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Discussion in 'Skyrim Roleplaying' started by NikolaTesla, Dec 30, 2011.

  1. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

    Jan 28, 2013
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    It would be fun to RP with her. ;)
    • Agree Agree x 1
  2. Orien Terrik

    Orien Terrik "Arik tree'ac te kek."

    Oct 14, 2014
    Likes Received:
    #1062 Orien Terrik, Oct 16, 2014
    Last edited: Oct 16, 2014
  3. The_Nightingale_Dovahkiin

    Oct 22, 2014
    Likes Received:
    OK so,

    Name: Viola


    Class: Theif

    Weapons: For her long range, it would be the ebony bow, or nightingale bow, depending on level and how much the damage matters. The arrows can either be steal or ebony. Anything but iron. Mele is dual wielding ebony war axes. Before I got up to level, it was steal, anything that matches. She isn't much for magic, but the school that she would specialize in would be restoration, and she has little training in it.

    Skills: Main: Sneak, Archery, Light Armor, Lock Picking, and One Handed. Minor: Restoration, Speech, Pickpocket, and Alchemy.

    Gender: Female

    Age: Around 25, showed up at Helgen at 25, is near 28 now, maybe older.

    Looks: She looks her age, mid twenties. Blond hair, dirty blondish. Her eyes are blackish red. She is thin, but not too thin, near medium for skyrim. She's pretty, very pretty, but she doesn't know it and covers up her eyes and nose with sweeping face paint, and keeps dirt there. In her hair she always has braids going down the sides and it is always somewhat tangled up. Her skin is very fair and light under the dirt and paint, Surprising for a bosmer, it is not a greenish or brownish tint. She looks slightly Nordic, because of her being 25% nord.

    Bio: Viola was born in Valenwood, but soon moved to the woods of falkreath in skyrim with her parents, when the Aldmeri Dominion had kicked them out, due to her grandmother marrying a Nord. She lived in Falkreath until she was 4, when both of her parents died in a spriggian attack, when they were trying to defend Viola and her sister. Her sister, who was 12 at the time, finished off the nearly dead spriggian and they left the woods soon after to keep away from the other dangers. They ended up in the Riften orphanage. For two years they lived there, knowing they would never get adopted, when Viola's sister met a young Dunmer mage, who needed an apprentice. She had always been talented in restoration and agreed to train with him. She gave what little money she had to Viola, and left with him to morrowind a year after the apprenticeship began. Viola lived in the orphanage until she was 10, then ran away to the woods near the stream next to Ivorstead. There she used the money to buy a bow, and hunted. She trained with the guards at Nilheim on occasion, and would use what her sister taught her to help heal them and herself. When she ran out of money, she went to Ivorstead and took from people little at a time. She would smuggle some vegetables when she was helping the harvest, and charmed food out of caravans and taverns.
    When she was 12, a family of nords came to ivorstead, wanting to sell what they had gotten in their time in Valenwood. There was a mother and a father, and the daughter Reya. When they were trading in Ivorstead, Reya and Viola became friends and soon the parents learned of her background, and they took her in. The family was living in Valenwood, unapproved by the Aldmeri Dominion, but not afraid of being caught, because of the hard to travel roads and the constant moving around. Viola lived with them in Valenwood for years, until she was 22. Reya and her became best friends, working together. Reya was fearless and beautiful, making her excellent at both charm, and fighting. They traded secrets about using the bow, and the axe. When Reya got married, Viola saw no reason to go seek out her own adventures, and begged her adopted parents to let her go. When they wouldn't , she ran away, and traveled tamriel, writing to Reya along the way so they knew she was ok. One day when she was looking back to skyrim, she got mixed up in a small battle, and decided to help the apparently wrong side, and got sent to Helgen. After that came the obvious, learning she was dragonborn, and joining her different factions, to become part of her third family.
    She is a part of the thieves guild, as her favorite thing to do is sneaking, stealing. After awhile she became the nightingale, to then be the Guild master. It is basically her entire life. Her house is in Riften, and she knows the townspeople well. They all consider her a friend, although she is part of the guild. She is good to everyone she meets. She is the listener of the dark brotherhood, but she does not love it. Killing is not something she enjoys unless someone deserves it and she knows it. She is a werewolf, and fights for the companions. They are her family outside of the thieves guild. In her travels, she met Erik, who would later be known as Erik the Slayer, and fell in love with him. She did not want to get married until finishing with everything the world had her needed for, but eventually did. She would give her life for the stormcloak rebellion, because she knows the power of the Aldmeri Dominion, and knows how it is to get kicked out of your own home.

