Private {18+} |OOC| Ascension

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    Rafen

    Well-Known Member
    Okay, here he is.

    Name: Caleb Briarstone

    Alias:

    Age: 47

    Sex: Male

    Race: Nord

    Sexuality: Straight (heterosexual)

    Relationship/Marital status: Widower

    Laterality: Primarily right handed.

    Afflictions:

    Appearance: Calebs' body is well muscled from years of fighting and training with the sword. He has dirty blonde hair, that he has cut short. His beard of the same color is also trimmed short, but longer than that of a soldier or mercenary. Years of living on his own, and travel mean he has little time to look to his appearance. He has a pair of dark green eyes, and several scars on his chest and shoulders from blades and arrows.

    Armour: Caleb wears a simple robe over a set of chain mail and leather, more as a precaution than to be used in any actual combat. The armor is still very well cared for, despite some notable battle scars in the chest area.
    Weaponry: A hand and a half sword, wire wrapped hilt, the leather over it is worn from years of use. The blade is reinforced with corundum, and like the armor well cared for.

    Class: Healer/former swordsman

    Combat preference: Caleb remains out of the fighting. He has not swung a blade in anger for nearly a decade, and has no plans to begin again now. Instead, he focuses on his healing arts, keeping his companions alive either through restoration magic or natural remedies.

    Personality: Caleb has witnessed the horrors of war and the depths of mans' darkness first hand, and has no wish to do so again. He wears a sword and armor but it's more to ward off trouble makers than it is to actually engage in combat. He has no love for soldiers, having heard one too many times that a man committed an atrocity because 'he was just following orders'. His own experience with them has driven him to be unwilling to help unless he has little choice. To those who are not soldiers, he is compassionate, friendly, and open minded.

    Religion: Worships the nine, but reveres Mara and Stendarr the most.

    Positive traits: Compassionate, Open-minded, friendly

    Negative traits: Stubborn, distrusts soldiers.

    Likes: Helping others, making potions and poultices, especially those with healing properties. Peace.

    Dislikes: Soldiers, arrogance.

    Fears: Being unable to help.

    History: For much of his early adulthood, Caleb was a mercenary swordsman. He traveled from warzone to warzone, fighting alongside any who could afford to pay him. He cared not for the lives he took, nor which side was paying him. So long as the gold was flowing, his blade was ready. He never made much of a name for himself, but that was how he liked it, rationalizing that the better known he was, the more of a target he would be to his enemies.

    He was nearly thirty years old when his life finally changed. Marching with a troop of fellow mercenaries, he and his companions were accosted by a furious young woman. She declared them no better than savages, slaughtering innocents for gold. The others laughed at her, taunting her and shoving her to the muck at the side of the road. Caleb was the one to remain silent. Though he never spoke of this with his comrades. The empire had long since declared a monopoly on mercenary contracts. More often than not, the mercenaries were used to make examples out of rebellious villages. The womans' words lingered in his mind, coming to him while he slept, or on the long days of traveling on the roads.

    Eventually, Caleb shared her thoughts, and no longer took any pleasure in killing for gold. He left the empires service, and returned to the village where he'd first met the woman months ago. At first, she was furious to see him again, but when the former mercenary threw down his sword and begged her forgiveness, she softened. Marlona, was her name, and she was a skilled herbal healer, the skills of which she taught to Caleb.

    Several years later, the two were married, and helping those travelers who came along in need of aid. However, both turned soldiers from any faction aside, not wanting to draw the attention of enemy soldiers. Unfortunately, a unit of imperial legionnaires heard of the healer and his wife, and brought their wounded commander before them. The commander himself ordered Caleb, as an imperial citizen, to heal him. Stubbornly, Caleb refused, and in return, the soldiers seized Marlona, threatening her with torture and rape if he did not comply.
    Fearing for her, Caleb submitted, using both his magic and natural remedies to heal the man.

