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    Free Form Role Playing Guide for Beginners
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    NutsnBoltz

    New Member
    trust_me_now__by_apetron_d8kbero-pre.jpg

    (Reference Picture)
    Ko'esi
    "Is Evil What We Are? Or What We Do?"
    Basic Information

    Name: Ko'esi

    Aliases: Esi

    Birthplace: Torval, Elsweyr

    Birthdate: 21st Of Sun's Dusk

    Birth-Sign: The Lover


    Affiliations: Dark Brotherhood/Thieves Guild

    Former Affiliations: Companions/Fighters Guild/Bards College/Blood Horkers

    Occupation: Assassin/Thief

    Political Affiliation: Highest Buyer

    Wealth: Substantial

    Race: Khajiit(Cathay)

    Gender: Male

    Age: 29


    Alignment: Chaotic-Evil

    Sexuality: Straight

    Relationship: Single


    Faith: Baan Dar/Sithis

    Fur Color: Black/Grey/White

    Eye Color: White

    Height: 6'1

    Weight: 181 lbs

    Hair/Facial Hair:
    Long Black Hair Semi-Braided/Short Mane Like Beard That Is Roughly Cut

    Scars:
    Two Deep Long Scars Along The Nose Of Ko'esi

    Piercings/Tattoos:
    3 Piercings on each ear. Two on the lower lobe and 1 placed at the very tip of the ear


    Weapons:
    Ebony Bow(Poisoned) With Ebony Arrows/Two Dragonbone Daggers Enchanted (Fire & Frost)


    Armor:
    Slightly Altered Dark Brotherhood Armor(Hood Included)
    When Not Under Contract/ Custom Leather Armor


    Favorite Food/Drink:
    Spiced Wine(Infused With A Small Amount Of Moon Sugar) & Elsweyr Fondue/Lavender Dumplings

    Personality


    Likes:
    Drinking/Moon Sugar/Killing/Stealing/Assault/Coin


    Dislikes:
    Law & Order/Good Deeds/Prison/Hierarchy

    Habits:
    Creating/Consuming Illicit Substances/Crafting New Armor/Weapons & Learning about New Poisons To Craft

    Afflictions:
    Addiction To Moon Sugar(In Any Form)

    Strengths
    :
    Patient/Strong/Athletic/Charming/Charismatic

    Weaknesses:
    Rebellious/Violent/Cold Hearted/Two-Faced

    Short History

    Upon Arriving in Skyrim Esi had already formed a rather unique bond with many criminal empires that had been established in Skyrim due to his rather vicious history in his home land of Elsweyr,but he was attempting to leave that life behind him and escape custody and law of his own kin. However when he attempted to try to carve out a rather good life for himself joining with the companions. Having fought against both preducide from rather tradinalist nords and against his own violent tendencies he maintained status within the companions for a few months until he had a large visible outburst against a fellow member of the companions which resulted in him being exiled due to his unwillingness to accept his mistakes for killing a fellow companion. Upon being thrown out of the companions he worked as a hunter for Whiterun, catching prey and selling it to the Inns and Shop keeps in the markets to make a rather meager sum of coin.
    However this rather unsatisfactory life made Esi realize the futility of the bond between Nords and Khajiit. To escape any unwanted prosecution from Whiterun after the companions had finally mourned enough over their lost brother to inform the guards of Esi actions, he fled via a fellow Khajiit caravan to the so called capital of Skyrim where he would assume a role of being a passive watcher. Over a few days of learning about the city he had heard of a rather unique group of people called bards, being in the Inns in whiterun he was aware of the bards but did not know they had a collage of their own.

    Upon further investigation Esi had began to attempt to join to collage proving he had experience with musical instruments and a rather well toned voice to accompany himself. Upon joining the college he soon realized that their was more than met the eye about this place, every student seemed to have it out for one another to always best one another, Esi thought of this as friendly competition at first but experienced how cruel they truly can be to one another when he was falsely accused of thievery due to his race, out of spite and anger Esi struck out against fellow students,this time stopping himself from going to far however he was much stronger and faster then the average nord.
    After the incident had been put to rest Esi was arrested and locked in prison for over a week where he would experienced great torture at the hands of a dark vicious nord who seeped blood from him at every chance she got. having been one of the only few to survive this treatment he was finally released into skyrim, however this time with nothing to his name and an undying passion to get revenge for the way he had been treated. Over the span of a few nights Esi lashed out on his former so called "friends" at the college, stealing and assaulting them as an act of vengeance for the way they treated him.
    These actions caught the eyes of a rather sinister group who offered employment to him if he would just travel with them out to Windhelm, upon seizing the chance to finally make some coin any thought of seeking a fair life was gone, Esi was filled with a violent passion for the Nords and how he was treated and now he could unleash it upon unsuspecting merchant ships traveling through treacherous waters. The time he spent as a Blood Horker honed his violent tendencies he became more patient, more ruthless and cunning with how he acted. Unbeknownst

    to his new group over the span of several months Esi had been hoarding gold and planning a means to escape from the cold grasp that was the Horkers home,so under a fateful night Esi began to unfold his plan attacking and killing several of his fellow raiders and marauders,some who even called him friend. Striking in violent yet quick actions he had gutted many of his "friends" in a dastardly attempt to haul his loot off into a rather beaten small merchant ship the Horkers had taken for their own. This event had weakened his former group as he had escaped with armor/gold/weapons and more fleeing back into skyrim to strike his own fortune.
    Sailing back into Skyrims cold grip Esi began to strike out on his own and purchased materials to rebuild the merchant ship he had stolen away from its former procurers. Over the span of a few months Esi coin started to dwindle,but the improvement of his rather small yet newly redesigned and renovated ship had become his home. With free reign to travel around skyrims port cities he slowly started to map each city out upon arrival, learning guard posts and interchanges.

    With this newfound knowledge he began to create strife among many families,those rich and poor,breaking in during night or day whenever his needs suited him and stealing coin and anything of importance that he could fence off to his fellow caravans. During his rather daring house raids he came across another who was picking from a home he had chosen to take from himself, upon closer inspection he had come across a thief of the mysterious thieves guild. At first Esi was furious with someone else stealing his loot,but soon came to understand that he needed "friends" in higher places if he was ever going to achive that 'peaceful" life he once wished for.
    So in typical Khajiit form he played two sides of the coin, a friendly face who wishes to work within the group as a unit and help it grown, and a tail who steals from the group while they are unaware and uses the guilds information as a means to learn about their signs and opposing factions as well as rather wealthy targets for him to hit. The rule of not killing anyone did affect Esi over time as he grew more agitated and prone to violence, so instead of cutting ties completely with the guild he simple lessioned the time he spent with them thus not allowing them to think he has turned against them or strode off on his own,while still allowing him freedoms.
    His rather violent nature became unhinged during some of his house raids as he now attacked unaware citizens, stealing right from the corpse he just made,however in most cases he strode to knock them out as over time the killings he was committing slowly started to fall onto his conscious. However one night he was approached by a masked figure on his boat,who offered Esi a new job one that gave him much more freedom when it came to the violent nature of this particular Khajiit.
    Thus over an extended initiation he became a rather exceptional member of the struggling dark brotherhood, something that was starting to become more aware to him as both the thieves and brotherhood were struggling to remain relevant and a viable threat. So over time he became a free-lance thief/assassin who would let the highest bidder pay for his work, while still keeping good faith with both the Brotherhood and the Thieves due to his cunning,charismatic ways that he had adapted over time due to living in skyrim.








     
    Last edited:

    Rajka-Dari

    Looter Extraordinaire
    8sQMNrR

    8sQMNrR

    Rajka Dari


    30 Year old Khajiit Male


    Born in a small village in the Tenmar Forest, Elsweyr


    Born under the sign of the Lord


    “Rajka sees all things as belonging to Rajka. This one is not a selfish owner, but will take what he can get and ever so slightly more.”


    Personal Details|


    Alias: Raj, Raji, Dar


    Sexuality: Rajka has a heightened view of Khajiit women, them being his preference in most instances. He can, however, be swayed with a good personality.


    Marital Status: Single


    Occupation: Rajka is first and foremost a thief. He practices the gamut of the legerdemain, everything from pickpocketing to grand heists. He is equally well versed in removing from the dead as well as the living, and has in his most current excursions made a steady profit from the recesses of Dwemer ruins.


    Residence: Rajka first lived in a little village in the Tenmar forest. When it came time to stretch his legs and broaden his horizons, he eventually settled down with a bit of transience across Vvardenfell. After obtaining his first partner in crime, the pair have become much more nomadic, setting their sights on the rest of Tamriel, starting with Skyrim and planning on making their way to the swathes of wealth in both Cyrodiil and Summerset.


    Family: Rajka comes from a large family. His father and mother still reside in his home village, and he has a great berth of cousins travelling across Tamriel, all trying to find their own piece of adventure. He does not, however, have any siblings.


    Affiliations: The best thieves have no ties to people or places, and Rajka is a notable example. Though he may deal with different societies and organizations from time to time, he keeps a healthy distance from them all and carves his own path.


    Political Views: Rajka is in favor of the Empire, as it keeps the wealth in one place for him to eventually seize.


    Religion: Rajka recognizes the Mane, those born under the two moons who rule over the Khajiit, but he does not worry himself with the greater intricacies of their religion.


    Afflictions/Diseases/Ailments: Rajka was a healthy child and continues to be an exemplary khajiit well into his adulthood. He was once trapped in a burning stable, a story for another time, and is known to have the occasional cough from which he attributes.


    Physiology|


    Voice: Raspy, lingering, the sound of his voice enlists the image of a sneer.


    Physique: Rajka is almost fanatical about his form. His body is his source of income, and as such he treats it with the utmost respect. He exercises daily and his form shows. He is tall and lean, his body taut with carefully manicured muscle.


    Appearance: His fur is a muddled white with certain strands of light brown for accent. He has a few black spots on his face and hands, and bares a scar over his right eye birthed from the blade of one very fortunate Bosmer. His eyes are a golden yellow with the black slotted pupils most common with the Khajiit. He is normally seen sporting leather armor and pants with a sash tied around his waist. The red sash is a gift from his partner in crime, and he keeps it with him always. His swords are always hung at both sides of his hips, and he refuses to let himself be disarmed unless the situation is impossible without it.


    Personality: Rajka can get along with anyone, but he trusts very few people. He is loyal until his own skin is on the line, and then he worries about himself most. He is cunning and leaves one hanging onto his words. He seems friendly, excitable, and downright predictable. That is all a front for his calculating, puppeteering side.


    Positive Traits: Dependable, sticks by his word, hard working, cunning, smart.


    Negative Traits: Cocky, arrogant, bull-headed, easily stressed, avoids crucial conversations and conflicts.


    Likes: Fish, gold, women, and Moon Sugar Rum.


    Dislikes: Vegetables, snow, competition, and the obscenely wealthy.


    Alignment: Neutral


    Combat Details:


    Class: Roguelike warrior


    Major Skills: Lockpicking, Pickpocketing, Thieving, Sneaking, and Physical Combat.


    Other Skills: Archery, Navigation, Reading, Writing, and a few others up his sleeve.


    Weapons: Two short swords, he is also known to use a bow.


    Gear: Rajka wears mostly medium armor, though for bigger excursions he has opted for chainmail lining or sometimes full plate, depending on the severity of the combat. His go to, however, is leather.


    Laterality: Ambidextrous


    History: Raj set out from Elsweyr with one goal in mind: Profit. He spent time along the Gold Coast dealing in skooma, and once business propositions began to dry up there he made way for the Imperial City. He spent some time hustling there before making the long journey to Vvardenfell. While in Vvardenfell, Raj developed a loose affiliation with the Camonna Tong, though because of his race was not allowed any valuable jobs therein. Most of his time was spent plundering crypts and family tombs along the land. When he made his way into Telvanni territory, he found a holdout Telvanni family that still kept Argonian slaves. Raj freed one of the slaves, a young woman named Ix Mota, and the two became partners in crime. With his already strained relationship with the Tong beginning to sour, Raj felt it best that the two make way for anywhere but Morrowind. They made their way to Skyrim, to see what treasures await them.