    Personality: She is charismatic, as are most Bosmer. People like her. She likes to spend her time at taverns, and although has a house in both whiterun and riften, she prefers to stay at the Bee and Barb and the Bannared Mare. If she is surrounded with good music and friends, it is worth every septim. Her charm gets her places. She can befriend anyone. She however likes the simple things. She loves nilheim. It is her favorite spot across Tamriel. Things like that take her breath away. There are little things that few people have noticed about her. She hates death. Everyone she kills, she tries to honor. Her best friends (Erik, Reya, Aela, Ria, Farkas, Rune, Ralof) know everything. She is hard to figure out, but if asked, she would open up. Her toughness is both an act and her true self.

    Misc: She never wears any head gear. No hoods, or helmets, on occasion a circlet, but it's rare. Her favorite drink is Honningbrew Mead, or Argonian Bloodwine. Her favorite food is saloman steak. She loves the mountain part of skyrim but the rift will forever be her favorite. She chooses to keep the dark brotherhood side of her life behind her because of the hatred of killing people for no reason. At first when becoming a werewolf, she didn't want to be one after Farkas and Vilkas didn't want to be one anymore, but when visiting Solsthiem, she ran into a group of werewolves that welcomed her, and she decide that it was a gift. She plays lute, but cannot play flute or drums to save her life. In sovengaurd, when she saw Kodlak, she decided to clear her soul to go there instead of any of the daedric princes planes. She hates Birds.
    • Like Like x 1
  4. Zoop

    Zoop New Member

    Nov 2, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Good greetings, all. I'm new to the whole roleplaying shebang, so I figure this is as good a place to start as any, with, well, a character.

    name: Laroh (of clan Tesaadi, if you want to get technical)
    race: Redguard
    age: 24
    class: (inasmuch as Skyrim even HAS classes...) Actually, I'm not sure I know a snappy name for it. Not that she's the first one to do this, but she wears light armour, likes ambushes and seeks to end her fights quickly and decisively. She forgoes a shield and magic in favour of holding a war axe and hacking the guy half to death before he, she or it knows what's hit 'em.
    gender: female
    appearance: Laroh has the trademark coffee-coloured skin and dark brown hair of her race. She's got quite the short and stocky build, relatively broad-shouldered at about 5'7", with a noticeable athletic musculature to her. Her jaw is somewhat square and her chin is rounded, and her cheeks aren't gaunt. Her nose is quite flat and on the wide side. Her hair is a bit above shoulder-length, straight and unkempt. She's often dusty at best, given how much time she spends on streets and highways, but she won't lose any sleep over not getting up to the Cloud District very often (and neither will you).
    personality: Good-natured, light-hearted, facetious and not even slightly serious, Laroh is a person who enjoys a good time. She knows that most of the time she'll just be "passing through", so she seeks to make people remember her brief visitations fondly - she makes jokes and godawful puns, delivers punches both playful and knockout, and gets drunk regularly at the drop of the proverbial hat. The way she sees it, she's had plenty of bad times, so rather than drink herself to death in a mire of self-pity and dwelling, she feels she can leave those times behind and open a new chapter in her life. That being said, she is very good at hiding things. And a consummate liar has to be good at lying to herself. She keeps a few things very close to her heart - her estranged family, especially her big brother; her faith, which she practices furtively in Skyrim, among people who can't even agree on whether to worship Talos or not; and every time she comes across something that really wounds her, she stubbornly buries it in the pit of boiling emotions just beneath the surface.
    So, she's goofy and fun; crafty, perceptive and good at thinking on her feet; and more often wary than angry. However, when she does get angry, it is savage, animal anger that hasn't been released for years. It's a weakness which people capable of reading her can and will exploit.
    equipment/style: "Trained" as she was as a street brawler, she makes up for her relative lack of weight and reach with agility, respectable strength and a pretty good knowledge of how to combine the two to hit harder (she's no gymnast, but she's got a mean roundhouse kick and dodges pretty well). Inclined towards travelling light, she wears studded armour, leather boots and bracers in her combat gear, with a mundane-but-trusty honed steel war axe as her primary weapon, and a steel dagger as an absolute last resort. She also carries a hunting bow and a few iron arrows, not that she's much good with it by her own admission.

