
- Speech (Adept)
- Destruction (Expert)
- His armor is a modified vampire royal set, with a cloak instead of a cape, and a crimson silk triple cravat. He fancies himself a gentleman.
- He has half-inch moonstone gauges in both ears.
- He desires to serve the Dark Brotherhood, but has no idea how to find them.
- His female side is a complete harlot with no shame. As a vampire, he has no fear of diseases.
- Though he never says so, and you’d never guess, he loves children, and would love to have a family if it weren’t totally impossible.
- He would never, ever hurt a woman or a child who engaged him in combat, even if armed. He would seek to disarm and escape. Contracts are different. Work is work, after all.
Name: Jedah ("jay-duh") Daniel DawsonRace: Caucasian/AsianClass: Wastelander (Chaotic-Neutral)Gender: MaleLooks:
- 6', strong face, broad nose, sharp eyes (hazel).
- Blood-red (spiked) mohawk, dark brown soulpatch, sharp eyebrows,
- Tattoos on arms, back, and lower legs (not pictured).
Jedah could be considered an asshole, but an asshole you come to really like. He is sarcastic, but very intelligent and fun. He used to run with slavers, but changes in his own life changed who he decided to affiliate with. While he hasn't entirely given up his old ways (he still has secret contacts for hard times) he tries harder to be a decent person, not too good, not too evil. He is rowdy, hard-headed, and mouthy but he is also loyal, protective, and trustworthy. He never looks for fights, but if one comes his way he most certainly won't back down. He does indulge in jet from time to time; he was a rock-bottom addict for three years, but got clean before he met his wife. He loves rifles, and hardly every shoots anything else.
- Jedah has been married for two years to a woman named Lucy, and has a one year-old daughter named Samantha. They live in Maryland, in a rebuilt Point Lookout.
- A need for money brought him to the Mojave as a courier. He ended up mixed up in a great mess and was kept from getting home.
- Ever a techie, he has modified his Pipboy to send and receive emails and phone calls. This is how he keeps in touch with his wife and child back home.
- His plasma rifle is named Caeser (pronounced "kay-sur").
- He has a deep rich voice that Lucy claims seduced her clean out of her pants on their first date. Jedah says she was just a hussy. She promptly kicks him.
Name: Rythe Syndelius
- 6', sharp face, androgynous features.
- Chest-length white hair (differs from screencap)
- Full lips, and dainty profile; often mistaken for a female.
Rythe is a very quiet, very humble mer. Working alongside Natesse at Thy Lady and Lord has helped him with his shyness, though he still has times where it stunts his interactions. He loves to talk about magic and alchemy, so if someone dares to start a conversation he will be very interested and will be hard to shut up. Although he is very young for a mer (40), he has many talents and skills that transcend the norm: he can brew potions to act as birth control for the ladies who work with him, potions that increase and maintain a man’s arousal, has many herbal ingredients for extended, pleasure-filled sessions, and knows sets of magic that can make a person’s orgasm go on for as long as they want. Although he excels as his skills, he is not arrogant; if anything, he would rather such things be kept private! He is soft-spoken and very non-confrontational but if the time calls for it, he is no stranger to defending those he cares about.
Illusion Magic (Expert)
Conjuration Magic (Adept)
Alteration Magic (Master)
Restoration Magic (Adept)
Neverwin likes this.
- Rythe is pansexual and beds men, mer, and beast alike. He has no preference.
- Dunmer men intimidate him, as do Altmer.
- He finds Bosmer and Nord women increbidly beautiful and if taken by one as a companion, he will tend to their every desire, even at the expense of his own.
- He works as the bartender and waiter of the brothel, but is available for companionship upon request.
- He is quite shy, but will offer himself if one seems genuinely interested.
- His voice is deep, but airy, like most mer, and sounds more like a Bosmer than a Dunmer.
Name: Keira Xentarezz (Kear-ah Zen-tar-ezz)
- 5’ 6”, curvy body, round face.
- Shoulder-length blonde hair.
- Light pink eyes, gray-tinged skin, but clearly part-Nord.
- Scars streaked across her right cheek and eye, her own doing.