    [All credit for the card format goes to Hlif 'Ulfr!]​
     

    Rajka-Dari

    Looter Extraordinaire

    Ix-Mota


    25 year old Argonian female


    Born in the city of Lilmoth, Murkmire.


    Born under the sign of the Steed.



    “I carry the Hist with me wherever I go.”


    Personal Details|


    Alias: Ix, Mota


    Sexuality: Ix is interested in Argonian men,the smootheskin men are too strange for her tastes. Khajiit are not out of her scope of romance, though just barely reside there.


    Marital Status: Ix has never been married, though aspires to find a partner one day in her homeland.


    Occupation: A former slave, Ix learned the value early on of being able to go unnoticed. These skills have earned her wealth to some degree in her new life of thieving and plundering ruins with her partner in crime.


    Residence: Ix-Mota was born in Lilmoth, but was only there a few years before being sent to a Telvanni family in Tel Mora as a servant. Upon her liberation, she travelled Vvardenfell and Skyrim with her partner and liberator.


    Family: Ix does not remember any of her brothers and sisters in her hatching pool, as she had been taken for servitude at a young age.


    Affiliations: Ix-Mota has a large cultural affiliation to her people and the Hist. Aside from that, she tends to shy away from any official guilds or organizations due to the nature of her work.


    Political Views: Ix is zealously anti-slavery, and is of the mindset that the Dunmer need to be occupied for their own good.


    Religion: Ix is a devout follower of Sithis, as most Argonians are.


    Afflictions/Diseases/Ailments: Ix has no serious afflictions, though she does have consistent slight pain in the middle of her tail from a broken tail as a young girl.


    Physiology|


    Voice: Ix has a raspy, raw voice in par with her fellow Argonians.


    Physique: Ix is slender and of decent build, without any large positives or negatives to her build. She is decidedly average for an Argonian.


    Appearance: Ix has small, angled eyes and green scales that cover her, their contrast differing depending on the sensitivity of the area. Her most noticeable feature are the three spines on either side of her head, spines that flex with her facial movements. She wears a green scaled leather robe with hip guards and a high collar. She wears a belt of argonian make with a large, square buckle.


    Personality: Ix is stalwart in her defense of those less fortunate than her. She is logical, but caring. Her moral compass is strong, despite the hypocrisy of her career, leading to an amount of unusual mental gymnastics on her part to justify the two.


    Positive Traits: Loyal, honorable,caring,kind, and considerate.


    Negative Traits: Logical to the point of being cold, ruthlessly calculating, pities to a fault. Trusts to a fault. She is also highly xenophobic, most of her fear and hatred is pointed at the Dunmer people.


    Likes: Good food, naps, warm places, swamps, rainy days, swimming.


    Dislikes: Extreme heat, extreme cold, Saltrice, and Dunmer people.


    Alignment: Lawful Neutral.


    Combat Details|


    Class: Restoration/Conjuration Mage


    Major skills: Restoration magic, Conjuration magic, Sneaking.


    Other skills: Swimming, Lockpicking, Navigation


    Weapons: Ix uses a restoration staff from her time as a healer as her primary ‘weapon’ and is adversed to causing others physical harm by her own hand.


    Gear: Ix-Mota wears a simple roughspun dress, though it has been pleated with scales and leather added to enhance the armor value as well as vambraces. She does not wear shoes.


    Laterality: Right handed



    History: Ix grew up in Lilmoth, though she would only stay there a short while. As a child she was sent to live with a Telvanni family as unpaid, forced labor. She worked in the house as a girl, but when she was more able-bodied she was sent outside to the saltrice fields. As she showed some magical promise, she was once again brought back inside and learned restoration magic from the Telvanni, where she would act as a healer and a caretaker to the elderly. One day in particular she tried to get her hands on some more destructive magic, and when that happened she was sent back outside for the last time to the saltrice fields. While toiling away, she was discovered by a wily Khajiit named Rajka Dari, who freed her and introduced her to the life of a travelling criminal. The two fled to Skyrim, and they look forward to the money to be made there.

    [All credit for the card format goes to Hlif 'Ulfr!]​
     

    Rajka-Dari

    Looter Extraordinaire

    Urgas Barkbite


    31 year old Orc female


    Born in Greenshade


    Born under the sign of The Tower


    “I’ll go anywhere, for the right price.”


    Personal Details|


    Alias: Urgas, Barkbite


    Sexuality: Homosexual


    Marital Status: Married


    Occupation: Urgas is paid to protect people with enough money or celebrity on excursions to Tamriel’s more risky areas.


    Residence: She travels frequently, but has a small house in Rorikstead that she shares with her wife Arenwe.


    Family: Urgas is estranged from her clan, but she has a Bosmer wife named Arenwe and the two are considering adoption.


    Affiliations: Urgas has done occasional work for the Fighter’s guild and has done a few jobs for the Mage’s guild as an escort. She has made a nice network of contacts from her adventures.


    Political Views: Urgas is apolitical, and often avoids politically charged conversations.


    Religion: She is not religious, but will occasionally invoke both the Wilderking and Malacath.


    Afflictions/Diseases/Ailments: Her left hand, her sword hand, was crushed by a Haj Mota in Murkmire. The bones healed back incorrectly and she is unable to use a sword.


    Physiology|


    Voice: Urgas has a rough, haughty, smoky voice that carries a rich tone.


    Physique: She is tall with a thick, stocky frame. Urgas is comprised of years of hard won muscle.


    Appearance: Urgas is tall even for an Orc, and almost just as broad. Urgas has olive skin and light brown hair that frames her squared face. She has two protruding tusks from her lower teeth. She is most often seen in her prized Ebony armor, which is meticulously cleaned and cared after.


    Personality: Stoic and silent, Urgas can be hard to read to newcomers. She is generally the first person into dangerous situations. She likes to protect others weaker than her. Urgas prefers quiet places and still life. She would much rather be at home with her wife reading a book by the hearth than out adventuring, but adventuring is what she does best. She has a quick temper, but it is not long lasting.


    Positive Traits: Loyal, dependable, strong, tough, and optimistic.


    Negative Traits: Hot-headed, underestimating, too forward at times, can be brusque.


    Likes: Wine, women, and a good fight.


    Dislikes: Too little sleep, intricate work, and negotiations.


    Alignment: Chaotic Good.


    Combat Details: Urgas’ specialty is taking a hit and taking it well. She is tough built, even for her already imposing size. Urgas can deflect massive blows with her shield by using her experience as an adventurer to know when to shift her weight, when to roll after a hit, and other methods. She used to be deadly with a blade, but her sword hand is now useless. To compensate for her impairment, Urgas has sharpened the left side of her shield. She can crush and hack at her foes with her shield, while keeping her shield in a relatively close position for blocking.


    Class: Warrior


    Major Skills: Combat, navigation, and intimidation.


    Other Skills: Reading, writing (Urgas has always fancied being a poet in her spare time), cooking, and drinking.


    Weapons: Urgas uses her shield as her most important piece of armor and her main weapon. Her Ebony shield is sharpened on the left side to allow for severing blows, but remains intact for defensive maneuvers.


    Gear: Ebony armor and accompanying shield, various potions, a bedroll, a journal, and bone necklace her wife made for her.


    Laterality: Urgas used to be left handed, but after her injury has adjusted to performing feats that require any fine motor movement with her right hand.


    History: Urgas grew up in Greenshade, working in the logging camps of the wood Orcs. She was raised learning combat as most Orcs do, and by the time she was of age she knew she wanted to have her own adventures. Urgas fell in love with a local Bosmer girl named Arenwe, and the two were wed shortly after. With their joint dowries, the two bought a small home in Rorikstead where Arenwe could make a home for them while Urgas earned their primary source of money by escorting people to and through rough areas. Urgas started off protecting merchants and caravans of goods with other adventurers, but over the years she gained a reputation for being rather hard to kill, so her clients gradually increased in both wealth and fame. Urgas now goes with other seasoned adventurers to protect the rich and famous on macabre vacations to the rougher parts of Tamriel.

    [All credit for the card format goes to Hlif 'Ulfr!]​
     

    Dustman

    The Silver Blade
    Not a new character - just a fresh, reworked new profile/biography.

    Marius Dustman
    Race: Nord
    Gender: Male
    Class: Slayer
    Color: Green


    Quotes:

    "He wore a grim, if determined expression but his question was light enough that Marek thought he was probably a rather easy going man when not slaughtering the walking dead."

    - Marius, from the perspective of
    Andre Marek, mercenary

    A summative, chronologically-neutral biography:

    Marius is a man forged through trauma; a weapon honed by experiences both positive and negative. He has been given many names in his life; both slave and savior, man and monster. His lowest moments have often been his most transformative, and have granted him perspective which has helped him find his own path amongst the various philosophies that define the world; both those philosophies preached by those who claim to guard against the shadows, and those who whisper within them.

    The last remaining member of the Dustman clan, Marius is tragically defined by a legacy no one but himself truly comprehends.

    - - - - -

    About the clan, and as such, their legacy:

    More tragic still, this clan's legacy was by design. Clan Dustman lived in secret, tucked away in the earth beneath Whiterun hold in a network of caves similar to the infamous Blackreach - training warriors to meet the monsters they hunted at their most basic and primal level, recognizing the common nature that connects prey and predator.

    Clan Dustman were masters of both metallurgy and magic, granted by their access to a potent material used to forge their armors, tools, and weapons - blue mithril, and a steadfast maintenance to traditional understandings of magical theory.

    Regarding blue mithril: Similar to its cousin, blue mithril is an almost unnatural dichotomy of incredible lightness of weight, and massive strength of material. In the hands of the right armor- or bladesmith, it is even capable of surpassing its cousin; granting not only physical but magical advantages. What advantages it gives, however, are matched by an intense volatility, and as such, greater potential disadvantages. Texts have been lost to time for how the Clan smiths exactly counteracted this volatility, granting whatever smith brave enough to experiment with it a potential path towards legend. What is commonly known is that the material bonds well with purified silver, and that the various alloys made from that bond can create swords capable of unleashing the chaotic nature of blue mithril upon the enemies its wielder faces.

    Regarding primal magic: The Dustmen refused the constrictive laws that govern most known modern magic - the schools that bind the great immutability of raw Magicka. Instead, they understood magic in a more primal sense. To describe the most common applications of this philosophy:

    Enchantment is not something applied - it describes what something is in relation to the whims of chaos - like weathering on the fabric of reality. The clan used this understanding to preserve and retract biological attributes lost to the evolution of man - enhanced reflexes, nightvision, enhanced senses including a sixth sense towards the flow of Magicka between the fabric of the reality. What can be commonly referred to by outside academics as the school of Enchantment is more akin to biological and chemical science to academics within the clan. Also, unlike modern Enchantment, the changes made by its primal cousin are irreversible and infinite in duration.

    Destruction is most commonly associated with offense, used by warmages to call forth devastation upon their foes. and the clan agrees with this sentiment, save for its definition as a school itself. Primal Destruction is an entropic force, because it is directly counter to the way magic is applied upon the world - as such, primal destruction causes other magics to fail. Practitioners of this magical theory within the clan were few and far between - the conflict between ones innate magical nature and the application of anti-magic too often would lead to total destruction of the user. Advanced successful practitioners have been rumored to be able to to tap into the magical nature of mundane matter itself, though at much almost always fatal risk to the user.

    Most commonly, the school of Alteration is the closest to application of raw chaos as the modern schools get. Similar to its cousin Enchantment, Primal Alteration, practiced by those within the Clan known as the Alteratori, seeks to not simply react to the exposure to the chaotic force of raw Magicka, but use the chaos's own nature against itself, rewriting it to serve the purpose of the user. The Alteratori, in truly understanding this do themselves one disservice, however - by achieving the mindset needed to make Primal Alteration magic possible, they lose the ability to perform Alteration magic as it is commonly understood. For some, this is freeing - for others, it is a sense of separation that distances themselves from modern magical practitioners.