    bio/history, I guess:
    Laroh was born as the middle child of an all-Redguard family in Taneth, one of Hammerfell's more obscure cities. It seems that everyone has some reason to hate the Aldmeri Dominion these days, but for the Tesaadi family, it seemed as though they just woke up one morning to find that they were part of the territory ceded to the Thalmor come the end of the war in Hammerfell. Not that it really mattered to them, because they were dirt poor anyway, and had to learn how to stand on their own two feet or be trampled by the city life.
    Laroh and her two brothers are city kids, born and bred. Years of their subsistence existence gave them an innate sense of direction, balance and an aptitude for repairing things, lest they had to buy ruinously expensive new materials and items. Constant run-ins with the rest of the Taneth underclasses - and their patrician crime lords - lent them skill in brawling, fighting and removed any aversion to bloodshed they had - though outright murder was and remains a rare thing among the siblings, and they want to keep it that way.
    There came a day, however, when their staunchly nationalist parents could take their Thalmor "benefactors'" meddling no longer. They had both, from an early age, taught their children the value of the old ways - the fierce Redguard warrior, most dreaded soldiers in all Tamriel; protected by the watchful eyes of the old Yokudan gods; rightful lords of the Hammerfell deserts. And once again, there came a day when the Thalmor tracked down the parents' tacit support of resistance groups and concealed shrines and rites.
    Remarkably, nobody in Laroh's family died that day, some eight years prior. Rather, the parents woke their children in the night to take off into the plains. They survived, together, wandering as nomads in a vaguely north-eastern direction, for ten months; then they went their separate ways, making up their own feverish justifications to themselves as they went. As far as Laroh knows, her parents headed into High Rock; her brothers Kedai and Alkhyn into Skyrim; while she just wandered into Cyrodiil to find that being a lone nomad is a lot harder than it sounds. She scraped by on a meagre existence, much like many in post-war Cyrodiil, and every few months she'd find herself in a new city, trying to see if it was like the old days.
    She doesn't dwell on those days anymore, however. She ended up in Skyrim after coming to Chorrol on account of a terse letter, allegedly from Kedai. What she found in Chorrol was slave-traders and a long line of questions which has her more confused than ever. On the run from them, and in search of a supposed contact in Markarth, she crossed the Jerall mountains... and ran right into an Imperial patrol.
    Now she's just looking to get her bearings on what she's doing, newly freed in southern and central Skyrim.

    Well, she hates awkward silences, and has a thing for the flute. She wears a simple wooden talisman of Tu'whacca, Yokudan god of souls, around her neck. (Yeah, check me out, I looked at the wiki.)

    (Well, hope that wasn't too excruciating for a first attempt.)
    • Like Like x 1
  5. Lady_Corvain

    Lady_Corvain Duchess Of Three Streams

    Nov 2, 2014
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    Sybianelle Yvisly

    "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."
    Full Name: Lady Sybianelle Yvisly
    Race: 3 Quarters Nord And Half Breton

    Age: 27

    Gender: Female

    Class: Bard
    Bards are loremasters and storytellers. They crave adventure for the wisdom and insight to be gained, and must depend on sword, shield, spell and enchantment to preserve them from the perils of their educational experiences.A Bard is the proverbial "Jack of all Trades". They are able to perform many tasks, including but not limited to critical strikes, weapons skill, picking locks/pockets, and magic. They are a very versatile class, able to take up slack in almost any situation. Bards receive an amount equal to their Intelligence in spell points. A Bard's critical strike capability is useful when cornered by stronger opponents, though their chance to score is not as great as Thieves and the others in this subclass.

    • The Bard can cast spells, engage in both melee and ranged combat, pick locks, and steal items.
    • Though Bards can do everything, other classes can usually do any one of those things better. Warriors will out-fight them, Mages will out-fry them, and Thieves will out-critical them.

    Birthplace: Skyrim, Hjaalmarch Farmhouse South Of Morthal

    Birthdate: The 12th Of Hearthfire At Dawn exactly 6:04 AM

    Father/Mother: Father Was a Nord named Jorgreen And her Mother was a Breton named Isly

    Birth-Sign: The Lady
    Affiliations: Member Of The Bards Collage, Being Taught Under Pantea Ateia.
    Weapon Arm: Right Arm

    Primary Weapon: Glass Sword

    Secondary Weapon: Destruction Magic And Restoration magic

    Armor(In Combat):

    Armor (In Town):
    Psychology and perception:Serious
    Lifestyle:Organised, Successful
    Social attitude:Extroverted. Playful
    Honesty and honour:Dependable
    Emotional capacity:Generous and Caring

    Height: 5'6

    Weight: 80kgs

    Hair Colour: Brown

    Eye Colour: Hazel/Blue

    Skin Colour: Dark tan
    Occupation: Bard

    Current Residence: Solitude Bards Collage
    Religious Views: Accepting Of Daedra and a devout follower of Dibella

    "Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love"

    (Backstories and stories are in blogs as well as any extra bit of info)
    • Like Like x 1
  6. Cadagan

    Cadagan New Member

    Nov 5, 2014
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    The Second Rise of Torban Valund

    Wisened old hands rested on the stone. Eyes closed, the Atmoran bent his weary back to place his lips on the dusty crypt, and whispered.

    Stepping down, he took one last look at the tomb of his ancestors, at the resting place of his wife and firstborn.
    He still held the pain of their taking, but it was an old pain, like all the others.