    As punishment for his stubborness, the imperial commander ordered the soldiers to carry through with their threats. When the healer tried to stop them, they beat him nearly senseless, keeping him concious to witness them rape and execute his wife, before beating the last of his conciousness from him. When he awoke, he buried his wife, and left his village behind. He brought his sword and armor but he remained adamant to not lift a blade. Instead he traveled north, hoping to keep out of the eyes of the empire, and continue helping those that needed it.

    Dialogue Colour: I'll take this.
     
    Last edited:

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Name: Uzar Sal Malog

    Alias: None

    Age: 35

    Sex: Male

    Race: Orc

    Sexuality: Straight, not that it matters, seeing as he's batplops crazy.

    Relationship/Marital status: N/A

    Laterality: Right hand dominant, but he can use his left for punching/grabbing.

    Afflictions: 'Blessed' by Molag Bal. Cursed by Malacath. (Will expand on this in his history.)

    Appearance: Uzar is a heavily muscled, broad chested mountain of an orc. Scars from hundreds of fights cover his body, from the top of his bald head, to well below his waist. The tip of his right ear is missing, and his nose appears to have been broken many times. A pair of short tusks jut from the corners of his lower mouth. His skin is a deep green, almost black. His eyes are of a deep amber coloration.

    Armour: Formerly, Uzar went about clad in glorious, full orcish plate, complete with a closed helm. It had been cared for lovingly, polished so that the grey-green of orichalcum reflected the sun. Now, things are different. Uzar wears a mismatch of steel and orichalcum armor, much of it scratched or dented. Dark stains mark where blood, his or the enemies, has dried upon it and not been cleaned off. He now goes without a helm, never bothering to replace the one he lost.

    Weaponry: A one handed warhammer, one side of the hammers' head is blunt, made for crushing bone and armor, while the othe side is a slightly curving blade that can easily pierce steel plate.

    Class: Berserker
    Combat preference: With the bloodlust upon him, Uzar roars into combat, inspiring fear in the enemy merely by his wild eyed appearance. In most cases, he fights without any real attempt at discipline. Wild hammer swings smash aside defences and crush bones. Obviously this puts him at a disadvantage against a skilled fighter, or a group of skilled fighters. Not that the berserker cares.

    Personality: Uzar Sal Malog is quite insane. Or at least close enough to it that nobody cares to contest the point. When in combat he is screaming warcries, most of them little more than animalistic howls. On the extremely rare moments of lucidity, he can surprise his companions with his insights and compassion.

    Religion: Malacath (formerly), Molag Bal

    Positive traits: Fearless, compassionate (rarely),

    Negative traits: Insane. Brutal, unreliable.

    Likes: Battle, bloodshed, chaos

    Dislikes: Quiet, introspection, weaklings, those that prey on weaklings.

    Fears: Surprisingly enough, hurting his companions. When not in battle he can be seen with his hands pressed against his skull, attempting to drown out the demands of his god.

    History: Uzar Sal Malog used to be a noble warrior of the orcish stronghold of Largashbur, in Skyrim. When the giants came, he was among the first to defend his home, praise to Malacath on his lips, and fierce determination in his heart. However, as the giants became more powerful, the defenders of Largashbur were slain, and sorties out of the stronghold were forbidden.

    The orcs of Largashbur were besieged and desperate, none more than Uzar himself. Night after night, he prayed to the patron god of the orcs, with no response. Desperate, the orcish champion started to turn to others for help. This can be pinpointed as the beginning of his fall to madness. Molag Bal, the prince of rage and lord of brutality, answered his call, promising the strength necessary to defeat the giants, in exchange for Uzars' service.

    The orc was reluctant at first- he'd loyally followed Malacath for the better part of two decades. But the situation was desperate, and so the deal was struck. Imbued with unnatural strength, Uzar seized his hammer and leapt over the walls, shattering the knee of the first giant he came across, before crushing its skull. His actions drew the admiration of his fellow warriors, and the suspicion of the chief. Never before had the champion fought with such raw savagery, and his superior began to believe something was wrong.