    - - - - -

    All of this knowledge and more would have been understood by Marius had he completed his training as a full-fledged warrior within the clan. Instead, much of this information has been pieced together through rigorous study in only the most secret of texts, spiritual recall, experimentation, and the insights and brilliance of his colleagues and loved ones. In the time up until the holocaust of his clan, Marius had received only an apprentice level training as an Alteratori, and had just been introduced to the rituals that would transform into a true Dustman warrior. As such, making connections within the world, while at first blush causing himself to become separated from his heritage, eventually led him closer to it.

    - - - - -

    A chronological timeline of major events and details from Marius' life:

    Birth: Born to mother Aeia Dustman (Nord), a controversial wildcard within the clan, and fully trained Dustman warrior; father is known as Sparo, origin unknown (Presumed Breton), a mysterious and timeless wanderer whose long relationship with Aeia was one source of controversy, in that it was far from traditional according to clan customs. Siblings, half-siblings, or extended family unknown. Characteristically, Sparo disappears soon after.

    Age 8-9: Warrior passage begins - Marius receives introductory enhancements, and begins training as an Alteratori. Mother vanishes a year later, whereabouts unknown.

    Age 10: Holocaust of Clan Dustman at the hands of extremist group adjacently connected to the clan - its members would later go on to form the Silver Hand. Survivors are enslaved.

    Age 12: Abused, traumatized, and otherwise on the verge of death, Marius is one of the few remaining of his clan within the extremist group's labor camp, following multiple failed revolts, and sickness within the camp following the introduction of a unstable compound derivative of blue mithril, which poisons those in proximity of it. One night, a series of mysterious events within the camp are eventually revealed to be caused by the return and counterattack of Aeia Dustman, Marius' mother. She finds him, arms him with a silver greatsword, and secrets him away from the camp. Giving him vague instructions to find a contact of her inner circle within the deserts of Hammerfell, she says one last goodbye to her son, before reentering the camp, claiming that she will fix the wrongs committed in her absence. Presumed dead. Further investigation shows scarce evidence of camp's existence.

    Marius travels to Hammerfell, in a state of shock, near-starvation, and delirium. Extremely unaccustomed to intense sunlight and heat, he collapses in the dunes. Awakens to find himself in the company of a nomadic Redguard tribe, who heals him. Greeted by none other than his mother's contact, a scarred, elderly Redguard warrior. Warrior pledges himself with a blood oath as Marius' master in the arts of a warrior.

    Marius undergoes the Ritual of Sands, so to adapt to the climate of Hammerfell, where he remains in exile. Functionally abandons his heritage (racial attributes) as a Nord, and gains those of a Redguard. Skin attains permanent tan as result of adaptation, which lasts the rest of his life.

    Marius remains in exile for his adolescence, training with his new master, engaging in trials of spiritual reconnection to make sense of his past trauma, and the legacy he must now hold. Combat style becomes more aggressive, as with the processing of trauma, Marius pledges himself to a path of revenge - and the total destruction of the Silver Hand. Eventually leads to a fall-out with his master, who he believes is holding him back from avenging his clan.

    Age 20-25 - Marius returns to Skyrim, trained, and full of vengeful rage. This marks the most violent and reckless time of Marius' life. Over the next five years, he eventually connects with the Companions of Whiterun, using their own conflict with the Silver Hand to exact his vendetta. Once completed, Marius finds himself so bloodied with the blood of his targets, and more than a few other humans, he suffers a mental breakdown, reaves his blade in twain, and casts the remains of his ruined, blunted, and blood-stained silver sword into the depths of the last prominent landmark of his clan, Dustman's Cairn.

    Age 26-29 - Wandering aimlessly, in search of wisdom, he eventually finds himself at the College of Winterhold, seeking structure. Although he shows promise in Alteration magic, it is clear his understanding of how Alteration magic works is different from what exists in modern theory. Tolfdir, a professor who specializes in Alteration magic takes him on personally, to try to help him understand his unique grasp of the subject. Guided by his tutelage, Marius gains a greater understanding of what it means to use primal Alteration, and discovers the bittersweet truth that primal freedom comes with a cost. Marius departs the college feeling more connected to his own magical power.

    Age 30 - 37 - Marius has been doing odd-jobs for most of a year when he receives an anonymous gift wrapped in fine silver cloth. Unwrapping it, he finds pieces of silver sword - the same silver sword he had cast into the shadows so many years before. Seeking a blacksmith to potentially reforge the blade, he is introduced to a determined apprentice blacksmith with a desire to become to best in the world, traveling Skyrim to learn smithing techniques from every source she can. Her name is Isobel. Marius is immediately taken to the woman, and they soon become fast friends and confidants.

    Additionally, they make a contract, following Isobel's discovery of the unique properties of the sword's metal: she'll take the risk of reforging the volatile material, on the grounds that the knowledge of this metal's quality remains her exclusive privilege, as well as the wielder's armament needs. Marius agrees on the grounds of his gratefulness to have a talented smith to work with and, privately, his growing attraction to the woman. His blade is reforged, its new style a combination of Nordic and Imperial aesthetic.

    In the next few months, Marius settles down in Falkreath Hold, having been granted residence for his service to the hold's capital city. His residence is interrupted by the sudden wave of Dawnguard recruitment - as a minorly renowned slayer of monsters, he was suggested by the Jarl himself. Strangely, despite not being one for having his fate decided for him, Marius willingly joins the Dawnguard, and soon finds that it provides him with a structure he needs to temper his past trauma. He begins to recognize himself as not only a capable warrior from the legacy of the Dustman Clan, but a comrade in arms, and a solider.

    The Vampire Wars last for many years, and Marius is tested to his fullest. He adapts some of the teachings of Stendarr, using the offensive and restorative Restoration magic in fighting against the darkness. He maintains contact with Isobel in between missions, and they develop a running joke about the state he always seems to be in when he returns for repairs and so forth. He also meets Alesan, a very young Redguard orphan from the port city of Dawnstar, a strange sight in a city of sailors and miners. The war ends with him a vampire slayer, war hero, and monster hunter of legendary renown. Marius begins to look beyond the confines of the Dawnguard - and prepares for the legacy he will leave on the world - his final transformation.

    Late 30s, 40s

    Marius decides it is time to reinvent the legacy of the Dustman Clan. Over his life, his discoveries and rediscoveries, his allies, friends, comrades, and loved ones has parted the fog of a destiny he has, deep down, always known. To not only linger in the past, in the shadow of the Dustmen of old, but to make his own legacy. He gathers his wealth, resources, favors, and allies towards his biggest challenge yet - the forming of a new, elite guild of guardians for Skyrim, Tamriel, and ultimately Nirn itself, out of the shadows: The Order of the Silver Blade. Named in reference to a title once given him, the Order will be more than any of the others - not restricted by creed like the Vigilants of Stendarr, nor secrecy and tradition like the Companions and the Dawnguard. One built on innovation, risk taking, and brotherhood.

    Faced with this task, Marius realized a new truth - no man is a mountain, not even one of such reputation as himself. He needed a firm foundation; in short, a true family. He extended his contract and friendship with Isobel, now a master smith, to a proposal of marriage; several favors and a great amount of resources later, they purchased a large property in the Pale. Soon after, they adopted Alesan, giving him a homonymic warriors name from Yokuda legend - Al'Hessan. The guild grew from there, and its current base of operations is unknown to the public, save for the knowledge that the Silver Blades always come from the North.

    To be continued . . .
     

    Tsundora

    Breton Trash
    Name Sabelline Perelie

    Race Breton

    Class Archer

    Occupation Mercenary

    Gender Female

    Age 20

    Appearance Fair-skinned, lithe, but muscled, at 5’0”. Ash brown hair, pale blue eyes. Ties her hair up into a ponytail, its quite long and even in a ponytail it reaches down to her shoulder-blades. She wears armour made of leather and furs, and has some scarring on her body.

    Personality Her prickliness is her most prominent trait. Despite being a Breton, she found magic was too hard for her to grasp; her family was disappointed, so as a result she developed an inferiority complex of sorts. She can grow defensive over micro-analyses in her head, leading to aggression to people who seemed to have caused no harm at all. Though she is confident in her abilities as an archer she still tries to learn magic in her spare time, though she hates reading about it and struggles with it greatly.

    In turn it seems like she has a poor attention span and can grow bored very easily. On the other hand, her determination to set records straight drives her to overcome challenges set by others. She is also remarkably hard-working, to the extent of pushing herself. She hates laziness and spites the weak.

    Sabelline loves to fight and hunt and enjoys the respect her skills in bowmanship gives her.

    Apparel/Weapons/Magic

    • Fur armour set
    • Elven bow
    • Lightning magic (low-level)

    Affiliation/s

    The Companions


    Background

    Sabel’s family was established in Ivarstead as a hard-working Breton family. Much of their trade is in potions, gathered ingredients and some food items. Though met with scrutiny by the Nord citizens, they established themselves as trustworthy and friendly folk. Sabelline moved there from a very young age so she couldn’t remember much of Daggerfall where they lived prior. While her big brother developed in the arcane arts, she trudged along in his shadow and realised she did not have the same knack for it as he.

    She began to train in the bow instead, by only eight she could hunt game, earning her keep, selling animal pelts and providing for her family. Her family always actually regarded her with respect for her hard-working nature. Even so, she felt like she didn’t fit in with her family because of her differing opinions, so she left with some of her own earned gold to join the Companions in Whiterun.

    While on-and-off with the other Companions, she also does some mercenary work.

    Information is not solid and she will develop.
     

    The_Lost_Foxtrot

    Luwd uf Shoduws
    Name: Aros Dendarium.

    Race: Half Imperial-Half Bosmer.

    Class: Assassin/Rogue.

    Age: 23.

    Religion: Sithis and the Night Mother.

    Appearance: Somewhat tanned skin, with ruffled snow white hair that reaches to the nape of his neck. Amber golden eyes with specks of deep, forest green in them. He stands a bit on the short side in height thanks to his Bosmer heritage, along with pointed ears. Along his torso and arms are a series of scars from both training and fighting.

    Personality: Arros seen as a calm and collected individual, some say he even is a bit too casual and even lazy to some point, but allwasy levelheaded in a stressful situation. But even so he shows a side of mishchief and curiosity to his surroundings, be it objects or people, often joking about and is seen as unserious in a fight, mocking them and joysting them on until they make a mistake fo rhim to take advantage of. But even so he is a friendly young man to those he likes, but deadly to his opponents.

    Apperal/Armor:
    -The Dark Botherhood armor and a mask over his lower face

    (When outside of Brotherhood business or affairs)
    -Morag Tong helmet
    -Morag Tong armor
    -Stormcloak Officer bracers
    -Leather boots

    Weapons:
    -A pair of Nordic Carved Daggers
    -Poisons and potions.

    Magic: N/A.

    Affiliation: Dark Brotherhood, Mercenary / does some business with the Thieves Guild every now and then.

    Backstory: Arros grew up with his father and mother in the city of Skingrad within Cyrodiil, his father being Imperial and his mother a Bosmer, or Wood Elf if you want. He grew up rather peacefully to be honest, playing with the children and helping his mother in the potion shop they owned while his father was one of the city guards. As the years went by he slowly started to train to be in the guard as well like his father, but started to show signs of interest in the alchemical arts much to his mother's joy who showed him and taught him some basic potions like healing, stamina etc.

    But soon enough he grew bored with the potions and started to read up on poisons and started to experiment on them without his mother or father's knowing. After a few months he was caught having experimented on some rats from the sewers beneath the city... and a few beggars from the streets. His parents was obviously furious with him and told him to either leave or be arrested, Arros traveled to Skyrim and hasn't seen them since, that was about four years ago by now. He was found by the Dark Botherhood there and joined then a few months after arriving in Skyrim and has worked with them for the past four years.
     