    That morning, the young warriors of the hold had come to him.
    "Torban, there's been another kidnapping." wheezed Erald.
    Torban eased his gaze on the man, and those pouring into his house behind him.
    "No knock boy? Ahhh... Yes, and more graves dug up in the night. Necromancers for sure, bet it's those damn Elves too, this isn't good at all."
    "But what can we do?" asked... a boy, maybe Mojar's son.
    The group had all looked like young men do when they aim to prove their worth, scared but oh-so eager.
    Now, tempered by the presence and knowledge of the "Old Wise Man", their eagerness was slowly fading, letting their fear press against them.
    "They're taking the bodies, they have to be keeping them somewhere. Maybe one of the caves in the hills."
    "...but... what do we do, Torban?" someone asked.
    Some other idiot lad, probably not even taught how to read but thinks he's ready to fight.
    “Well we can't let this continue, can we?” Torban felt their mood change. “Yes lads, we'll fight. But not yet. Erald, go fetch Gromm, bring him here. The rest of you, go back to your homes, you're not leaving 'till tomorrow”
    “Tomorrow!? But--”
    Torban raised his eyes at the boy, and gave him a look he hadn't used in years. The boy went white.

    Coming out of his family tomb, he headed for the caves. Finding one that smelled just a bit too much of death, he stopped at the entrance, and stared into the darkness within.
    ... So, how far have I come?
    Torban hadn't tried to become the village hero, he hadn't boasted of his battles, he hadn't proclaimed each victory in the tavern. He had aimed for balance. He sharpened his mind as much as he strengthened his arm. He was no sorceror, but what spells he had were as from a fairy tale to all around him. He was a Warrior, true enough. Yet he was more than that, he was...
    What was it that one elf called me?... Arcane Warrior.
    He fought smart, and hard. He fought because it was right, because it was good. He carved his way to what he felt was inner peace, to perfect harmony between the mind, body and soul. The village couldn't help but listen to him, because he was the strongest and the smartest of them. And when he grew old, when no amount of training and fighting could keep his body going as it used to, he stopped being the veteran warrior, and became the village elder.
    But soon I'll be naught but a babbling babe.

    He let his legs carry him down.
    A young warrior walks into danger looking all around, and seeing everything he can, and some things that aren't there. An experienced warrior walks looking forward, seeing everything he needs to.

    The tired warrior walked with his head tilted down, his eyes glazed over. He had a smile on his face, the first in years.
    At last, I can die like I was meant to, and join my family, in Sovngarde.

    A shadow shifted ahead of him, a few more quiet steps revealed candles, an altar a pit, and robes.
    He didn't need to think. He was among them without his even knowing, his old instincts strong as they used to be, even if his arms weren't. Caught by surprise the robed figures staggered and tripped and fell as the old man cut them down one by one. Yet even as the rest of the coven was in chaos, the silhouette standing near an altar just watched.

    Torban dropped to his knees, breathing hard but not done yet. His axe rested in the skull of a kindly looking young elf.
    I thought this'd be harder.
    His eyes flitted to the face of the elf, who's eyes were too far apart.
    Probably due to the axe in his skull...Shame to see such young ones turned to this kind of evil.
    Torban stood and turned, pulling out his axe, as well as something that fell with a *plop*.
    He eyed the still shadow standing over him.
    “Stay calm all you want boy, you've been dipping too deep in things that shouldn't be touched, and so you'll die, frightened or not.”
    Torban's half taunt didn't have much effect, not that he expected it to.
    The slick calm of the voice wasn't forced.
    “I'm not as young as you think. But lets not play here. We both know how this goes, let's not stall like children.”
    Ahh, Vile though he may be, at least I'll die with honour at his hand.
    Torban leaped forward.

    The blackness of the ceiling was starting to glow. He could breathe easy, even with his lungs filling with blood. He could see fine, even with his eyes burnt.
    It's over.
    The glow turned into a light, the light turned blinding, and Torban knew.
    Finally, he could join his wife and child, finally he c--
    “Sovngarde?” The harsh, cruel voice knocked Torban out of his reverie.
    The now unhooded, thing, came into view, blocking Torban's view of the fading glow.
    “No, no, no, you distrupted my ritual. You killed them too soon, they weren't finished.”
    The half-corpse knelt down and wrapped skin-covered bones softly around the wheezing neck below him.
    “I can't use you, but I won't let you go. Sovngarde? Heh. No.” the emotionless cruelty cut deep into Torban's thoughts.
    Another bony hand lifted up, holding a cruel glow.
    “You're not going anywhere”

    An Age or three later...