It varies, depending on which one is active at the time. By default, she is a calm, introverted woman who is approachable and well-spoken. She likes to talk, and enjoys the company of just about everyone. She does not like to be alone for any length of time and it’s usually at these times, when she feels vulnerable and lonely, that her strongest personality, Olaf Jensonbeans emerges to protect her. Even still, she is very self-concious and insecure and often doubts her worth and usefulness to others. Because of this, she will go to great lengths to please her friends and allies, sometimes resulting in serious injury to herself. When she gets upset about failing herself and others, she withdraws into herself, quiet, but still wanting to be around others. In this state, her hallucinations and paranoia emerge. However, when things go right, she fills satisfied and happy, and her confident, hyper-sexual self emerges; this personality will throw itself at every man, woman, and beast present until she is rejected, then the cycle starts all over again.
Olaf Jensonbeans: a tough, battle-hardened Nord warrior who’s seen his fair share of blood, guts, and gore. Is loud, in-your-face, and always ready for a competition or brawl. Very reckless and ignores rules until he really gets in trouble. Then is all “yes sir, yes ma’am”. Also, he loves mead way too much.
Karnaak: a silent, calculating dark elf murderer who is always aware of what’s going on. She never takes risks and considers every option before making a move. Works hard to hide her intentions and obeys every rule and regulation until it inconveniences her work.
Alter Kiera: a sexy, confident battlemage who knows what she can do and isn’t afraid to do it. She will show off her skills and throw herself at anyone who admires them. Impulsive and self-serving, she will bed you, then dump you like a rotten ham.
- Dissociative Identity Disorder (Three: a full Nord male warrior named Olaf Jensonbeans, full Dunmer female assassin named Karnaak, a super-confident sexual version of herself.)
- (mild) Schizophrenia, paranoid type
- Bipolar Disorder
- Sneak (Adept)(Novice)(Master)(Expert)
- One-Handed, specializing in blades (Adept)(Master)(Master)(Expert)
- Illusion Magic (Adept)(Novice)(Adept)(Apprentice)
- Conjuration Magic (Adept)(Novice)(Expert)(Adept)
- Alteration Magic (Apprentice)(Novice)(Expert)(Adept)
- Speech (Novice)(Novice)(Master)(Master)
- Block (Novice)(Expert)(Novice)(Apprentice)
- Ancient Nord Armor
- Wolf Gauntlets & Boots
- Fine Steel War Axe (health absorb enchantment)
- Medium knapsack containing potions, foodstuffs, shiny objects and mead
- Black Cowl
Magic: (Kiera, Karnaak, and/or Alter Kiera only)
- Muffle (Karnaak)(Alter Kiera)(Kiera)
- Raise Thrall (Karnaak)
- Magelight (Kiera)(Alter Kiera)
- Detect Life/Detect Dead (Karnaak)
- Invisibility (very weak, still practicing)(Karnaak)(Alter Kiera)
- Flames (all)
- Bound Bow (Karnaak)
- Calm (Kiera)(Karnaak)(Alter Kiera)
- Fury (Alter Kiera)
- Fast Healing (all)
- Kiera is blissfully unaware that she has any sort of disorder and until one is “activated” she does seems to be a perfectly normal woman.
- She is incredibly awkward around Nord men. She finds them very attractive but lacks the confidence to approach.
- She has an instant attraction to men and women who wear heavy armor. She sees light armor as weak and for sneak thieves and assassins…
- Karnaak dislikes heavy armor but tolerates the armor Kiera wears b/c it is light enough to work…and she is a master at sneaking.
Aren had left Windhelm many years ago at age twenty-two to help bring in money to help his mother. Even though she had just remarried, she and her new husband were struggling. Coincidentally, his mother was a Dunmer; she had adopted Aren when he was just a babe, abandoned in the snow of the Gray Quarter and left to die. Many stories about him had circulated amongst the people of the city, most popular of all, that he was an assassin. Of course, for his mother’s sake he furiously denied the accusations (often offering an apology to the Night Mother afterwards). He had been gone so long and changed so much from the carefree, happy youth he had been to the cold, calculating man he had become that not a single soul recognized him. Not that anyone would remember an urchin from the Gray Quarter anyway.