    Ukka

    New Member
    Name: Ukka Karjala
    Race: Nord
    Class: Pilgrim
    Gender: Female
    Looks: Tall, with long blonde hair, a braided ponytail, muscular body and very, very bad sense of direction. A scar on her face reminds her of a wild encounter with a bear during a journey between Whiterun and Riften.
    Personality: Ukka is generally nice and hates every form of racism, as, during her journeys across Tamriel she learned to appreciate all cultures. She has a soft sport for orcs. She is also extremely loyal to her friends, that she considers her family, and will protect them with her life.
    Misc:
    - Married with Lydia, they adopted one daughter, Lucia.
    - She recently dropped a shield for two one-handed custom made iron/gold swords.
    - Wears light armor as a heavy one would limit her movements.
    - Because of her very bad sense of direction she tries as much as possible to stay away from dwarven Ruins.
    - She would fight a hundred dragons over a single draugr (ugh, I hate draugrs)
    - Joined the Imperial Legion, despite her grandfather being a proud Stormcloak.
    - She is filthy rich and she is a highly skilled carpenter (like her father). She started building her wealth during her journeys, collecting, fixing and re-selling every artifact she could put her hands on. Despite being very rich she still does that, driving her wife and her follower and best friend Tyrek crazy.
    - She is particularly fond of her cow, Fuzzy Bun, and she hired an Imperial guard legion for her mansion, mostly to make sure no bandit or wolf or dragon can kill her. So far, so good.
     
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    Nascent

    Member
    NAME: Kassom Sercha

    GENDER: Male

    RACE: Khajiit (Cathay breed)

    Age: 22

    Sexuality: Hetero

    Relationship Status: Single and not looking

    Speech Color: Dark Red

    CLASS: Rogue
    Kassom's skillset leans heavily towards stealth and subterfuge, eschewing conflict and direct measures whenever reasonably possible. Though far from silver-tongued he can certainly turn a phrase when needed, flattering or provoking as the situation requires. He's long since made a practice of learning to read people, to pick up on the subtler cues of emotion that might signal opportunity... or, more often, betrayal. It is with this latter prospect in mind that he equips himself: over a darkened suit of lithe leather armor he dons a patchwork of tattered rags, carefully tailored to conceal hidden pockets and sheathes for throwing knives. The simple, short blades are his preferred weapon of choice, being disposable and effective for distractions and damage alike. He keeps himself in good supply of these, wearing a long bandolier across his chest with slots for almost two dozen blades. If things come down to close combat, however, he switches to a pair of steel daggers to harry and exhaust his foes until an opening (or an escape) presents itself. If given the advantage of time and planning Kassom will usually have a few tripwire traps or similarly sneaky "equalizers" set up to put the odds in his favor.

    COMBAT STRENGTHS: Mid/Close Range Skirmisher, Ambush Proficiency, Trap Expert, Disengagement Specialist, Urban Mobility Aptitude

    APPEARANCE:
    With deep red fur and piercing steel-blue eyes, Kassom makes for a striking figure -- when he lets himself be seen. Short and lithe, it's easy enough for him to slip out of sight when the need arises, so most people's first look at him is catching the shimmer of his eyes as he steps out of some darkened corner. It's easy to forget he's barely twenty, given the cold and world-weary expression he often carries.
    standalone


    PERSONALITY:
    When the Nords of Skyrim utter the word "Khajiit", they tend to think of shadow-clinging thieves and shameless criminal scum. That image suits Kassom Sercha just fine -- it may as well be his calling card, in truth. Marketing himself as a "freelance treasure hunter", Kassom makes his coin by acquiring what other people can't -- whether that be trinkets, tomes, or information. Secrets, after all, can sell for a rather nice price when one knows the right buyers.

    Kassom's foremost trait is distrust. He is quick to assume someone is lying to him if they have even the slightest reason to, a habit born out of hard experience and regret. Thus, when he does interact with others he prefers to keep a sense of "professional distance" at all times. What this means in practice is that if you're not paying him, or not paying him enough for what you're asking, he's unlikely to so much as give you the time of day. His distrust is particularly strong towards Aldmer and anyone who stylizes themselves as a professional mage.

    That said, just because he doesn't agree to work with someone doesn't mean he won't get involved. One among his many flaws is a curiosity that borders on recklessness -- if something or someone piques his interest he can seldom bring himself to just walk away. It's not uncommon for a prospective client to get turned down only to later find evidence of Kassom doing the job himself on his own terms, whether that job be investigating a dusty ruin or acquiring an incriminating item from a nobleman's locked chest. He claims this is because he likes to "hold all the cards" in negotiating, but usually it's just because he can't leave well enough alone.

    When not working for someone else Kassom pursues an old stand-by: looting bandits. On the lookout for caravans and guard patrols, most bandit camps are easy enough pickings for a lone Khajiit under cover of night -- especially when most of the bandits are out raiding, which is Kassom's preferred time to strike. He's actually acquired a good bit of coin this way, "liberating" the plundered goods of others into his own pockets and then selling off information about the camp to interested parties from agreeable guards to ambitious adventurers. Kassom is no saint, but he can certainly appreciate the irony of turning a "good deed" into profit.​

    FAMILY:
    - Iris Sercha (younger sister)
    - Dar'Valjaer Sercha (father, deceased)
    - Ka'Jaema Sercha (Mother, presumed deceased)

    LIKES: Money, blades, playing tricks, night time, gambling (specifically card games -- he cheats), and the occasional sweet roll

    DISLIKES: Sailing/boats, undead ("Dead things should stay that way."), werewolves, religion, magic, short jokes, horses, day time

    OCCUPATION: Freelance "treasure hunter" (usually just a thief)

    AFFILIATION: None

    MAGIC / POWERS:

    [NIGHT HUNTER]
    Like all Khajiit, Kassom has exceptional dark vision and keen senses. These have been honed yet further from years of midnight break-ins and the occasional trawl through poorly-lit ruins.

    [MAGIC SENSE]
    Though not infallible, Kassom claims to be able to "smell" magic. This may simply be due to overexposure as a child, but it's also likely that the magical experiments performed on him have something to do with it. Apparently, most magic smells "a bit like rust mixed with lemongrass, mint, and crushed Nirnroot", though there are distinct variations (necromancy, for example, "reeks like a sewer flooded with shaved ginger"). This lets him identify magic users and enchanted objects at moderate distances, with the strength of the magic determining how far away it can be sensed.

    [BOUND DAEDRA]
    See 'Misc' section. Kassom does not yet have access to this power.​

    HISTORY:
    The tale of Kassom and Iris Sercha began in tragedy, was written in the same, and isn't shaping up to end any differently. The two were raised in southern Tamriel by poor parents, living a mostly quiet life on the road as traders between Cyrodil, Elseweyr, and Valenwood. Both were far too young to remember those days, however, when their father passed away unexpectedly -- a Skooma overdose. For years afterwards their mother tried to make ends meet working for a clothing merchant in Kvatch, but their father's addiction had added staggering debt to the family's ledgers. To save the children from a life of lack they were put up for adoption... or so their mother was led to believe.

    Even outlawed, the slave trade never really disappeared in Tamriel. It simply became subtler, more cunning, and running "orphanages" was one way to escape the notice of authority. Young Kassom and Iris were soon sold away to an Imperial City wizard looking for "assistants" -- another word for test subjects, in this case.

    Under the "loving care" of the arcanist Varnet Falrestan, the two were put to work in all manner of menial tasks -- and that was when things were good, comparatively. On bad days the Altmer would beat or burn them as a "lesson", though of what was never entirely clear, and on particularly bad days one or both children would be dragged down to the ritual chamber in the house's basement and subjected to unspeakable mystic depredations... of which they were later told to "be thankful" for. Such it continued, a cycle of drudgery and abuse and unnatural horrors, for almost ten years. After a time the elven mage seemed to back away from most of his experiments on young Kassom, deeming "the work a failure" for reasons the boy had no desire to understand, and focused on the sister instead. Kassom begged and pleaded for her to be spared too, but the mage would hear none of it from the "ungrateful little cat" at first. Eventually, however, he offered a compromise -- Iris would receive less harsh treatment if Kassom were to run certain "errands" for Varnet... errands which usually involved sneaking around the city at night, breaking into a specific house, and coming back with a specific item. Sometimes it was simply septims, as many as he could find, but often it was items of a more exotic nature: soul gems, alchemy ingredients, scrolls, that sort of thing. Success brought a few days of relief for the two... failure brought Iris screaming throughout the night.

    It was a hellish existence, but at least it had some semblance of reason to it. That was what Kassom thought until one night when he returned early, empty-handed and chased by the city guard. Bolting into the house and hearing screams, he raced to the basement. There he discovered his sister, levitating above the ground and wreathed in dancing wisps of fire, her eyes radiating light like a lighthouse beacon. Varnet had lied, and the proof was in front of him. Desperate, he rushed at the sorcerer in a fury of fangs and claws only to be overpowered and tossed back by a conjured bolt of lightning. The world faded to black, and death seemed to whisper...

    Hours later, Kassom and Iris both awoke, still in the basement lair. Varnet lay dead on the floor, his head lopped clean off and laying several feet from his body. There was no signs anyone else had been in the house and no blade lay anywhere in sight. Alone and scared, the siblings held each other and trembled in the dark, unsure what would come next.

    For roughly a year the two young Khajiit hid out in the house, subsisting off the dead wizard's larder and generally trying not to be noticed. In this time Iris found herself strangely drawn to a handful of old books on metalworking found in the library -- neither child had ever learned how to read, yet Iris seemed to grasp the essence of the tomes just from looking at them. This strange but peaceful existence was shattered, however, as the siege of the Imperial City began. With tensions mounting and more of the city being devastated each day, the two made a desperate choice to flee amid the chaos. Taking only what they could carry, they escaped through the city's sewers and dodged across the war zone until, at last, the battlefield was at their backs.

    The next several years were spent moving from one place to another, never staying anywhere for long. They sheltered in towns and refugee camps where they could, but many a night was spent in caves or the entryways of old Aelyid ruins. Always the two seemed just one step ahead of the fires of war, and that desperation drove them to great lengths. It was in this time that Iris first began to develop her fire magic -- spontaneous and uncontrollable at first, she quite nearby burned down a forest before bringing her powers under control. That made for some awkward conversations, to say the least.

    Eventually the two joined a trading caravan headed towards Skyrim...


    MISC:
    [BOUND DAEDRA]
    Though he doesn't yet realize it, Kassom serves as the vessel for a disembodied Daedric spirit -- a Dremora Kynval named Ilais. This dark spirit frequently haunts Kassom's dreams as he rages against the arcane prison that binds him to his unwary host. As the moons go through their cycles Ilais' power grows and wanes: he is at his weakest when at least one full moon is in the sky, but when the moons wane his power and influence grows enough that he is able to take full control of his host, albeit only until day comes. Kassom, for his part, does not remember anything Ilais does while his body is possessed. When Ilais takes control he is a force to contend with, using conjured weapons and armor to tear into any he considers his foe. He dares not attempt to kill his host, however, fearing that the bond between them would put his spirit in the hands of unfriendly powers once Kassom reaches an afterlife.
    It's entirely possible that Kassom may eventually be able to cede control to Ilais at will, but he is unable to do so for now.​
     
    Last edited:

    Nascent

    Member
    NAME: Iris Sercha

    GENDER: Female

    RACE: Khajiit (Cathay breed)

    Age: 20

    Sexuality: Unsure

    Relationship Status: Single

    Speech Color: Pale Blue

    CLASS: Smith / Firemage
    Iris isn't normally the type to engage in combat, but when she does she brings iron and flame to bear against her foes. An innate connection to fire magic (see 'Misc') allows her to create fireballs and gouts of flame seemingly at will, and she's able to swing her 10lb billet hammer around like it's a baseball bat. This is due to the special process she used to forge it, "trapping" some of her magic inside the steel to create an improvised yet extremely personal enchantment -- anyone besides her who touches the hammer will find it scalding hot, but in Iris' hands it's cool to the touch and seems to barely weigh anything. At will, she can also ignite the magic in the hammer, causing it to deal fire damage on impact.