    Revan Turik was a strange Dark elf. Even compared to other Dunmer, Revan was never sociable. He prefered to study, and think. He'd tried magic, but had never had any affinity for it. He'd tried stealth, but was too clumsy to step lightly. He'd tried fighting, but couldn't hold onto the sword.
    He just wanted to know things.
    “Know what?” people would ask him
    “Who knows...” he'd reply, half to himself.

    He wasn't happy, he knew that. He just didn't care.
    There were more interesting things out there than happiness. He was good with Alchemy, and he loved history and philosophy. He had been planning to leave since adolescence, to go exploring and see the world he was so fascinated by, but there was always more books to read, and it was always too dangerous.
    Yet the day finally came, when he knew every word of every book he could find. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. He had to go.
    No-one will care anyway.
    His latest interest had been in the rituals of Nords, so he headed north, the the land of Warriors, to Skyrim.

    “Snow Veiled Sanctum”
    Revan said the words to himself, reading from“The Honoured Dead”, a book documenting the many crypts and tombs scattered across skyrim.
    He sat on his bed, in a Tavern surrounded by a snowstorm.
    The nords didn't like his poking around their ruins. But he'd done it so many times before.
    Surely another won't matter? Besides, the mercenaries have already cleared it out. The draugr are already gone, no more damage to do.
    He'd found many treasures in his frenzy of Crypt diving, he was hooked. Not gold or weapons or magic, but Architecture, Language, History. He found the resting place of Ysgramor, the ancient leader of the companions. He was smart enough to leave that one alone, atleast. He'd found a forgotten hero, Feralda Wolfbane, who became a warrior of great renown after she slaughtered the werewolf den that killed her daughter. He'd written all his travels in his book, and when he was done with his adventures, he'd let others know of his findings. But until then, there was so much more to explore! Snow Veiled Sanctum was next.

    It was supposed to be a simple crypt, but this one seemed much older, and, while not lavish, was clearly built with the utmost reverance. The walls seemed to bow in worship of the central chamber, the light made the three sarcophagi glow. The crypt was small, yet it was full of so much respect.
    Revan had been in there since dawn, and by his estimate it was already night.
    I've never seen a crypt so... personal. This clearly wasn't built for a king or a Jarl, but whoever was buried here clearly earned their place in Sovngarde.
    He was excited to uncover the legend of this place, but he was hungry and tired.
    Too dark to get back to the tavern... this place seems warm enough for tonight anyway, it won't harm me.
    If Revan had had any magic in him at all, he'd have known different.

    He had felt the presence immediately, the first since they had locked Him way.

    He wasn't thinking, He couldn't think anymore, he just felt. He felt the years, decades, centuries pass.He felt his sanity slipping, but didn't feel that he cared.
    He wanted out, he needed to be free, to... to go were he was meant to be. To get the freedom that was his, and his alone.


    His screaming hadn't stopped. Since the first moments of solitude he had raged at the emptiness around him.
    But now he had a target, and he had a way out.

    Revan startled awake, flailing at his assailant. His arms found nothing, but he felt the crushing presence squeezing against him. He could barely breathe under the pressure, barely see the floor he strained to push against.
    What is it? What is this? What's happening?
    He tried to run, but he was in It's grasp, he could only crawl.
    The elf tried to fight back, tried to scream for help, but nothing worked. He was doomed.
    I can't breathe, I can't....

    His breathe was the first thing to come to Him, the familiar sensation a soothing balm.
    Him.... me... Me....T-Torban
    Feeling alive seemed to calm his mind. He could think again.
    Where... have I been?
    Days later, Torban Valund walked out of his tomb, alone, his new unholy crime weighing on his chest, but only a little.He wasn't mad anymore, he knew that,
    I think,
    but he also knew that he wasn't the same. In his old life, he'd never harmed anyone who didn't deserve it.
    I tore that boy apart. He isn't dead, he's gone.
    Some part of him cared, but that part hadn't spoken in years, and didn't have the voice it used to. The old man still yearned for sovngarde, he needed it. But this new crime might interfere with his entry.
    I... I have to live. I have to right what I've done. I've earned my place but I'll earn It again. I deserve it.
    He glanced down at his hands.
    And so does Revan.

    Combat:Two handed, Destruction.
    Def: Heavy Armor, Alteration
    Misc: Blacksmithing

    Revan was 32 when he died, Torban was 71.

    Revan: Unknown, Torban: Lord

    Race: Dark Elf
    War Alignment, Empire
    Though originally Torban would have sided with the Stormcloaks, he reflects on his own discrimination of elves, and knows it was wrong.