Upon her death, Aren fell apart. The undertaker had informed him that she had been poisoned. It was a slow and very painful process, one that she had suffered through silently and with great strength. Aren was struck numb; someone had murdered his mother, and he had no idea who. It could’ve been any one of the viciously racist Nords of the city but with no way to pinpoint the culprit, he was powerless to avenge her. After her quiet, discreet burial, the newly widowed husband had left Windhelm, claiming there was nothing left for him in the wretched town; Aren was happy to believe him. The depressed thirty-four year old had stayed in the city long enough to lay his mother to rest and sort out the family assets; there weren’t many. Between all of that, he drank himself stupid. Every night he was in Candlehearth Hall drowning himself in the finest mead that was available. Such frivolous spending had attracted the attention of a beautiful Nord woman who introduced herself as Elena Stone-Fist.
Aren had heard that name before, but having been gone from the city for so long, could not rightly place it. Even still, the woman was warm, compassionate, and caring; she liked him, and he liked her body. They spent many nights together over the next fortnight and engaged in acts so primal it would make a respectable citizen’s hair stand on end. She was now “Laana”, and she allowed him into places that only hundreds of septims could buy from the sleaziest of whores and what was more,he could own her; she let him, she asked him. He marked her body with his seed and etched his name in her back with his nails. Her buttocks were often red with welts and minor abrasions from his rough strikes and she regularly wore ruffled neck ribbons to hide the ligature marks he left around her throat. She was a wonderful woman, a loving woman and she did whatever he asked without fail. Even with her father’s disapproval due to the rumors of his affiliation, she thirsted for him. He was bad, and she was bad for him. But he was addicted.
All that changed one fateful night. As they lay in bed in the afterglow of a particularly rough sexual session, Aren confessed that he would be leaving Windhelm and going back to Cyrodiil. She was shocked and saddened and begged him to stay. When he refused, she fell silent. Then, she softly asked if he could keep a secret; more curious than anything, he said that yes, he could. What she next told him made his blood run cold. Her father, Roloff Stone-Fist had paid to have a “filthy grayskin whore” poisoned. It was intended to be a scare tactic to run the Dunmer out of the city. It hadn’t quite worked, but he had rid the world of another Dunmer, and that was something to be celebrated. She looked up at Aren, waiting for approval, but that was the last thing she would get. She couldn’t see in the darkness, but his face was livid. He was paralyzed by fury and shock. This woman’s father had murdered his mother, and she was happy about it? This was a part of her he had never seen because if he had, she’d have been dead a long time ago. She was a racist maggot, just like her father and it was then that the Stone-Fist name came flooding back to his memory.
The clan had been avid Dunmer-haters for as long as Aren could remember. He never met them directly but every night he could hear them outside in the streets of the Gray Quarter jeering at the Dunmer that lived therein. His mother always warned him to stay away from them, though she never went into detail as to why. When he became old enough to figure it out, he would never mention who his mother was or where he lived when he ventured out into the rest of the city; not out of shame, but out of concern for his mother and friends. They would probably think he’d been kidnapped and kill the Dunmer who were guilty of nothing but loving him. Since he kept clean and looked healthy, no one questioned his living situation, and he was glad for it. Even still, a number of Dunmer murders took place over the years and all evidence pointed to the Stone-Fist clan but no one did anything about it, not even the Jarl. The injustice enraged the Dunmer population but without even the Jarl on their side, the fury was silent and contained. Once the war got underway, the killings stopped and everything went back to normal; well, as normal as could be possible, in Windhelm.
Aren had spoken aloud without meaning to. He grimaced. Even her voice sent him into an internal rage. He wanted to kill her, to beat her to death with his bare hands. To take her from her vicious family as they had taken his mother from him. But, he didn’t. Instead, he ravenged her. He attacked her body like a rabid wolf, starved and desperate for it. He was rougher than was usual and several times she had cried out that he was legitimately hurting her. He ignored her once or twice and she had simply shut up and took it, but other times, she screamed out in agony and he stopped, only because he wanted to avoid undue attention. At the very end as he climaxed, he had gripped her around her throat so tightly she almost lost consciousness. She was so worn out and grateful for it to be over that she fell asleep within minutes, or else faked being asleep to avoid further interaction. Aren didn’t care. He stayed awake for the rest of the night, sitting naked in a chair across the room, a dagger in hand, twirling it between his fingers and fighting the urge to bury it deep into the Stone-Fist’s bare chest.