    Outside of combat, she can often be found tending an improvised forge using tools she's scavenged or cobbled together during her journey. Though inferior to a proper forge in many ways, Iris is still able to craft suitable iron and steel creations due to the source of her forge's fire: herself. Such control over the flames is unquestionably advantageous, and she barely even feels the heat as she works. Unlike her brother, the cold of Skyrim seldom bothers her -- another boon from her "inner flame".

    COMBAT STRENGTHS: Heavy Melee Damage, All-Range Fire Attacks, Mild Resistance to Fire and Ice Damage

    APPEARANCE:
    Every bit the vagabond that her brother is, Iris still tries to maintain an appearance of a professional smith. Ragged clothes and a well-worn leather apron cover a simple iron chestplate and boots meant to protect her during forging. Whereas her brother is small and stealthy Iris is as tall as most Nord men and clangs about like a dropped kettle. When travelling, it's hard to miss the enormous backpack she hefts -- literally everything she owns is containing in or attached to it.
    standalone


    PERSONALITY:
    Equally as scarred as her brother by the way the world has treated them, Iris still somehow tries to look for hope and see the good in people. Even though she doesn't usually have much to offer she shares with the less fortunate where she's able and is quick to jump to the defense of the innocent, much to Kassom's chagrin.

    The one thing Iris wishes for, more than anything else, is a home: a safe place with a real forge she can call her own. Skyrim presents a serious problem in that respect: the wilds are too risky by far, even with her fire and Kassom's skills, and seemingly no village -- let alone city -- would consider them for residents. Not only that, but getting her paranoid criminally-inclined brother to set down roots seems like a near-impossibility...


    FAMILY:
    - Kassom Sercha (older brother)
    - Dar'Valjaer Sercha (father, deceased)
    - Ka'Jaema Sercha (Mother, presumed deceased)

    LIKES: Forging and handcrafting, reading, nature, animals, early mornings, and cooking (a definite fan of The Gourmet)

    DISLIKES: Sailing/boats, thunderstorms, mountains (you try climbing a slope with your entire life on your back!), undead, crypts / graveyards

    OCCUPATION: Smith / Craftsperson

    AFFILIATION: None

    MAGIC / POWERS:

    [NIGHT EYE]
    Like all Khajiit, Iris has exceptional dark vision and keen senses, though not to the same carefully honed extend that her brother possesses.

    [INNATE FIRE MAGIC]
    Due to her bound daedra (see 'Misc'), Iris has a natural affinity for fire-based magic. This includes all the standard forms: thrown fireballs, flames from her hands, etc., but also extends to some unorthodox applications. For example, she can extinguish any non-magical flame within her field of vision just by concentrating on it -- the larger the flame the greater the effort required, so she won't be single-handedly putting out entire burning villages. Her power also gives her a natural resistance to even magical fire and reduces the effects of cold as well.​


    HISTORY:

    Since arriving in Skyrim, Iris and Kassom have travelled where jobs and opportunity took them. Along the way Iris had the opportunity to learn the basics of smithing from an unexpectedly open-minded Nord visiting the Solitude lighthouse keeper -- one of precious few good experiences she's had in her life. She quickly realized that there was good, honest work to be had with these skills, perhaps even a way for her and Kassom to get by without resorting to more dubious means. Time and practice taught her how to improvise a forge on the go, and it wasn't long before caravans and adventurers alike were enlisting her help for repairs and basic crafting.


    MISC:
    [BOUND DAEDRA]
    Though she doesn't yet realize it, Iris serves as the vessel for a disembodied Daedric spirit -- a Flame Atronach named Aestuo. Unlike her brother's situation, Aestuo doesn't seem to have an inclination to torment or control Iris. The reasoning behind this is anyone's guess, though the difference in nature between an Atronach and a Dremora may have something to do with it. Aestuo, for the time being, seems content enough to lend her power to this poor orphan girl and see what she can make with them.​
     
    Last edited:

    Eaglespirit

    Member
    Name - Neytiri.

    Gendar - Female.

    Race - Forest nymph (modded).

    Age - 23.

    Sexuality - Hetero.

    Relationship status - Single.

    Class - Stealth (mostly).

    Neytiri being a Forest nymph mostly likes to be unseen, she can move around very quietly and quickly, she prefers not to enter combat due to her gentle nature and mostly uses mage-grip to throw her enemies out of her path, should the enemy persist she will throw them so high into the air they will die with such a hard force of impact where they land.

    When not adventuring she enjoys working on her home and growing Veg and flowers.

    Combat strength - Archery Neytiri is a excellent Archer, moving quietly, resistance to magic and Dragon shouts.

    Appearance - Neytiri has light green skin and Forest green hair she blends in perfectly in forested areas. She has large amber coloured eye's.
    She wears a Ivy type of Bikini armour to cover her modesty.

    Personality - Neytiri is a very gentle and kind soul but is also very shy. She speaks but only when she feels it necessary to do so. She is at one with nature so dislikes Hunters. Due to her natural kindness she will help anyone who needs it. Neytiri likes the Dragon's she is expected to fight and always feels sadness after defeating one.
    Neytiri also has a soft spot for the Orc race who she feels are treated with ignorance suspicion when she feels they are a hard working honourable people.

    Family - Neytiri's farther is from a long line of Elder's who teach the young the way of the Dryad's how to nurture the Forest Animals and Plants, and the danger of Humans. Neytiri is a only child her Mother died at child birth but her father gave Neytiri so much love and time that she never really dwelled on not having one, also had much love and kindness from her Dryad people.

    Likes - Nature, cooking, growing flowers, Tree's Plants, Animals.

    Dislikes - Hunters, Woodcutter's cruelty.

    Occupation - Forest keeper,.

    Magic / Powers.

    Neytiri can learn magic spells fast, she generally only uses healing spells.
    She has the ability to absorb magic.

    History -After coming to Skyrim Neytiri has learnt the art of Enchanting, this is difficult for her has her belief in all souls are precious kind of go against this School of magic,so she goes to Dwarven ruins to collect already filled ones.

    Misc -
    Neytiri still doesn't understand why she was chosen to be Dragonborn, because of her love of Dragon's she thinks Akatosh cursed her, she wonders what she did so wrong but she gets some solice sknowing she is keeping Dragons away from her kind. She also feels its a good opportunity to get to understand humans more. She misses her people and forest.
     

    Dragonshout70

    New Member
    Name: Cussypat (Real name: Not telling).
    Race: Khajiit.
    Age: Unknown
    Height/Weight: Unknown
    Class: Thief/Assassin

    Appearance: Tall, slender, with Tiger like markings. Has scar on his nose that goes to his chin. Often wears Dark Brotherhood armour with mages hood, but occasionally wears Traders clothes when wanting to be discrete.

    Personality: Has a strange sense of humor. Likes to leave sweetrolls in houses he burgles from, particually childrens rooms. Leaves stolen goods in houses of people that annoy him. Easily angered particually by authority figures. A ladies man, flirts with married women. Likes to start fights then leaves when everyone is fighting each other.

    Abilities: Expert thief, his sneaking ability is second to none. Master in Alteration and illusion, prefers using a dagger to a sword. Sometimes lets his fists do the talking, especially while drunk. Can run like the wind. Good at finding people that don't want to be found, however keeps losing his house keys. Favourite shout is Bend Will.

    Summary: Called Cussypat because when asked about his name, he says its because he's no Pussycat. Real name unknown. A good ally to have but a deadly enemy to those that p*ss him off. Gets bored easily, likes creme treats, hates dogmeat. Can smell food miles away.
     
    Rashei
    Name: Rashei (rah-shay)
    Gender: Male
    Race: Dunmer (Vampire)
    Age: 193 years
    Class: Stealth Archer
    Appearance: Rashei looks like a typical Dunmer, standing at 6 feet, 2 inches with medium gray skin and hair as dark as the void. His eyes have black sclera, but his irises are a vibrant glowing red. He is rather gaunt with a narrow face, shallow cheeks, and an overall lithe build. A slash of red warpaint is over is right eye, bringing out the hue of his irises. His black hair is in the famous Witcher Geralt hairstyle, medium length with a half ponytail, and it is accompanied by a short beard on his face.
    Personality: Rashei is a firm believer in the phrase "Silence speaks louder than words." He does not speak unless spoken to or needed. This makes him appear aloof and standoffish, but he is actually a gentle soul despite his ghostly appearance. He is charitable and likes helping others in nonviolent matters. However, it is uncommon to see him in the general public due to his elusive nature. Rashei has his sense of logic determine his decisions instead of his feelings.
    Unique Abilities: Rashei is unique in the sense that he is a male pureblooded vampire. He is his own individual vampiric bloodline, making him have powers not all vampires have. He has the ability to shapeshift into a bat. He can also walk on water and has a tendency to blend into the darkness. He does however, have all the weaknesses other vampires come with. He cannot turn into a vampire lord and has none of their unique powers.
    Misc: Rashei leads his own coven, named Peacekeeper Coven. He is known there as the Keeper. (Not to be confused with Cicero.)
    Relatives: Neloth (father)
    Backstory: Rashei was the result of a secret relationship between Neloth of House Telvanni and a servant girl. Not wanting to risk a scandal or defamation, Neloth cast the girl out when she became pregnant. She left Morrowind and gave birth to a son in Cyrodiil, who she named Rashei. Since childhood, Rashei had a rough life. His mother just barely made enough money to ensure their survival. To worsen things, he developed a cough in his early teen years. For some reason, it never went away despite Rashei receiving multiple treatments.

    The cough got worse as Rashei grew older. It became difficult for him to breathe, making him unable to work. At age 30, he was bedridden. Any movement caused sharp pain in his lungs, causing him to feel as if he was choking. It was only a matter of time before death claimed him. But his mother would not allow her son to die- not like this. It happened to be close to Molag Bal's summoning day. She did something unusual, even by Daedra standards: she struck a deal with Molag Bal. If she were to give herself in Coldharbour, he would not make her a vampire, but Rashei in her stead.

    She did not survive the ordeal.

    The vampirism purged all other diseases in Rashei's body, ridding him of that terrible cough that had nearly killed him. But he was now a monster, cursed to never see the sun lest he burn to ashes. He became a nomadic hermit, clearing caves of bandits (which he made into a meal) and striving to live as peacefully as he could. He preyed only upon criminals to feed on and spent most of his life in the wilderness. He engaged in artistic pursuits, even publishing some poetry and selling paintings. Rashei became especially good at cooking. He did not need to eat mortal food, but he enjoyed doing so to entertain his tastebuds.

    Eventually, Rashei's nomadic lifestyle led him to Skyrim. He came across some other vampires in his travel. Most were aggressive, but others shared his desire to live a peaceful life. With the help of some others, Rashei established a coven, but this one is different than most. It performs similar to a Tribe: there are hunters, who bring bandits back to the lair for the whole clan to share. There are guards, who defend the coven by ensuring its secrecy and defeating enemies. There are healers, who take care of the wounded. Then there is the Keeper, leader of the coven- Rashei. The coven operates more like a family than the feral vampire societies one might come across in Skyrim. They rely on each other, seeing strength in numbers and value in keeping peace with the mortal world.

    As for Neloth. . . Rashei always felt an anger towards the father he never met. If he had not sent his mother away, she would have never died, and Rashei would not be cursed. But this secret is one that Rashei will keep with him. Why should he tell anyone he is related to that mad wizard? If anything, he wants to be as far away from Neloth as possible.