    Height: 6'
    Build: “Scrawny”, But Torban will soon fix that.
    Sexuality: Straight but chaste, for various reasons (I'm sure you can understand)

    Enjoys wearing old nordic gear, as it resembles his Atmoran armor.
    Wields a Two Handed Axe or Sword

    Note: This was written more for the story than the build, the story was originally just a bit of fun for a character I was planning to make, but I really enjoyed the background and A couple of hours made this. Also The names were made up, and the crypt I chose was chosen at random so, if I messed up the lore a bit, sorry :p
    Also my first short story, thank you very much for reading.
    • Like Like x 2
    #1066 Cadagan, Nov 5, 2014
    Last edited: Nov 5, 2014
  7. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

    Jan 28, 2013
    Likes Received:
    This is just an idea I came up with after I wrote the Character card for Do'Jhan. The Cc will be coming after I get some pictures done, but I wanted to post this now. Enjoy.

    Interview with a Khajiit

    I waited with apprehension as I set my quill and ink on the table in front of me. Blank parchment paper lay there ready for my scribbling. I glanced out of the door of my room again, catching the eye of the Inn keeper. Once again he shook his head and went back to polishing the bar. My client was late. I was of two minds about whether I was happy or annoyed. I was, after all about to interview the biggest, scariest Khajiit I have ever seen in my life. I sighed and lay my head on my arms for a moment, breathing in and out, trying to relax.

    “This one can come back if you wish to sleep” the voice made me jump a foot out of my seat. I had not even heard him enter the room. Damned cats. They were so sneaky. He was large (slightly taller than a Nord), grey and white fur with striking black markings. Black stripes and spots. Black fur surrounds beautiful blue eyes. Short dreadlocked black hair with various gold rings attached to the ends. I scribbled down these notes on my parchment.

    “No..it’s fine. I was just resting. Well, shall we get started?”

    “If you wish” he almost purred in his deep accented voice and slid into the chair with a grace that would make the most delicate of maidens jealous. I swear he winked at me. I brushed my hair from my face and cleared my throat.

    “Ehem.. So, Do’Jhan. Can you tell me about your name first?

    Do is meaning Warrior. That is all” he shrugged. I scribbled down that note. His stunning blue eyes watched my every move. I read my notes, things I wanted to ask..saying them under my breath...

    “...name, age, sex....”

    “Sex? Yes please, oh you mean that?.. well, this one is all male”

    “Yes I gathered that. Thank you” I spluttered nervously. “Um, you are a Khajiit, but where do you herald from Do’Jhan?”

    “This one is Tojay-raht. The best kind, yes?” I really had no idea, but he continued “This one was born in the Tenmar Forest. That location is vague, this one knows, but really, that is for the best” I wondered how old he was and asked him.

    “Let this one just say, old enough to be wise, but young enough to turn a female’s eye” he answered. This time I know he winked at me! Was the Khajiit flirting? I cleared my throat again.

    “So, can you tell me about your beliefs? Who you associate yourself with? Alignments and such..”

    “This one is a proud member of The Mane Guard. It is the greatest honour. This one does not think about religion much. I believe in my family and my home, that is enough” he said. He scratched the top of the table absently with a clawed finger..paw? It left a sizable gouge in the table’s surface. I studied him for a while. He was quite content to sit there, studying me in turn. He wore a bow and sword; both weapons looked to be well used. His armour? Ancient Nord if I wasn’t mistaken. The armour also looked worn. Not old, but well used. He was defiantly a warrior, and a proficient one at that. He didn’t wear the helm, obviously because of his ears. I asked him about his weapons.

    “Do you like my bow? ‘is nice yes?” He stroked the bow lovingly “Do’Jhan uses a bow and also carries a sword for close quarter fighting. He will also use his claws for maximum damage” he said flexing his paws so that all of his claws stuck out. I sat back a little in fright and he chuckled. “This one also has several knives on his person. But I do not hide them, if you want to take a look”. That did it. Now I KNEW he was flirting. “Do’Jhan is deadliest fighting from the shadows. He will stalk his prey until the right moment” His eyes gleamed with excitement and he leant forward. To cover my shock I asked him about himself as a person...Cat... Khajiit..

    “Why do you ask this? Are you interested in Do’Jhan?” He winked again. “This one thinks very little about himself. Although I have had others tell me that I can be a little too nosey for one’s own good. But this one would call that...curiosity, yes?”

    “What do you think of people’s general dislike of your kind?” I asked carefully. This subject was a very sensitive topic to raise. But Do’Jhan surprised me when he chuckled.

    “This one has not noticed anything like that. Do’Jhan has Nord friends, Imperial friends. Makes no difference to Do’Jhan” He shrugged “If it all gets too much, this one will disappear into the forest. Hunt, be silent, that sort of thing. The forest is where Do’Jhan feels most comfortable.” I could tell that the Khajiit missed his home, possibly why he sought out the forest when in times of great turmoil. “Do’Jhan also likes the company of females of his kind” he learned forward and whispered “but secretly thinks the smooth pale skin of a nord lady is very alluring.” We both stared down at my pale, hairless arms. I gulped but scribbled down my notes none the less. As for the rest of the interview, I asked Do’Jhan to give me a brief background on himself. I could tell he struggled in some parts, the topic being a hard one for him to talk about. I don’t think he has ever really talked about his past to anyone before me. I felt honoured but I also felt a deep sympathy for him. I was drawn to him. Here are my notes on Do’Jhan’s past...