It was half past 10 o’clock, Dreven supposed. He was now waiting at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, as instructed. Elena had gone home to “freshen” up and make sure she was seen going to the Gray Quarter at a late hour. Their meeting was supposed to be spontaneous and "secret", but little did she know, more people knew than she would’ve thought appropriate… She had confessed the name of the man she pined for and Dreven had to fight very hard to contain his laughter at the extreme irony… It made him giddy to just think of it.
Dreven looked over at the bartender and owner of the club, Ambarys. They shared a secret glance and returned to their own business. The wily Dunmer smiled to himself. This had to have been the easiest encounter of his life in the business… Everything downstairs was set, and Ambarys knew what was going on and so the aftermath was taken care of as well. Dreven took a long drink of his ale and sat back in his chair, grinning from ear-to-ear. It didn’t get much better than this. Two weeks ago, when this entire plan was birthed, he wouldn’t have dared dream it would be this enjoyable… It seemed like it was only yesterday when Aren Silent-Blade, the man of this deluded woman’s dreams, engaged him at the Cheydinhal sanctuary…
It was ridiculous. The sudden influx of contracts since the Purification had been almost overwhelming. Dreven felt a small pang in his stomach when he remembered the ghastly event…it was not something he liked to recall. Following the ritual killing of all the older Brotherhood members and the subsequent battle at the Night Mother’s tomb, the Dark Brotherhood had fallen on some tough times: there was a now-empty sanctuary to repopulate and a Black Hand than needed new, loyal members. There were those that were already a part, the high-elf Arquen, Nearah, a lovely khajiit, a Nord named Aren Silent-Blade, and Dreven himself, but that left quite a few slots to fill; as such, Brotherhood members from other sanctuaries around Cyrodiil were summoned to Cheydinhal to assist for a short while.
It was utter chaos; contracts were coming in from all over for the relocated members and current members alike and sorting through them was a chore than Dreven was entrusted with. Although Arquen was the running listener (for almost 150 years now; she had ordered the most recent purification having seen it before), Dreven was 2nd in command being the second-oldest member of this sanctuary; intrinsically, he was the de facto Listener in her absence. Now, he was sorting through the recent contracts, trying to find the few that fit the brand of members he had on hand.
“(mumble mumble mumble) stealthy kill… Okay, I’ll give that to Reezaah… (mumble mumble mumble) to see his death come at him…okay, Bargranf can have that one…noisy Orc. (mumble mumble mumble) burn her to ashes….perfect for Aren…”
As he rounded a corner, checking off items, a burst of flame jolted across his path, inches from his face. He shouted and fell back several paces, the papers spilling from his arms and the smell of burnt hair in his nostrils. He immediately reached for his long black locks, but realized that they were tied back in a ponytail, as was his custom for work. He then realized that his forehead was unusually hot and slapped both hand on his eyebrows, putting out the small embers that had sparked there.
“DAMMIT TO THE LOWEST PLANES OF OBLIVION! MARISKA, I TOLD YOU NOT TO PRACTICE THOSE DAMN FLAME SPELLS INSIDE THE SANCTUARY UNTIL YOU GET BETTER AT THEM! I-“
He had stormed around the corner, not to find the petite and inadept female Breton mage, but the exponentially more experience Nord spellsword, Aren Silent-Blade. His fellow Silencer looked both concerned and frustrated; it came off as an odd mix of facial poses. Dreven furrowed what was left of his brows and approached his Brother in darkness.
“Aren? What in the names of the gods are you doing?!”
The slender Nord shook his head and then put a hand to it.
“I’m so sorry Dreven. I…I just had to let off some steam. I didn’t know you were coming this way.”
Dreven folded his arms and gave Aren a pointed stare.
“Quite a bit of steam. Here’s what I propose: you can either tell me what’s going on or you can let me throw one good punch at your face for singeing off my eyebrows.”