    As Uzar won more and more battles against the besieging giant, suspicion turned to jealousy. Word of the champions actions spread to other strongholds, and more orcs joined the fight against the giants. Soon they were defeated, and the chief knew he had to act, or risk being challenged by Uzar. With his most trusted companions, the chief ambushed Uzar outside the stronghold, determined to have his body disposed of.

    Understandably feeling betrayed, Uzar fought back, killing two of his three attackers with ease. His last opponent was the chief, who wielded a two handed warhammer, heavier and more cumbersome than Uzars' own weapon, but the older orc had decades of experience wielding the weapon. His first blow badly damaged Uzars' helm, but rather than dazing him and leaving him open for a finishing blow, it sent the younger orc into a frenzy. He tore his former leader apart, and in a blind frenzy, returned to the stronghold. For several hours, he slaughtered his former friends and comrades.

    When night fell, it was upon a slaughtered stronghold. Uzar had accomplished what a small army of giants could not. With his foes slain, sanity returned to him, and he wept for the deaths of his kinsmen. A worse punishment was in store for the former champion. Malacath, enraged by his actions cursed Uzar, to never find peace until he himself was slain, To be tormented by his actions until his dying breath.

    Dialogue: This
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Nice CC, Rell, but doesn't he break the rule about not having your character be a daedric/divine champion?
     

    Rell

    Champion of Malacath!
    Well the thing is he's not a willing champion of Molag Bal. And he doesn't really get any bonuses from serving him.
     

    TheShadedOne

    The Angry One
    Oh. I guess that's fine then? Unless Madrar says otherwise.
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Orien Catus

    Alias: n/a

    Age: 35

    Sex: Male

    Race: Imperial
    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Relationship/Marital status: single

    Laterality: Right handed

    Afflictions: Nothing as of yet.

    Appearance: Orien is not quite six feet tall, but close to it. He appears typical for an imperial legionnaire, well built, though perhaps slightly less muscular than most of his brethren, being a battlemage. Having lived most of his youth in Leyawiin, his skin is pale bronze, several shades lighter than his eyes, which are a dark hazel, almost completely brown. He has short dark hair, and keeps his beard shaved, as per legion regulations. In the field, it grows out to a short stubble. He has collected several scars in his service to the legion, most of them on his limbs though he does have several on his torso.

    Armour: He wears a mix of legion heavy plate and a shortened crimson mage robe, marks of the imperial legions battlemages. Both pauldrons are marked with the symbol of the imperial fifth legion, making its' owners' allegiance obvious. The robe is trimmed with the imperial gold, though it is tattered near the bottom and edges.

    Weaponry: A standard legion gladius, well cared for and passed down through centuries of service, it is Oriens' most treasured possession. He is skilled with both alteration and destruction magic, though unusually for a battlemage, he prefers alterations, telekinesis specifically.

    Class: Battlemage

    Combat preference: Orien opens combat with a combination of destruction and alteration magic, before closing to melee range with his gladius. He is not a terribly skilled swordsman but he can hold his own in most situations, so long as he doesn't get swarmed, for matched against a superior swordsman.

    Personality: Orien, like his father and his father before him is a dutiful, honorable individual, and doesn't take lightly to implications that he is a coward or dishonorable for being a mage. His years of service to the legion have tempered his enthusiasm, but he sees the horrors of wars as something that one must endure in service to the legion. He is loyal to a fault, especially to his fellow legionairres, but he is equally loyal to his traveling companions.

    Religion: While he looks up to the empire as an inspirational leader figure, he doesn't believe the man to be a god. Of course, he's smart enough to keep that to himself.

    Positive traits: Honest, loyal, honorable

    Negative traits: Stubborn, quick to quarrel, quick to judge.

    Likes: Honesty, the empire (obviously), honorable folk

    Dislikes: Traitors, thieves, snakes.

    Fears: Being disowned by the legion, disappointing his family.