    Bio: Do’Jhan is a rare Tojay-raht, a breed of Khajiit native to the southern Tenmar Forest. He was born in a litter of six with three brothers and two sisters. His parents owned a sizable piece of land in the forest where they grew and produced moon-sugar to be made into Skooma. The kittens helped with the family business until they were old enough to choose their own path. Do’Jhan, along with one sister and two brothers, chose to become warriors and trained fiercely until they were finally selected into the elite Guard that patrols the Tenmar forest, keeping out humans, argonians and elves. Do’Jhan and his siblings were particularly good at their job and were well liked within the guard. This brought much honour to the family. One tragic day however, his brother was killed by a band of marauding Argonians, bent on stealing some Skooma to sell back in Blackmarsh.

    As law and custom dictate among the Khajiit of the Tenmar Forest, Do’Jhan’s family will be disgraced until he avenges his brother’s death and kills the Argonian responsible. This sent him away from Elsweyr, up the western boarder of Blackmarsh, through Cyrodiil and finally into Skyrim. He can never rest until he finds that argonian and brings honour back to his family.

    His sister and brother are still in the Warrior Guard, although they are currently assigned to lesser duties (due to the disgrace on their family) His parents still own their small Skooma manufacturing business which the other siblings work at, but since the death of their brother, competitors have been eating away at their property, taking away from their profits and making life generally harder while authorities turn a blind eye. Do’Jhan must bring the killer to justice in order for his family to regain their status in society.

    The interview then ended. Do’Jhan was pensive, but then seemed to break out from his revere.

    “This one would like to buy you a drink..or two or three.” He stood, holding out his paw to me. I stared at it, longing for it to close over my own fingers.

    “I don’t know. I really should get these notes back and start writing.” But instead he pulled me up and all but swept me out the door of my room and into the bar area.

    “Nonsense. This one insists. You have got to know Do’Jhan, now Do’Jhan wants to get to know you”. I could hardly decline such an offer.

    As for the rest of the evening? Well, that’s strictly off the record.
    • Like Like x 1
  8. shadowkitty

    shadowkitty Mistress of Shadows

    Jan 28, 2013
    Likes Received:

    Name: Do’Jhan (prefix Do meaning: Warrior)
    Sex: “yes please, oh you mean that?.. well, this one is all male”
    Race: Khajiit Tojay-raht “The best kind, yes?”
    Age: “Let this one just say, old enough to be wise, but young enough to turn a female’s eye”
    Birth place: Tenmar Forest “Vague, this one knows, but really, that is for the best”
    Afflictions: “None that this one knows of”
    Affiliations: The Mane Guard
    Religion: “This one does not think about it much. I believe in my family and my home, that is enough”​

    Appearance: large (slightly taller than a Nord), grey and white fur with striking black markings. Black stripes and spots. Black fur surrounds beautiful blue eyes. Short dreadlocked black hair with various gold rings attached to the ends.

    Dress: currently wears Ancient Nord armour. He likes the way it feels. Solid and dependable while giving him freedom of movement. Wears the boots while travelling and in combat but likes to take them off every opportunity he can get. Did get them customised to be slightly wider at the toes to allow for his paws and claws. Does not wear the helm for obvious reasons “This one likes his ears to stick up, like they are meant to”. He carries a large leather satchel and wears a long travellers cloak when travelling at night, or in the rain. “Bah! This one does not fear the wet. Just don’t want my armour to rust”

    Weapons and tactics: “Do you like my bow? ‘is nice yes?”
    Do’Jhan uses a Dragonbone bow (A gift from the Mane himself. Do'Jhan's most treasured possession) and also carries a simple steal sword for close quarter fighting, which he is proficient at. He will also use his claws for maximum damage. Can be a little ruthless and brutal. He also has several knives on his person. “I do not hide them, take a look”. Do’Jhan is deadliest fighting from the shadows. He will stalk his prey until the right moment. But sometimes, when he is feeling particularly savage he will instigate a fight so he can do some more damage.