He ran a hand over the still-warm and burnt tufts of hair.
“They had just finished growing back from when those damned poison fumes burned them off…”
He shuddered. It was his own failed attempt at a paralysis poison that was the culprit. He had mixed too many parts Daedra venin and the vapor had not only knocked him unconscious, but burned off most of his eyebrows. Arquen had gotten an enormous laugh out of it and still brought it up randomly in conversation, particularly when he chided Mariska on her terrible prowess with magic. Aren chuckled and shrugged.
“Okay, fine. I’ll tell you. But first, let me help you with that.”
He pointed to the sheets of parchment scattered about the corridor. Dreven happily accepted the help and they gathered everything up together before heading to the sleeping/dining area. They sat at the table in the far corner and shared a bottle of apple juice and a hunk of salted beef. Aren shared with Dreven his recent trip to Skyrim. He had gone home, to Windhelm, to visit with his dying mother just one last time…and oh the experience it had been.
“Hello, you gorgeous mer…”
Dreven looked up from his mead and into the face of a gorgeous Nord woman. Surprised, he looked around to make sure she was really talking to him. This *was* Windhelm, after all. She noticed this and giggled.
“Yes, I am talking to you. You caught my eye when you entered and I just…HAD to introduce myself… I am Elena Stone-Fist.”
She held out her hand and Dreven’s mental brows rose up into his hairline. What where the chances of THIS? His face broke into a wide grin and he stood, took her hand in his own and bent low to kiss it.
“I am honored, m’lady… What can a lowly Dunmer traveler do for such a…beautiful, elegant Nord woman like yourself?”
She giggled stupidly as he appealed to her inherited sense of racial pride. The rest of the upper room of Candlehearth Hall had fallen deathly silent. Only the fire crackling happily seemed to not care what was going on here. Not really caring herself, the woman took a seat opposite Dreven and leaned forward, pressing her breasts together. The effect was tantalizing; Dreven could not keep his eyes off of her ample bosom so openly displayed. He felt a rise in his pants but fought it. Not yet. It’s not time. A young, disheveled looking Breton girl walked by and Dreven called out to her.
“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind bringing your finest wine to this beautiful lady here? Spare no expense.”
He dropped a hefty coinpurse on the edge of the table and the girl looked both shocked and impressed. She picked it up, nodded silently and headed downstairs. He heard the old bat at the counter ranting about his “filthy Dunmer money” but when the young girl returned, she returned not with his coin, but with a large bottle of aged juniper berry wine. Dreven uncorked it with a flourish, and poured a full glass for the woman opposite him. He offered it to her; she took it with a coy smile. Dreven returned her smile and raised his tankard in a toast.
“To Skyrim, and all her beauty. Both in nature…and people.”
They both took a drink and grinned. Elena propped her head up, her chin resting in her palm.
“I’ve never seen a well-to-do Dunmer. What do you do for a living? You must be affiliated with the Thieves’ Guild or some such robber band, yes?”
Dreven controlled his face as it tried to twitch into a scowl. The racist undertone was not lost on him. However, he simply masked his scorn with a small half-smile and leaned back in his chair. The worn leather of his armor squeaked softly against the wood; it was a sound he would never get tired of and it even alleviated some of his annoyance, putting some of the airiness back in his voice.
“Of course not, dearest. I am simply a curious traveler. I happen upon rare treasures and artifacts in my journeys and bring them into town to offer to those more appreciative than myself. After a while, the coin adds up.”
She looked a little miffed and eyed him pointedly.
“Not…ancient Nordic artifacts, right? Those belong where they lay and, I don’t mean to be rude, should never be touched by, well…your people.”
She had put an ugly inflection on “your”, like even the indirect reference to a Dunmer tasted foul on her tongue. Dreven felt the rage building inside him. Still, he kept his composure; his raging erection had long since shriveled up and died. That tended to happen when the person you were engaging spewed nothing but the verbal equivalent of excrement from their mouth.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t dare dream of it.”