    History: Born in Leyawiin, Orien is the son of a legionnaire, and has been told the glories of the empire throughout his entire childhood. His family has always fought for the empire, since long before the second great war, leading all the way back to the first war with the dominion. His grandfather also told tales of the emperor himself, who met the man at the battle of the imperial city during the second dominion-imperial war.

    It came as no surprise to anybody, then that he joined the legion as soon as he was able. The fifth, to be exact. His first battle was the slaughter of nordic rebels in Skyrim. Under the archon of Bruma, he and his comrades pacified the restless north of the empire. While he disagrees with the archons' punishment for the rebels, he concentrates on his duties to the empire and his legate. Using that to cope with the horrors he witnessed.

    Recently, the legions' been recalled to Bruma, and made camp outside, ringing the northern city with rows and rows of imperial tents. The downtime makes Orien restless, something his friends and comrades have noticed. The reason for this is the confessors- if they knew his beliefs, if they knew he hadn't taken the sacred oaths all mages are recquired to take...

    Dialogue Colour: Red
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    It's fine. So long as he doesn't become a super duper death machine.


    @Rafen I still need Calebs' sexuality and laterality
     

    Morbidbread

    Fight for the lost
    Name: Elrasur Moraven

    Alias: Elrasur of the White,White Hands, the talon master

    Age: 105, appears to be late twenties to mid thirties.

    Sex: Male

    Race: Dunmer

    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Relationship/Marital status: Single

    Laterality: Ambidextrous

    Afflictions: N/A

    Appearance: Elrasur is a fairly typical dunmer male, standing at 5'5", and weighing just over a hundred and thirty pounds. He has an athletic build, with wiry muscles, that make him appear deceptively weak. He has the usual high cheekbones of dunmer, along with the blood red eyes. He has no beard, and thin eyebrows, the same midnight black as his hair, which falls to his shoulders, but he usually keeps it bound together with a strip of leather. He has a long, thin scar that traces the right side of his jaw, down to his chin. The most unique thing about him, is his hands. Both are tattooed completely bone white, except for the fingernails.

    Armour: Most of his apparel is made up of overlapping dark leather, but steel plates rest over his upper torso and back. The plates are thick enough to stop more than a few blows, but light enough so he can still move quickly. He wears leather boots, with a sheathe built into the inner leg of each, containing steel daggers. His forearms are covered by leather vambraces, but his hands are kept bare, revealing the bone white coloration. He wears no helmet, preferring to keep his field of vision clear.

    Weaponry: The two steel daggers previously mentioned he treats as his back up weapons. His primary weapons are a pair of slightly curved steel shortswords, that he wears on either hips. The blades resemble the talons of some great beast, and his skill with them is how he gained the title of 'talon master'. As a last resort, he is a proficient hand to hand fighter, though he obviously won't be going up against someone with, for example, a greatsword, unarmed.

    Class: Assassin/close quarters combat expert.

    Combat preference: Elrasur is all about ending an enemy before they can become a threat. He strikes quickly with his swords, parrying and riposting, creating weaknesses he can exploit in an opponents defence. If he should be disarmed, or unable to draw his swords, he relies on his daggers and unarmed skills to overwhelm his enemy with swift strikes, and keeping inside their guard.

    Personality: Elrasur is a reserved individual, not prone to starting or even joining a conversation, unless asked a question directly. When on the road, he keeps to himself, even when at rest. However, he is reliable in a fight, and will come to the aid of any who need him. Those that he has fought alongside for a reasonable amount of time will gain his respect, and perhaps may coax a laugh or two out of him. Past events make him slow to trust, and he may become reckless when innocents are in danger.

    Religion: Vaguely the nine divines.

    Positive traits: Reliable, calm, conservative

    Negative traits: Can be reckless, slow to trust.

    Likes: Helping people/defending the weak, justice.

    Dislikes: Greedy people, mages, heat.

    Fears: Innocents dying because of his failures/ the death of his companions.