    Roux Redfall
    Name: Roux Redfall (first name is pronounced as 'roo')
    Gender: Female
    Race: Reachman
    Age: 19 years
    Class: Spellsword
    Looks: Roux Redfall is a young woman standing at 5 feet tall. She has an average build but still has signs of youth, having slightly chubby cheeks and smooth skin that shows no sign of the hardship that comes with maturity: no scars, no wounds, no anything. Despite being of age, she looks younger than she actually is. Roux has pale skin with pink undertones. Long pale blonde hair frames her face and falls to her hips. Her eyes are silvery-blue. Strangely, she was born with an odd deformity: she has six fingers on each hand. This does not serve a purpose nor does it give her an advantage, but it certainly helps in setting her apart from the crowd.
    Personality: As a teenager, Roux still has the naivety of someone who has not yet seen the world for what it is. She always sees the best in the worst people and values forgiveness even if they do not deserve it. She is eager to help those who need it. With all these traits in mind, it is easy to take advantage of such an innocent, carefree soul- and people often do, but poor Roux never learns from her lessons. Indeed, she is kind of a doormat. Lessons in being wiser and standing up for herself are in order. Roux Redfall is kind to all, bubbly, and eager for adventure, though a little shy. She loves stories and will ask any adventurer to tell her all they know. Roux has her heart determine her decisions rather than her head.
    Misc: Roux always wears a red cloak, making it easy to distinguish her from the masses. With her signature red hood and occupation of delivering goods, she very much alludes to Little Red Riding Hood.
    Relatives: Red Eagle (ancestor)
    Backstory: Roux Redfall was born to a Forsworn couple in the Sundered Hills of the Reach, her father being a Briarheart and her mother being a distant granddaughter of Red Eagle. It is no secret that the life a Forsworn lives is a dangerous one. Indeed, most children born to them often die due to harsh conditions in the wilderness. With this in mind, Roux's parents contacted Nepos the Nose in Markarth, requesting they send their daughter to live with him in the safety of the city. They arranged a dropoff point a little ways off the path near Markarth, where the parents hid their baby in bushes for Nepos to pick up. However, Nepos never did. It was a patrolling guard who got to her first.. In her swaddles was a single note that read "Roux", so the guard assumed that was her name. It was he who adopted Roux alongside his Bosmer husband, who gave the girl his last name, Redfall.

    Because she was never raised in Nepos' home as initially planned, Roux never knew of her true origins. Nepos always kept his promise however, ensuring her safety in the city using an invisible hand without anyone ever truly knowing. When Roux came of age, she got a job as a courier. Not only did she deliver letters all over Skyrim, but also some goods when the situation called for it. Since she always stayed on the roads, her combat expertise is minimal. For a time, this sated her taste for adventure, but now the girl wants something more. If only there was someone out there who would take her under their wing, showing her the ways of true freedom. . .
     

    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Andros Haorsson

    Race: Nord

    Age: 38

    Sex: Male

    Class and Combat preference: Andros is a warrior, performing best when in the thick of combat. His bearded axe, wielded by capable hands, is capable of chopping through light armour, and the flesh beneath, with absurd ease. Using a long weapon like an axe, of course means he needs plenty of room to swing.

    Should he get trapped in narrow confines or somehow lose his weapon, Andros switches over to his long steel dagger. He lacks any magical skills, and isn't much of an archer. In extreme circumstances, he can throw his dagger, but there's no guarantee he'll cause any damage.

    Character appearance: Haorsson stands at just under six feet (5'10"), and weighs in at nearly 200 lbs. He is extremely fit, his job as a bounty hunter, and his weapon of choice having built up impressive musculature. He has dark, steel grey eyes, and his hair and beard are cut short and a black as night. His entire body is covered in scars, but the ones he works to hide are the two circular marks on his throat.

    He wears a mix of scale and leather armour, steel capped boots, and a helmet that covers the upper half of his face. The lower half of his face, including his neck, is concealed by a cloth mask. It is thin enough for him to be heard without lowering the mask.

    Character image:
    ajx8e3g_700b-jpg.53732


    Personality: Andros is a cold, focused individual. He makes little to no attempt at communication, besides the occasional curt word or grunt. He was not always like this, but the traumatic events of his past have scarred him irreparably. He prefers to work alone, but he will do his best to keep his companions alive, should he work with others.

    As a bounty hunter, he has an interest in seeing the law upheld. However, his main concern is taking down his target. If this means the others of his group must suffer, so be it.

    History: Several years ago, Andros Haorsson was a simple man, living in the Rift with his wife and two children. He worked as a bounty hunter for the jarl of Riften, bringing criminals of the hold to justice. Though he was by no means a rich man, the nord and his family were comfortable, and by no means starving.

    However, Andros made the mistake of taking a bounty on a high ranking fence, operating out of redwater den. As was the usual, he brought the man back to Riften, turning him over to the city guard. What he didn't know, was that the fence was a thrall for a powerful vampire, who'd been using him to finance his own operations in the Rift.

    Several nights later, the vampires attacked. Andros' family lived in a small cabin outside of the city. The attack was fast and brutal. Andros, desperate to save his family, fought the master vampire. It was a short and one sided affair.

    The vampire, imbued with unnatural strength, speed, and centuries of experience, brought Andros to the brink of death. With his family dead, the broken nord waited for death. But something so much worse awaited him.

    To his horror, he awoke the next morning, flesh burning in the sunlight. Through enormous strength of will, he forced himself to seek shelter, determined to bring the murderers to justice. Three words keep him going. They.Will.Pay.

    Text colour: This.
     
    Name: Andros Haorsson

    Race: Nord

    Age: 38

    Sex: Male

    Class and Combat preference: Andros is a warrior, performing best when in the thick of combat. His bearded axe, wielded by capable hands, is capable of chopping through light armour, and the flesh beneath, with absurd ease. Using a long weapon like an axe, of course means he needs plenty of room to swing.

    Should he get trapped in narrow confines or somehow lose his weapon, Andros switches over to his long steel dagger. He lacks any magical skills, and isn't much of an archer. In extreme circumstances, he can throw his dagger, but there's no guarantee he'll cause any damage.

    Character appearance: Haorsson stands at just under six feet (5'10"), and weighs in at nearly 200 lbs. He is extremely fit, his job as a bounty hunter, and his weapon of choice having built up impressive musculature. He has dark, steel grey eyes, and his hair and beard are cut short and a black as night. His entire body is covered in scars, but the ones he works to hide are the two circular marks on his throat.

    He wears a mix of scale and leather armour, steel capped boots, and a helmet that covers the upper half of his face. The lower half of his face, including his neck, is concealed by a cloth mask. It is thin enough for him to be heard without lowering the mask.

    Character image:
    ajx8e3g_700b-jpg.53732


    Personality: Andros is a cold, focused individual. He makes little to no attempt at communication, besides the occasional curt word or grunt. He was not always like this, but the traumatic events of his past have scarred him irreparably. He prefers to work alone, but he will do his best to keep his companions alive, should he work with others.

    As a bounty hunter, he has an interest in seeing the law upheld. However, his main concern is taking down his target. If this means the others of his group must suffer, so be it.

    History: Several years ago, Andros Haorsson was a simple man, living in the Rift with his wife and two children. He worked as a bounty hunter for the jarl of Riften, bringing criminals of the hold to justice. Though he was by no means a rich man, the nord and his family were comfortable, and by no means starving.

    However, Andros made the mistake of taking a bounty on a high ranking fence, operating out of redwater den. As was the usual, he brought the man back to Riften, turning him over to the city guard. What he didn't know, was that the fence was a thrall for a powerful vampire, who'd been using him to finance his own operations in the Rift.

    Several nights later, the vampires attacked. Andros' family lived in a small cabin outside of the city. The attack was fast and brutal. Andros, desperate to save his family, fought the master vampire. It was a short and one sided affair.

    The vampire, imbued with unnatural strength, speed, and centuries of experience, brought Andros to the brink of death. With his family dead, the broken nord waited for death. But something so much worse awaited him.

    To his horror, he awoke the next morning, flesh burning in the sunlight. Through enormous strength of will, he forced himself to seek shelter, determined to bring the murderers to justice. Three words keep him going. They.Will.Pay.

    Text colour: This.

    He kinda cute tho >.>

    EDIT: I skimmed through the sheet at work, saw the picture, commented that. Now that I have time, I can give a proper comment! (Because I love looking at other people's characters.) Other than the photo, I really like his backstory. I especially enjoy how you indirectly told the reader Andros became a vampire without actually saying it. I think he and my character Rashei would have an interesting encounter should the event arise.
     
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    Signus

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Meron Therault
    Race: Breton
    Age: 22
    Sex: Male

    Class and combat preference: Meron has some skill at face-to-face combat, but his real skill lies in flanking and outmaneuvering the enemy, though when cornered, puts his blades to work with surprisingly skilled swordsmanship.

    Physical appearance: Meron is of average weight and height for a breton. His hair is a dark blonde, and his eyes are a forest green. He is fair skinned, though perhaps a little paler than most.

    His most distinguishing marks are the five long scars that stretch from just past his left ear, all the way to the corner of his mouth. Scars that look suspiciously like long, thin, fingers...

    Weapons: A pair of steel shortswords. Though Meron prefers not to fight if at all possible, but these blades have saved many a time.

    Armour: Due large part to his preferred method of combat and need for stealth, Meron dons darkened leathers, great for light skirmishes, but not so practical in prolonged fights.

    Personality: Meron comes across as a cocky, bragging, womanizer, but the truth is he is concealing the scars of his past the best way he knows how. By projecting a facade, he either fools his companions into believing or annoys them so much they keep him at arm's length.

    Those who see past the charade will find a deeply insecure man, haunted by his past and unsure of how he fits in with any group he finds himself a part of. This may lead to sudden lapses in judgment or hesitation at a critical juncture.

    Backstory: His father was a minor noble in High Rock, and his mother was a common street whore. When Meron was born, his father took him in and gave him a noble's upbringing, though there were always questions about who his mother had been from other nobles. Said nobles were curious enough to hire investigators that quickly discovered Meron's mother's occupation.

    His father was ridiculed and eventually stripped of his rank by political enemies. This drove Meron's father into exile and taking up the drink. The former noble became abusive and would frequently beat his son in a drunken rage.

    One night, Meron scrambled into the crypt later than usual, and his father staggered after him, but the mans' drunken fugue made him easy to avoid...but took away none of his strength. Using a large slab, he closed Meron into the crypt. The boy might have been fine, if he hadn't fallen foul of the crypt's inhabitants.

    His skeletal ancestors pursued him throughout the crypt, and had him cornered, until the boy managed to slip through a narrow crack in the wall, though not before the skeletons tore ragged scars across his face. Bleeding and terrified, Meron fled the grounds of the estate.

    With no money and no noble name, Meron spent years learning to wield weapons, though he emphasised his wit over his blades. By the time he'd become a young adult, Meron was accomplished both with his hands and his tongue.

    Meron took to hiding in the family crypt to avoid his father while the man was in the grip of one of his rages.
     

    HurrHobo

    forum hobo
    Name: Unkmarog
    Race: Orc (Orsimer)
    Sex: Male
    Age: Middle-aged
    Height: 6'1 (185cm)
    Weight: 183lbs (83kg)
    Class: Warrior/Monk (Warrior Monk?)
    Likes: Brawling, traveling, drinking, sweetrolls, sleeping
    Dislikes: Vampires, dishonorable fights, milk, marriage


    Unkmarog.jpg

    Physical appearance: Unlike a typical bulky frame many orcs have, Unkmarog's body is athletic, allowing him to be faster and more agile. His muscles are trained, catching anyone underestimating him off guard. Several scars adorn his green, grimy skin. Unk's amber eyes lack ferocity, but they're filled with clarity. His dirty, grey beard is the culmination of his unclean appearance. The only thing that spells discipline is his shaved head.

    Equipment & weapons: Unk is too lazy to properly maintain his gear. As long as it works, it works. When something breaks, he just replaces it with something new. His ragged clothes provide little protection, but they are light and therefore suitable for travel. Only his arms and legs are usually protected with leather and cloth, sometimes reinforced with iron. His old orcish bow and greatsword have seen better days, but they still are sturdy and sharp enough to do their jobs.
    He also carries some bread and dried meat, not to mention a couple bottles of mead.