Her expression softened and she returned to her suggestive pose. She let her silky golden blonde curls slither over her shoulder and in front of her as she moved. Dreven had to admit that when she wasn’t talking, she was quite an arousing sight to see. The corset she wore over her light blue dress tucked her in in all the right places and pushed her perfect breasts up to just the right elevation. Her face, graced with freckles that crossed her nose and cheeks, was absolutely flawless; not a wrinkle or blemish to be seen. Her eyes, though cold and full of offensive intrigue, were the most alluring shade of blue Dreven had ever seen. Blue as the sky, but bright as a frost spell; they almost glowed. He stared. She would be such a beautiful…accomplishment. She sighed and her chest rose and fell. This time, Dreven ignored it.
“You, my good mer, are quite interesting. Generally, Dunmer are quite repulsive in just about every way but you…You have a level of physical attractiveness and verbal eloquence I never thought possible from a dark elf. You are indeed a credit to you race. You should be proud.”
“What I am proud of, my lady, is that I have attracted such a rare treat such as yourself. I am honored and unworthy. So I shall ask again: how can I be of service?”
He had to fight to not speak through gritted teeth. Truth be told, he wished to get things over with right now but the very idea was, in all honestly, stupid. Instead, he settled on changing the subject to what the hell she wanted, not that it mattered. In the end he would be getting what he wanted, so her needs were a moot point. She tossed her hair back and huffed a bit; perhaps she noticed the rushed tone in his question, or perhaps she was feeling superior once more. It mattered not for she still flashed him a wide smile and leaned in closer to him. She had lifted herself clean out of her chair and was using the table to support her weight. Behind her three Nord men drinking mead together stopped whatever they were doing to stare at her now airborne backside. She looked Dreven in his one good eye and spoke low and sensually.
“I am beautiful and I know this. However, my father has denied me the right to give myself to the man of my choice. Though a handsome Nord, my father disproves of his…ah…profession. Word is…he is a skilled assassin.”
Dreven mentally smirked at the irony of the situation, but did not interrupt.
“I want this man. I will have him. But first, I must scorn my father. If word gets around that I have lain with a Dunmer, then my father will reconsider, I am sure. He would most certainly have me involve myself with an assassin than a Dunmer.”
She eyed him, her irises sparking in the candlelight.
“So, in accepting this arrangement, you get to lay with a beautiful Nord woman, a fantastic privilege I remind you, and I get to be with the man I truly want. What say you?”
Dreven turned the offer over in his head several times. True, she was a beauty, of that there was no doubt; rather, it was the terrible mess of verbiage that fell from her lips that turned the dark elf’s stomach. He could very well copulate with her and enjoy a comfort he’d been without for several weeks, but could he make it to climax before spilling her entrails all over the sheets? A voice in his mind said no, but an even louder voice in his libido said yes.
“My lady…it would be my utmost honor to assist you.”
She flashed a large smile and sat back, satisfied. Her hair once again caressed the smooth skin of her shoulders and something stirred within Dreven. This time, it wasn’t just sexual arousal.
Dreven T. Valaandas
Pronunciation: "dreh-vin (tee) vah-lan-das"Looks:
Class:Assassin who is part-rouge, part-spellsword.
- 6', broad-shouldered, athletic
- Chest-length jet black hair
- Blind in his left eye; he was born with the condition.
- His nose is rather broad for an elf but this he doesn’t mind so much
Dreven is a solitary Mer at heart. He prefers to work, travel, and live alone. As you can imagine, this makes being an assassin great, but makes any sort of relationship difficult, and he has been through a few. That said, he does fancy himself a ladies mer using his wit, charm and silver tongue to woo those he finds attractive. Also, he is shamelessly promiscuous. Dreven isn’t normally given to anger, but once he does get angry, it’s bad. If he doesn’t like you, and you’ve made him angry, expect to die. Even so, his temper rarely flares. More often than not, he has planned ahead for any occasion and if anhy trouble arises, he will be able to either talk his way out of it, or simply escape using the skills of his trade. If he does know you and you’ve made him angry, expect to get hurt (not necessarily by weapons; he can be very cruel when he sets his mind to it). Otherwise, he is very, VERY scatterbrained and will often lose focus on a destination if he doesn’t take the main road. He is quite curious and thirsts for knowledge of lore and the arcane. He’d rather keep his opinions to himself and expects the same from others.