    History: Decades ago, Elrasur the White was merely Elrasur Moraven, or more commonly, the talon master. He was a master freelance assassin, operating from Skyrim to Valenwood. Many knew him by his alias, but few actually knew him by name. Unusually for an assassin, Elrasur was more than willing to help the weak and downtrodden. In the early days of the new empire, corrupt officials ran rampant over the smaller villages and towns. They would demand enormous sums of money, and sometimes even more despicable actions as tribute, or 'taxes'.

    When Elrasur heard of these injustices' it was a sure thing that the officials lives were measured in days, if not hours. He left as quickly as he'd arrived, accepting no thanks or payment. Of course, his actions did not go unnoticed, even if a name could not be placed on the face. Many times troops of imperial legionnaires would be dispatched to hunt him, only to return empty handed, or in some cases, not at all.

    As small rebellions sprang up, Elrasur found paying work, eliminating imperial commanders in any number of theatres of war. However his heart remained with the people, and the more cunning among the empire knew this. One such official, a minor noble, really, oppressed his people greatly, inevitably drawing the attention of the dunmer assassin. This man was clever. He hired a mage to accompany him, and set up in the center of his village.

    When the talonmaster arrived, he was hit with a powerful fury spell. Losing any semblance of discipline, or the ability to separate friend from foe, he went into a frenzy, slaughtering all before him. When his mind cleared, he realized to his horror that it was in fact the villagers he'd come to protect. His confidence was shaken, but his purpose was clear; if he could not protect the innocent, he'd avenge them. He hunted down and slew both the mage and the lord responsible for hiring him.

    Since that day, Elrasur has been a wanted man, forced to take what contracts he can from the criminal elements of the empire. He greatly distrusts all mages, and refuses to have any kind of spells cast upon him, even if they are for his own benefit. As a permanent reminder of his loss of control, he had his hands tattooed white, for the innocents that fell on that fateful day.

    Dialogue Colour: Tan
     

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    I have returned! Cower in fear! etc, etc.
     

    Madrar

    The Shadow in the Dark.
    Hey, Drahkma.

    For everyone else we're just waiting on Drahkma, TheShadedOne, and TheArgonianDrell before we can start. I've edited the open spaces.
     

    Snoball

    23rd President of the United States of America
    Name: Salza Valora

    Alias: "The Songbird" (present, bard nickname), "The Red Herring" (past, thief nickname)

    Age: 119 (Due to Elven aging, appears to be around early-30s)

    Sex: Male

    Race: Bosmer

    Sexuality: Bisexual

    Relationship/Marital status: Single

    Laterality: Right-Handed

    Afflictions: N/A

    Appearance: Salza stands at 5'5", not too short considering the average Wood Elf male's height. He is built very lean and toned, with little to no massive muscle mass. His hair has been described as being "a cascade of the reddest Autumn leaves". His ginger hair is cut short on one side of his head and flows past his shoulders on the other side, which he will sometimes tie together in a high ponytail. Salza's skin is pale with a bit of a sun-kissed tan, with freckles dotting his face and upper back. Emerald green eyes accentuate the sharp shape of his face. Avoiding conflict as often as he can, Salza possesses very little scars, only small scratches/scrapes from his adventuring.

    Armour: A stylized, ornate set of leather armor is donned by the Bosmer, reflecting his outward personality. A hooded cloak comprised of greens and browns is worn over the armor for both weather and subterfuge related challenges. A red sash worn as a belt holds the cloak to the armor, all the while a brown leather satchel containing his flute and other supplies is strung over his person.

    Weaponry: Salza conceals two Elven daggers, one hidden in each of his boots. He would argue his greatest weapon is his voice or his lute however.

    Class: Thief / Bard

    Combat preference: Avoiding combat entirely is typically ideal for the Bosmer. He is more than capable of handling himself, but he would much rather resort to violence as a last ditch effort if the situation called for it. Coercing his way out of a fight is how Salza likely approaches conflict. If dragged into a fight, Salza would go for a "death by a thousand cuts" method of battling, generally keeping away from his opposition's range and getting small cuts/strikes in to wear them down over time.