    Spells: As a warrior, Unkmarog doesn't possess great skill in the art of magic. However, he has nearly mastered two spells in the alteration school of magic: Stoneflesh and Telekinesis. Stoneflesh proves to be very useful in combat situations due to his lack of armor. Telekinesis is Unk's favorite spell, because he no longer has to get out of his bed to grab himself a bottle of mead.

    Personality: Not the brightest orc in Tamriel, Unkmarog is quite simple-minded and even goofy. He can sometimes surprise with his unpredictable nuggets of wisdom as he walks the path of a spiritual warrior. Unk is not blessed with great memory (could be due to his alcohol consumption in large quantities) as he tends to forget things, no matter how big or small. Despite his flaws, Unkmarog is an orc of honor and courage.
    He prefers using his fists to wielding a weapon, not wanting to kill unless necessary. A fist fight does not only improve one's fighting skills but also brings people closer. That is Unk's philosophy.


    Backstory: Unkmarog was born and raised in one of the orc strongholds in Skyrim. He was taught combat at an early age and took part in being a useful member of the community. But for as long as he can remember the safe walls of his home did not satisfy his hunger that bothered his soul - a hunger for adventure. When he reached adulthood, he demanded the chief of the stronghold to let him go and chase his dreams. Leaving the stronghold would mean abandoning the duties of the community, and so the chief refused. Unk then proceeded to challenge him to a duel in order to win freedom he so desired. He lost. Lying on the ground, he looked up to the chief with frustration. The chief forbade Unk to speak of his "foolish" dreams ever again.

    One day, a traveling merchant caught the attention of the young orc. Unkmarog, still bitter about the defeat, traded precious ebony and orichalcum ores for a dozen bottles of ale and mead and started drinking in the middle of the day. He then started shouting profanities in front of the longhouse. Witnessing this spectacle, the chief became enraged and started beating the drunk orc up. After minutes of beating, he exiled Unk from the community and threw him out personally. As the drunk orc got up on his wobbly feet, he realized his dream finally came true; he was free at last.

    Years went by traveling and honing his martial skills. He visited other lands like High Rock, Hammerfell, Cyrodiil and Elsweyr. He got by as a beggar and offering combat training for aspiring warriors in exchange for food or gold. There were also times when he did not travel alone, and with his traveling companions they formed an order of warrior monks. They dedicated themselves to training their bodies and minds to reach enlightenment.

    Unk also got drunk a lot. And still does. One time he accidentally married an argonian female in his drunken stupor, and quickly divorced her as soon as he realized his error. Hopefully the agents of Mara are not going after him, because the only way to end a marriage... is death.


    "To achieve the highest state of mind and body, free yourself from the chains of worry. And if you are thirsty, drink some mead."
     
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    Raise Me A Riot

    New Member

    KESTRYL RAYHEARTH

    | kes-strel ray-herth|
    26 cismale heteroflex The Lord Stone
    "Are ya really a traitor when you never picked a side?"


    PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES
    height 6'4
    weight 226 lbs
    race redguard / breton cross
    class bladesinger and/or arcane trapper
    afflictions asthma since birth, made less severe with time and consistent exercise


    20231020_154653.jpg
    One can only assume Kestryl will continue aging like fine wine with looks like his, and he prides them with diligence in his hygiene, as if sharpening a tool. Bright eyes reflect the warmest mead, brazen skin is interrupted by white flecks across his bridge and the furthest edges of his cheekbones, short hair swept by wind, sharp jaw and nose — his pretty mug gives him plenty of trouble from broken hearts and jealous spouses alike, but it's all worth it when it lets him have some fun while baiting targets to their demise. He could quote their comments word-for-word on how fine and honest of a man he'd be, if it weren't for the scars he boasts across his face, the nick in his right ear, the old and new charring on his fingertips, and his lacking desire to "settle down" — how much of a waste it is to use his broad-shouldered strength and handsome head for his adrenaline addiction, rather than taking up arms and getting rewarded with coming home to a wife, a child...
    character card.png

    GEAR & COMBAT PREFERENCES
    heavy armor designed to be form-fit with a flexible range of movement
    thick, dragon-hided bracers, one of which is purposed as a mini-shield
    a mask that spits fire, vaguely resembling a dragon priest's relic
    a sturdy crossbow enchanted with combustion, recharged for a high cost
    a two-handed steel warhammer
    scarce knowledge in the art of destruction (fire)
    up to three palm-sized containers of flammable substances
    a satisfyingly weighted coinpurse and the occasional gemstone
    a fighters guild medallion rests on his chest at all times

    a lantern sways at his waist when travelling
    protection from nature, including the elements and mortal necessities secured in a compact but solid backpack

    Kestryl naturally takes to the roles of both bait and ambusher. His favorite strategy is smoking out bounty-ridden forts using fire traps both magical and chemical, scattering them into the open separately where he can cave their skulls or incinerate their flesh. He gets the job done quickly, though he isn't always clean about it; a tanky stature undoubtedly helps with the scathing he frequently exposes himself (and others) to.
    WEAKNESSES ⚔ Asthma both stress and exercise induced leaves much to be desired about his stamina. His build and armor are suited for melee agility, but not so much for running or sneaking; cushioning between and underneath provides a little muffler on the clanking, but even then, the shiny pieces on his chest, shoulders, thighs, and back are burdensome in both pursuits and retreats. He exchanged the poison resistance trademark to the Redguard half of his blood for...
    STRENGTHS ...the magic resistance and absorption in the Breton half, though it doesn't take a genius to see heritage did not forgo the strength of his ancestors in Hammerfell. He preserves his stamina through well-placed and hard strikes, stalling enemies to exhaustion by meeting blows with timely blocks, and using his somewhat copious magicka preserves (at least when he uses easy but effective spells; the same cannot be said for his highly unstable flame cloak). He can be observed building up his immunity to fire through constant consumption of the fire salts and spawn ash flavoring his drinks, and snowberries siding his meals.

    PERSONALITY
    LIKES lively environments, warm ambience in the presence of friendly and drunk company, the thrill of uneven odds, Solstheim, bonfires, chickens (alive), Cliff Racer, Firebrand Wine, and Honningbrew Mead
    DISLIKES unfair fights, comments on his asthma, blacking out drunk, stupid reasons for killing, going to sleep with another body laying too close, entitlement assumed of connections to infamous guilds
    Kestryl is a wildcard. When drawn from the deck, you might get the temperament of a firestorm, a seriousness masked by dry chuckles, a cocky thrillseeker, a bored and weary taker of no nonsense, or a drawling, disarming accent that leads almost anyone he's interested in by a string of honey... only to trap them in it. First impressions tend to follow an order of operations, in which your perceived brainless brawn turns around a gentleman that is a better daedra's advocate than he is a daedra's diplomat.
    voice claims
    Prizefighter | Saint Bernard

    RELATIONS
    AFFILIATIONS Kestryl has been ambitious enough before to leave dents in guilds that use fear to run cities that don't belong to them and make the unfortunate even less fortunate. He sees them as nuisances, sneering when they threaten him in the stead of someone who wants his head on a pike; he thinks they're undignified, undeserving of the formidability in their reputations and the fear-driven respect they've earned through solving the problems of cowards who can't stand to dirty their own hands. He can respect the need for financial stability, but the need for power is one he'll challenge. The only guild that has ever won his full respect is the Fighters.


    RELIGION Kest answers to no divine or prince, though he's undoubtedly crossed paths with Sanguine a few times.
    POLITICS Not a care in all of Tamriel; both sides buy the arsenal he's looted on his adventures for a decent price, and supporters on either side equally have a chance of challenging him to a brawl for some swift and easy gold when he pretends to be on the opposing side.

    OCCUPATION The pyromancer has a recognizable face, though more infamous than it is famous. He is admired for the blood he has shed in the arena presumed abandoned by the legendary fighter's guild, and distrusted for the blood he sheds outside. He has never advertised himself, rather the other way around, where wanted posters and the people in them advertise their money to him, and to that he chooses the highest bidder... with the rare exception of justice. He has tossed as many bodies of bounty hunters as he has bandits to the burning pile, walking away with promised gold (and making up for it himself if it's compromised), crimes never outweighing his benevolence and vice versa, ever walking the grey tightrope.

    SOCIAL
    Kestryl's motives don't at least externally align with the health of his relationships, though he can be seen adjusting his taste in ale to fit the tastes of his company; he won't tip his head for Firebrand in a cozy out-of-city inn. Whatever cold side he has is nearly invisible, but the warmth of his lilt is never an invitation beyond impersonal company, even for his good times. He fears one of two things when sharing a bed: either an attempted assassination or flaring feelings he may not return alongside a proposal to settle down before he's ready to. Many beds would have known the weight of his corpse if he had not reacted in time to the hands previously tender on his body turning cruel, whether holding his airways captive or a knife to his throat, often under the contract of vengeance or the delusion of if I can't have you, no-one can.

    HISTORY

    This firebrand was raised between the privilege and prestige that was a regal background, son to a gambling addict for a father and a mother who married for wealth and status her lineage of sorcerers wouldn't provide her due to her ineptitude; magicka seemed to reject her very existence it was only practical that she marry into a family that did not value such skills as much.

    He didn't begin humble, but he was humbled when all luxuries and heirlooms he was supposed to inherit were stolen, the result of a series of greedy forebearers being overeager to cross lines to protect their wealth. The first night of a life on his own looked like dragging his young and lanky limbs like a beaten dog into a run-down bar, bruises and blood earning the faux-fretting from a hustler who excused herself from older and poorer company. Kestryl already knew how to gamble and talk pretty out of harm's way, but this brute, drunk and angry that this younger privilege grabbed the pitying attention that was supposed to be
    his, would have nothing less than a brawl.

    He still doesn't know whether it was luck or will of wrath that ended with his first victory laid before his tremoring fist balled around embers from an unknown source, but he knows it ignited a fresh lust for the feeling. When the Fighters found him, he was in a similar scene, having learned he could earn by humoring the fragile pride of drunk locals. He scarcely remembers what the representative said when they approached him, he just knows he didn't like the lecturous tone, kindling his slew of broken and brutal words... When he woke up in the fighters' headquarters, he was told he was escorted, and he didn't argue despite the migraine that felt like it had more business with the swelling at his temple than the hangover. He soon discovered the representative was his sire-sided uncle.


    The arena and training cleaned him up, though he retained his grey morality and still reinforces a wall in relationships, which made leaving the guild behind to expand his horizons all the easier. When he started getting dangerously experimental with his equipment, they held his possessions up to him, bid their farewells, and released him to explore his greater potential, greater challenges, greater rewards that the arena could never offer.
    BACKSTORY REVISION IMPENDING

    DIALOGUE or DIALOGUE



    ⚔ fun fact ⚔
    started out as a crack character, and then I gave him a backstory
     
    Last edited:

    Raise Me A Riot

    New Member

    DOZCHKA "FOXTROT" / "BLOODHOUND" ROSSHOV

    | dotch-kuh "foks-trot" "bluhd-hownd" ross-hauv |
    28cisfemale asexual / demiromantic The Ritual Stone
    "Those who bay for blood do not always do so for justice."
    PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES
    height 4'11
    weight 140 lbs

    race nord
    class bloodhunter + cleric
    afflictions yet-curable rockjoint riddles her with constant fatigue and insomnia

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    Fox is no sight for soothing sore eyes. Fiery hair streaked with white falls in tight waves all the way to her hip with dread-dry ends, if it's not pulled back in a high tail. It's jarringly present in places not expected for women — faint sideburns, a narrow stretch that fades all the way from her nape to the center of her shoulder blades, and a descending trail that starts beneath her sternum. Beyond that curtain, there's a pale angular face, square of jaw under a roman nose and an upturned, tired glower outlined by ink. One eye holds a light brown, harsh in judgement; the other is an accusatory bright blue-grey with a streak that mimics a slit pupil, and the threats in both aren't empty as long as she holds mean strength in all her limbs, most generously in her thighs, with little breastweight to slow her down. The most prominent flaw amidst the many, many light freckles is a long, nasty scar that claws across the right side of her head, from chin to a torn impish ear to her scalp where hair is scarce along the streaks, lip lifted in a permanent snarl.