- Sneak (Master)
- One-Handed, specializing in daggers (Adept)
- Speech (Adept)
- Destruction (Apprentice)
- He has three holes in each ear: two standard hoop earrings (ebony) and a 1 ½ inch ebony gauge.
- He has several runic tattoos on his back and torso.
- He is on the Black Hand of the Dark Brotherhood and a Master Thief for the Thieves’ Guild, though he doesn’t make this readily apparent.
- Dreven likes men, but he loves women. So much so that he's been labeled a total pig by those that know him.
- Has connections in in the guard of almost every city in Cyrodiil. This helps keep him out of trouble and from getting jailed or killed.
- He dislikes children and childishness which is ironic because he can be quite childish himself at times.
Class: ShadowSpell (theif/assassin-mage)
- 5'5'', curvy for an elf, blue-gray eyes
- chest-length strawberry blonde hair
- Black paint over her left eye; a subtle symbol of her status.
Natesse is a woman of the night… Or day, if you have the proper coin. Although the commoner would call her a whore, she prefers the term “escort”. For the right coin, she will pretend to be anything, from your wife to your pet and everything in between. She is the best of her breed, and there is no woman you would rather bed; she is seductive, and mysterious: two traits that scream “sexy”. She is a smooth talker, appealing to the ego and libido of most her clients. Those that cannot be swayed in that respect, she offers other…services. Though she is what she is, she is by no means an idiot. The streets have taught her well, and she uses that knowledge, along with her body, to get along in life. Just don’t turn your back on her or she’ll rob you blind and send you off as docile as a sheep. Beyond her "professional" demeanor, Natesse is very friendly and approachable. She is generous when she can spare it and enjoys the simple things in life. She has few friends, but she cares deeply for the ones she does have. She longs for a fairytale romance, though she knows she will never find it doing what she does.
A rare hybrid, Natesse is the bastard child of a Nord and a Bosmer. Her mother was the one who raised her, and that, along with growing up in Bravil, surrounded by filth and debauchery, shaped her morals and beliefs. It was a tough life for a youngling; her Bosmer mother was a heavy skooma addict and while she spent her days getting high at the skooma dean, Natesse was left to her own devices. Eventually, though an act of sheer pity, the Mage’s guild took her in and taught her to use illusion magic; they figured the poor child could use some constructive learning…Little did they know they were only making things worse.
When she hit her teenage years, she learned to steal and cheat from a local Argonian gang and in such, formed a rather unique bond with them. They created a robber band and took to breaking and entering for a living using Natesse’s magical prowess to excel. Before long though, Natesse’s greed got the best of her, and she decided she didn’t want to share the spoils; she became a freelance thief and left her Argonian mentors. Enraged and fearful she would plunder all but the worthless goods, they turned her in to the guard and she was imprisoned. It was here she learned her current trade. It didn’t take a scholar to see that Natesse was beautiful. How a child of such looks got into a business so ugly was the question on everyone’s lips. She was under a sentence of life in prison for her crimes, but before she could be jailed, the owners of her stolen goods came forth with a proposal: they would pardon her actions if she would lie with them. The notion seemed preposterous but Natesse valued her freedom. She complied.
It was at this time she discovered how much she loved sex. It didn’t take long before she had pleasured all those she “owed” but they kept coming back, some even offering her septims to spend days and weeks at a time in their company. She had made a name for herself in Bravil and in so doing, got bored with the men of the city; she desired variety, change… She decided to travel the land, beding the strongest, virile men she could find, and when the mood hit her, rob them completely blind. She even developed a knack for killing, but that is a story for another time.
Eventually she decided to move on to bigger and better things, to leave behind her life of debauchery and become a real someone. Following a series of events that led her to flee the Imperial City, she moved up north to Skyrim where she intended to join the student body of the College of Winterhold to further perfect her art and maybe become a teacher. Needing somewhere to start, she found a home in the dank city of Riften and settled down to begin saving septims for her journey. Tempted as she was to ply her previous trade she resisted, knowing that in order to be a respected mage she had to forge an honest, clean living even though it was hard, hard work. She worked day after day in the market selling potions she made herself and for a while time passed agonizingly slow.