    Personality: Quirky and flamboyant, Salza takes pride in spreading his songs of happiness and hope throughout Tamriel. The Bosmer is easily approachable, and is willing to play for anyone and everyone who lends him their ears. He is not one to hold a grudge, as he considers life too short and precious to waste on petty squabbles. Though he isn't shy in preaching the love and benevolence of Mara, he himself has never truly been in love ironically, but certainly hopes for it one day. For now he is content in sharing beautiful friendships with the colleagues he meets on his journeys.

    Religion: Y'ffre and Mara primarily, formerly Nocturnal

    Positive traits: Optimistic, Extroverted, Humble

    Negative traits: Stubborn, Slightly Sarcastic, Too passive (even when a situation calls for him to take responsibility)

    Likes: Music, Optimism, Entertaining others, Music, Helping those less fortunate, Did I mention music?

    Dislikes: Cynics, Corruption/Greed, Suffering, Dead silence

    Fears: People losing their individuality, Absence of love and music from the world

    History: Salza was born in Arenthia, right along the border of Valenwood and Cyrodiil. He was but a boy when The Imperial Legion and the Aldmeri Dominion waged war for the final time. Not knowing the circumstances surrounding the fighting, he viewed his enlisted father as a hero, repelling the mean Imperials from his home. Salza would even begin practicing with two toy daggers to follow in his father's footsteps down the road. Although being accustomed to constant warfare his whole childhood could never prepare him for the turn that this war was going to take in a few years time. The arriving daedra made short work of the Dominion, Salza's father being one of the very first to fall victim to the forces invading Tamriel.

    Salza and his mother laid low for a few years before silently crossing the border to Cyrodiil. Being well traveled, Salza's mother knew traders in Skingrad that helped them get set up in the city, but not well enough to meet ends meet. With his mother's health on the decline, Salza began taking theft jobs and bounties. He would go on to join a group of thieves that fashioned themselves after the Thieve's Guild of old, and begin gaining a reputation for himself, eventually becoming known as "the Red Herring" of Skingrad. It was at this time Salza also began picking up the lute as a hobby, eventually incorporating it into his work to deceive wealthy targets/marks. By the time Sal had reached his prime as a thief, sickness had claimed his mother's life. Her death would have a profound impact on the Bosmer, as instead of making others miserable with his larceny, he would here on out make people happy with his music. Salza would soon take the lute into the cities around Cyrodiil and make a living exclusively off performing on the streets and inside inns.

    The joy Salza would bring to others with his music was the calling that the Bosmer needed to leave his criminal past behind and begin spreading his sound wherever he could. But the Wood Elf will soon find that his past is likely to re-surface to confront him once again. As the Emperor calls for all manner of thieves and murderers to be conscripted into his ranks, Salza's songs of peace and love will likely meet their abrupt end very soon.

    Dialogue Colour: This weird salmon red-pink?
     
    Last edited:

    Drahkma

    Dashing Imperial Officer.
    Should have my CC up by tomorrow.
     

    Screeching Spasmodically

    Spasmodic Screecher
    Name: Uzar Sal Malog

    Alias: None

    Age: 35

    Sex: Male

    Race: Orc

    Sexuality: Straight, not that it matters, seeing as he's batplops crazy.

    Relationship/Marital status: N/A

    Laterality: Right hand dominant, but he can use his left for punching/grabbing.

    Afflictions: 'Blessed' by Molag Bal. Cursed by Malacath. (Will expand on this in his history.)

    Appearance: Uzar is a heavily muscled, broad chested mountain of an orc. Scars from hundreds of fights cover his body, from the top of his bald head, to well below his waist. The tip of his right ear is missing, and his nose appears to have been broken many times. A pair of short tusks jut from the corners of his lower mouth. His skin is a deep green, almost black. His eyes are of a deep amber coloration.

    Armour: Formerly, Uzar went about clad in glorious, full orcish plate, complete with a closed helm. It had been cared for lovingly, polished so that the grey-green of orichalcum reflected the sun. Now, things are different. Uzar wears a mismatch of steel and orichalcum armor, much of it scratched or dented. Dark stains mark where blood, his or the enemies, has dried upon it and not been cleaned off. He now goes without a helm, never bothering to replace the one he lost.