    In her wake at almost all times are six dogs that bear a heavy resemblance to their wild cousins. When they are not diligently pulling her along roads both more and less traveled, the team is evenly divided between guarding her sled and guarding her sides.
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    GEAR & COMBAT PREFERENCES
    a silver fox's skin warms her shoulders and neck; the way the snout rests gives literal meaning to "eyes on the back of her head"
    underneath a heavy, brown, furlined coat is attire that appears minimal: a gambeson accompanied by nordic style pads that band over her limbs without restricting her joints
    heavy leather pauldrons and a large belt hold her clothes fast to her form, accented by silver buckles and rings her various pouches can attach to with strong straps
    her gloves are fingerless with the tops studded by spiky silver segments, much like the shins, calves, and toes of her boots
    when not in her right hand, a dense shield with intimidating silver spikes hangs off her back
    her left, when not wielding someone's blood, holds an adze with dual purpose as a weapon and a tool for climbing glacial terrain
    goggles perch at her hairline when not being used and shield her eyes in the thick of snowstorms

    her body is pierced with multiple silver bits; the most anyone usually sees of those is her septum ring and the barbells that curl through her lips and between her eyes, engraved with little runic details
    curative potions, healing scrolls, sewing kits, and texts about restoration, hemomancy, cryomancy, and The Physicalities of Werewolves are her bags' burdens
    she never ventures without a torch or two



    WEAKNESSES Her short stature, ailment, and armor all limit her mobility. She's wise to avoid melee combat and obstacles that ask too much of her stunted stamina, speed, and agility.
    STRENGTHS

    PERSONALITY
    LIKES flower fields, foxgloves, lullabies, fairytales, jazbay grapes, sweet wines, sunrises, her dogs
    DISLIKES crowds, hands that can't keep to themselves, talkative folk, being misread and having words put in her mouth, comments said behind her back rather than to her mug itself, nightfalls without security in numbers or shelter
    What Fox lacks in charm, she makes up for with a sometimes alarming amount of indifference and a thick skin, unfazed by the grimaces she may receive from any merchant that bears her cold gaze as to not rudely stare at how her teeth glint though the hole in her cheek.

    HISTORY
    DIALOGUE or DIALOGUE
    WIP
     
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    Raise Me A Riot

    New Member
    PREY "THE STRAY"
    | prā "thee strā" |
    23 ambigenderdemisexual The Lady Stone
    An unidentifiable threat does not mean a nonexistent one.

    PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES
    height 5'6.5
    weight 139 lbs
    race nord (skaal) / reachman (forsworn)
    class primarily monk with a ranger's focus on survival and stealth
    afflictions Hircine's Gift (lycanthropy), mutism


    ScreenShot0.png
    At first, you notice the empty eyes of a wolf head sitting on top of a bundle of thick timber pelt, but with an entrance grand enough, you could startle the reveal of a gaunt, less-than-fair face and wide grey eyes in your direction; on occasion, they appear to have a small snaggletooth pressing on either far side of their lip due to upper canines that crook outwards. The ambiguity of their face is not usually as interesting as their physicality, however, where their nails are elongated into claws and their spine rumored have a whip-like extension from the few that have seen underneath the fluffy poncho. Their body is honed to run long distances over jagged ground and climb the steepest mountains. Their scars are scarce but their bruises are abundant; the only noteworthy scar is the scatter running the same direction on the lower left side of their jaw. A tattoo cuffs their neck and sprouts along their shoulder blades. Removal of the wolf's jaws reveals ash-blonde hair, unkempt and tied up messily in the back in a way that leaves enough down to cover their nape.
    "Predator" is leaner, far meaner, and far larger than the lamb that wears its skin. Their coat is a gradient that fades from a silvery front to a blue timber back, eyes sharpening their grey into a hard, steely stare, irony in how its ire is far easier to read in the wrinkles on a light-brown snout and attentive moon-shot eyes than the human's tempered expressions.
    prey cc.png

    GEAR & COMBAT PREFERENCES
    light armor looks like a modified version of the Skaal's clothes: knit leggings and sweater are fit to form under leather reinforcements, tucked around their neck beneath the big hood and covering their waist's vitals in flexible segments
    a segmented steel collar molded around long, sharp spikes, cushioning courtesy of a rabbit's fur
    fluffy wraps over the thick hide of horkers make for decent gloves and leg cuffs
    light-footed and supported soles that propel weight as swiftly as a hare
    a light boar spear strengthened by steel holding together the hard wooden shaft, stalhrim framing the blade carved from dense bone

    three javelins akin to rieklings'
    a hunting knife carved out of a boar tusk, second to their last resort
    a shell-encrusted tusk from the shore of Horker Island played like a quiet flute in downtime and blown shrill in the rare emergency
    essentials are stored in a small black fur backpack subtly decorated with clues towards Prey's faith

    When their prey tries to flee, they follow as close as they see fit depending on the danger, for as long as it takes to wear down the heels of their target. When they are outnumbered, bested in strength, they initiate the chase, leading their overconfident foes into either exhaustion on an incline or a place where they have a dense, if not dark, environment (favor lies in fog) to their advantage, chipping at strength be it in numbers or a brave individual. This "herding"/baiting tactic also proves practical for teamwork.
    WEAKNESSES Prey's weapons are not designed to take on foes too close or too far, leaving little room for versatility beyond the middleground. Their heavy dependence on their reflexes and speed puts them at a disadvantage against foes with the same advantage. Given their nature, the human is weak to silver, and the beast even weaker — even the presence of silver beyond any blade that seeks their flesh can chip away at both their strength and their composure the longer they're trapped in a room with it, whether it belongs to friend or foe. Prey is no weakling, but their strength is not typically an advantage on the occasion they've been cornered...
    STRENGTHS ...and Predator, stronger, more durable, and shorter of fuse, is quick to burst from their confines skull-first to protect their more vulnerable counterpart and allies. Prey keeps their enemies at spear's length, be it engaged in melee with their boar spear or at a slightly longer distance crossed by a javelin that rarely fails to impale targets through available openings in armor, even if the only one is the face. Prey is not only observant, but keen of hearing, night vision, and recognizing environmental patterns in such a way that makes navigation even in unfamiliar wildernesses easy, all the amplified when Hircine's monster is active. The beast in their blood grants them resistance to disease and a swift recovery from injury, unless silver-inflicted.


    PERSONALITY
    LIKES polite and unprejudiced folk, lightweight and flavorful drinks, raw meat, those who take time to understand their nonverbal language, illustrating maps and offering them to friendly faces, scrimshaw, learning and listening to songs on the flute

    DISLIKES rumors morbidly exaggerating their "curse", brats that like to pelt them with rocks for a game bred from said rumors, unnecessary conflict (that especially ends in bloodshed), milk, (most) dogs, any of their aliases being used derogatively, unwarranted confiscation of their belongings
    Prey, even when wielding a beastly maw capable of blood-curdling bellows, does not share the bluster of their fellow reachmen. They're a soothing, ever mellow presence, welcoming to approaches with good will (beware, they can smell deception from a mile away). For their reputable kindness (and inability to speak), they are often mistaken for being tender of foot and an easy target, and they are swift to deliver the back of hand the moment someone oversteps. They are difficult to engage in conversation at first, but become rather animated once the effort is put forth to understand their (sign) language, revealing a mirthful, playful personality. The beast is more vocal, though not in any language comprehensible to man, lest one can translate whines, growls, roars, and baying.

    RELATIONS
    AFFILIATIONS
    Prey is welcomed within Forsworn territories, though their refusal to be an activist often earns wary side-eyes and even scornful, scathing outbursts. While they agree with the cause, they frown at its often uncivil execution, leaving them having to explain — within their limited communicative abilities — that they will never defend the Nords that enslaved and mistreated their ancestors, and especially not the Silver-Bloods, but they cannot sympathize with the tragedies the Forsworn have caused amongst innocents. They have a better bond with the residents of Falkreath, though that relationship needed time to flourish positively, with how simple it was to connect Prey's uncanny appearance with the unforgettable werewolf incident.

    RELIGION Prey is a devout follower of Hircine, if a less viscous one.
    POLITICS Prey carries a wariness in their step around the Stormcloaks and their supporters, but doesn't have any apparent favor towards the Empire.

    OCCUPATION The huntsman is diligent, whether the sky is fair, cloudy, or rainy. Vacations are a foreign concept to them. When they are unable to hunt, they are making themself productive in any way accessible to them. Sick days look like long hours of sitting in bed, refining their maps or grooming furs. When it's a matter of letting their hunting grounds repopulate, they're chopping wood and taking the fruits of labor to the nearest sawmill; they consider it a favor, a show of support, with the exception of following instruction under the promise of pay.

    SOCIAL Coin is rarely their objective beyond what is convenient for survival. They seek to garner respect from deeds that don't involve the waste of life; healthy relationships are their priority, to have at least one friendly face ready to greet them upon their arrival in each capital. They do not cater willingly, no ass has known their kiss, and they're selective about who they let near, but they are not picky when there's the slightest potential for improvement. They are known to be forgiving, but there's an unnamed, unaddressed few that have crossed their point of no return, no redemption.


    HISTORY
    History is written by the victors.

    They don't tell you about the ambush the Forsworn charged to Windhelm, when Ulfric and the Silver-Bloods seized the Reach from its natives. They don't tell you about the Forsworn families that snuck under the Stormcloaks' noses while Reachmen raided the city, onto the boats voyaging outside of Skyrim. They don't tell you about the few that were caught and slaughtered on deck, and the survivors that ended up on Solstheim.

    As the food they had smuggled with their bodies onboard was running short and their panic for the wellbeing of their children and elderly began to spiral, ideas that tapped into their traditional violence reared their heads. Moments from the main port boats would dock upon, the Forsworn had took to the decks that had known their brethren's blood and paid it back in the blood of the sailors and captains. After a successful sabotage, the boats were rerouted and crashed to rocky, unpopulated shores.

    When a fleet of blue cloaks voyaged to the grey island in search of its wrecked cousins... they did not see those responsible disguised in the midst of simple and honest folk, like wolves among sheep.
    Rhandy was raised in both wild and tame environments, on the many cultures in them, between ash and snow, rieklings and lycanthropes, a Skaal tribe and the Forsworn fugitives who had to keep their faith low-profile, as to not disturb the peace, trust, and safety they had with believers of the All-Maker. Before the Forsworn were exposed for their favor with Hircine's bestial creations, Rhandy was taught to shepherd and saddle reindeer, and to not attach themself to which they plan to hunt. Wild animals are fairer game than the livestock raised trusting the hands that feed; they knew betrayal to be an unethical means of survival.

    Persistent kindness — not to be confused with naivety — can get someone far despite common hostile belief, even with how conspicuous of a child Rhandy was to the snarling faces that, as gently as wolves can, escorted them away from the territory the first time they stumbled in. Their fate, much to the pack's early dismay, meant happening across large paw prints so often that they had started running alongside the beasts behind the backs of their village, a secret family they protected their association to well and long until their last year as a teenager.

    Retiring from service to Hircine before death requires sacrifices. So that a member of the pack could live out the rest of their days beastless, Rhandy willingly gave up their wool for the pelt that becomes one with their skin on a full moon. But in the process, they sacrificed more than they initially bargained. When they returned to their home, their heart sank to depths beyond being, for when they opened their mouth burdened by fangs too big for it, their voice had been swapped for a monster's timbre, and they had to watch as horror twisted their Skaal mother's gaze, as a knowing guilt crossed their Forsworn father's. In their oath to the Father of Manbeasts, they had unknowingly compromised the peace between the Reachmen and the Skaal and their parents' marriage.

    When they boarded boat, unable to repair the resentment aimed at them, their mother held their wet face and kissed their forehead under the wolf's teeth resting on their crown. They are loved like Prey, but between misunderstanding and hatred, they are Pred.

    THOUGHTS or THOUGHTS
     

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