It wasn't too long before she was unable to resist temptation and slipped into her old habits... She tried to pickpocket a man in the market, but was caught. However, instead of him alerting the guards, he admired her skill and offered her a join in his "organization". However...she declined. Sneak-thievery wasn't something she wanted to make a living off of. She wanted to *be* someone...a leader. Maybe run an inn until she'd saved enough to move up north to Winterhold and the College. As luck would have it, the man needed just that: an innkeeper. But this inn was...different, "special" even...
It was a brothel, and Natesse was happy to run it. Who better to take care of a house full of whores than a woman who'd been one? As such, she became Madame Natesse of Thy Lady and Lord and loved all the girls and treated them fairly. Time passed her by and the septims flowed in yet Natesse didn't budge. She kept to her inn and eventually bought it for herself. It was hers, and she loved it. No, it wasn't exactly clean living, but she finally had a place to call home, people to call friends, and a life to call her own. She was at peace.
- Sneak (Master)
- Pickpocket (Expert)
- One-Handed, specializing in daggers (Adept)
- Illusion Magic (Expert)
- Destruction Magic (Adept)
- This is the actual armor she wears when not in her dress (e.g. outside of her home); hers is all black to reduce the odds of it being immediately recognized at DB gear.*
- She always keeps an enchanted elven dagger inside her bodice; it is magically hidden with an invisibility spell, and contains the soul of a vampire matriarch. It carries a absorb health spell, and hums when a vampire is nearby.
- Her dress is imbed with an stoneflesh spell; one can never be too careful in her line of business.
- She doubles as a thief/assassin for hire. When money is low, she will take on all manner of shady jobs.
- She lives at the inn she does most of her work at, though she only takes trusted regulars into her personal chambers; otherwise, the client pays for the session.
((NOTE: Natesse was created specifically for the "Arena Games" RP. While most of her character holds true outside of that story, the 18+ concepts will not be applied to general RP stories.))
Pronunciation: "nay-deer"Race: BosmerClass: RougeGender: FemaleLooks:
- Short (5'3''), Light build, Quite athletic
- Shoulder-length auburn hair (natural), two braids on each side; considering dreadlocks.
- Deep red warpaint smeared over her entire face in three thick, curved lines; three flecks under left eye; has a meaning behind it.
- Has a cluster of scars on her right cheek.
- Wears forsworn "armor" by default.
- Nadir is a detached, loner type. She spends most of her time running jobs for whoever she is involved with at the time be it thieves, assassins or mercenaries; she regularly cavorts with those types and a like-minded individual could see it easily. She left Valenwood for Skyrim with the sole purpose of becoming a werewolf, though she keeps this objective to herself. She is fiery, but controlled; she does not suffer fools, but she also knows how to pick her battles. She would sooner let you taunt her now and slice your throat from the shadows later. When you get to know her, she is a witty, interesting individual, full of jokes and good-natured sarcasm. She keeps a journal of her travels and because of her slight absent-mindedness she tends to leave it behind on occasion. It is never stolen, but often defaced.
- Archery (Master)
- One-Handed, specializing in daggers (Adept)
- Sneak (Expert)
- Destruction (Apprentice; education was stunted by journey to Skyrim)
- Alchemy, specializing in poisons (Adept)
- Light Armor
- Her enchanted Deadric bow (4 sec. paralysis) is named "Severance" and her enchanted Deadric dagger (fire damage + health absorb) "Valtieri".
- She faithfully observes the Green Pact, though she only consumes the bodies of foes who offered a worthwhile battle.
- She's oblivious to the sexual appeal of her armor; it simply reminds her of the same thing she wore while in Valenwood.
- The heaviest armor she will wear is scaled; she detests heavy armor and has trouble traveling with those who wear it.
- She often complains about Skyrim's climate, especially to the far North.
- She is relatively fluent in the language of the dark elves, though she only uses it when infuriated.
- Her biggest pet peeve is being touched on her face. It annoys her to no end.
- Desiree Benoit and Sverr the Short-Tempered (Neverwin)
- Alice Psyrakon and Simus Psyrakon (Simus)
- Aislin, Winter and Lilumae (Mabfearie)