    Weaponry: A one handed warhammer, one side of the hammers' head is blunt, made for crushing bone and armor, while the othe side is a slightly curving blade that can easily pierce steel plate.

    Class: Berserker
    Combat preference: With the bloodlust upon him, Uzar roars into combat, inspiring fear in the enemy merely by his wild eyed appearance. In most cases, he fights without any real attempt at discipline. Wild hammer swings smash aside defences and crush bones. Obviously this puts him at a disadvantage against a skilled fighter, or a group of skilled fighters. Not that the berserker cares.

    Personality: Uzar Sal Malog is quite insane. Or at least close enough to it that nobody cares to contest the point. When in combat he is screaming warcries, most of them little more than animalistic howls. On the extremely rare moments of lucidity, he can surprise his companions with his insights and compassion.

    Religion: Malacath (formerly), Molag Bal

    Positive traits: Fearless, compassionate (rarely),

    Negative traits: Insane. Brutal, unreliable.

    Likes: Battle, bloodshed, chaos

    Dislikes: Quiet, introspection, weaklings, those that prey on weaklings.

    Fears: Surprisingly enough, hurting his companions. When not in battle he can be seen with his hands pressed against his skull, attempting to drown out the demands of his god.

    History: Uzar Sal Malog used to be a noble warrior of the orcish stronghold of Largashbur, in Skyrim. When the giants came, he was among the first to defend his home, praise to Malacath on his lips, and fierce determination in his heart. However, as the giants became more powerful, the defenders of Largashbur were slain, and sorties out of the stronghold were forbidden.

    The orcs of Largashbur were besieged and desperate, none more than Uzar himself. Night after night, he prayed to the patron god of the orcs, with no response. Desperate, the orcish champion started to turn to others for help. This can be pinpointed as the beginning of his fall to madness. Molag Bal, the prince of rage and lord of brutality, answered his call, promising the strength necessary to defeat the giants, in exchange for Uzars' service.

    The orc was reluctant at first- he'd loyally followed Malacath for the better part of two decades. But the situation was desperate, and so the deal was struck. Imbued with unnatural strength, Uzar seized his hammer and leapt over the walls, shattering the knee of the first giant he came across, before crushing its skull. His actions drew the admiration of his fellow warriors, and the suspicion of the chief. Never before had the champion fought with such raw savagery, and his superior began to believe something was wrong.

    As Uzar won more and more battles against the besieging giant, suspicion turned to jealousy. Word of the champions actions spread to other strongholds, and more orcs joined the fight against the giants. Soon they were defeated, and the chief knew he had to act, or risk being challenged by Uzar. With his most trusted companions, the chief ambushed Uzar outside the stronghold, determined to have his body disposed of.

    Understandably feeling betrayed, Uzar fought back, killing two of his three attackers with ease. His last opponent was the chief, who wielded a two handed warhammer, heavier and more cumbersome than Uzars' own weapon, but the older orc had decades of experience wielding the weapon. His first blow badly damaged Uzars' helm, but rather than dazing him and leaving him open for a finishing blow, it sent the younger orc into a frenzy. He tore his former leader apart, and in a blind frenzy, returned to the stronghold. For several hours, he slaughtered his former friends and comrades.

    When night fell, it was upon a slaughtered stronghold. Uzar had accomplished what a small army of giants could not. With his foes slain, sanity returned to him, and he wept for the deaths of his kinsmen. A worse punishment was in store for the former champion. Malacath, enraged by his actions cursed Uzar, to never find peace until he himself was slain, To be tormented by his actions until his dying breath.

    Dialogue: This


    Wow...that's quite a background! And I thought my characters were well fleshed out...
     

    Harkatti

    Sorceress Supreme!
    Yours is fine, Screech. Looking forwards to writing with you guys here as I am in When Gods Fall!
     

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