    Personality: “Why you ask this? Are you interested in Do’Jhan?” He is naturally curious and sometimes sticks his nose in where is does not belong. He hasn’t really learned that most humans are suspicious of Khajiit, especially one as imposing as Do’Jhan. He is somewhat oblivious of people’s reactions to him. Which in a way endears him to many. He is friendly most of the time, but can at times be consumed by a dark mood. Usually he will go out into a forest to hunt when this happens. He likes the company of females of his kind but secretly thinks the smooth pale skin of a Nord lady is very alluring. He loves water, especially bathing in hot springs. He finds clean fur invigorating. He does not like to see innocents being taken advantage of and will step in to help those in need. He has a weakness for shiny things though and sometimes has "sticky fingers".

    Bio: Do’Jhan is a rare Tojay-raht, a breed of Khajiit native to the southern Tenmar Forest. He was born in a litter of six with three brothers and two sisters. His parents owned a sizable piece of land in the forest where they grew and produced moon-sugar to be made into Skooma. The kittens helped with the family business until they were old enough to choose their own path. Do’Jhan, along with one sister and two brothers, chose to become warriors and trained fiercely until they were finally selected into the elite Guard that patrols the Tenmar forest, keeping out humans, argonians and elves. Do’Jhan and his siblings were particularly good at their job and were well liked within the guard. This brought much honour to the family. One tragic day however, his brother was killed by a band of marauding Argonians, bent on stealing some Skooma to sell back in Blackmarsh.

    As law and custom dictate among the Khajiit of the Tenmar Forest, Do’Jhan’s family will be disgraced until he avenges his brother’s death and kills the Argonian responsible. This sent him away from Elsweyr, up the western boarder of Blackmarsh, through Cyrodiil and finally into Skyrim. He can never rest until he finds that argonian and brings honour back to his family.

    His sister and brother are still in the Warrior Guard, although they are currently assigned to lesser duties (due to the disgrace on their family) His parents still own their small Skooma manufacturing business which the other siblings work at, but since the death of their brother, competitors have been eating away at their property, taking away from their profits and making life generally harder while authorities turn a blind eye. Do’Jhan must bring the killer to justice in order for his family to regain their status in society.

    So that's Do'Jhan. I'm not entirely happy with the banner at the moment. I will go back and fix it up one day but this one will suffice for now :)
  9. Lady_Corvain

    Lady_Corvain Duchess Of Three Streams

    Nov 2, 2014
    Likes Received:

    Birth Name: Faluyna Llahul

    Comman Name: Faluyna

    Gender: Female

    Race: Dummer (Dark Elve)

    Age: 29

    Family Relations

    Father: Ileyns

    Mother: Indrmera

    Brother: Tirhas

    Sister: Ararreri

    Family Values: "What kind of question is this Family value, well now i think of it my Father always tresured family and honor above all, most would mistake him for some sort of Nord but he was born and bred a Dark Elve. What else could I really say we were born on a farma nd raised as farm hands till we came of age to chose our own path"

    Religious Views

    Eight Divines: "I was raised in a dummer house hold were belief in the divine was very rare, although I read over many books in my young days as a child while working on the Farm I never truly understood why the divines were so important. I understand now I have matured of there relationship with the mortal barrier of Men and Mer as well as beast, accepting many of the Divines as they came I witnessed many faithful and unfaithful acts in the name of the Divine happen as a girl."

    Dadric Princes: "What kind of a question is that I was practically raised as a child of the Ash my parents have witnessed much in there young days but in my family we strongly beleave in Azura and her power, I grow tired of having to explain my belief's to some scriber who will write down this as if I was some sort of frantic worship of the Dadric Princes"

    Birthday/Born On: 23rd of Rains Hand

    Birth Sign/Stone: The Mage

    Martial Status: Single

    Sexuality: Bisexual

    laterality Right- Handeness

    Collage Of Winterhold

    Job/Occupation: Mage At The Collage Of Winterhold

    Place Of Birth: Ravenrock

    Properties: Summerswind Hold

    Alignment: Chaotic Good

    Positive Traits: Focused,commited,Creative,Smart

    Negative Traits:
    Risk taker, Mouthy, Expressive and Goofy

    "I would prefer to call myself the loud and proud daughter of magic, I learnt beside some of the greats you know. Pitty though my family never truly accepted there daughter as a mage, Although my family never truly bothered me I was the baby of the family. My father was to focused on trying to force his son to be a warrior and my mother was to focused at finding my eldest sibling sister a partner to marry. So I found my way around at a young age, reading learning and casting when I was yay high. My grandmother was a lovely lady she taught me all kinds of spells and then she even taught me how to make a few simple potions. Out of all my family she truly was the one I actually loved"

    Philosophy: “Hardship often prepares an ordinary person for an extraordinary destiny.”

    Skill Level: Adept Magic Student In Destruction, Apprentice In Illusion Master In Restoration And Apprentice in Mysticism, Adept In Conjuration And Master In Necromancy

    Height And Weight: 5'6 and 90kg

    Hair Colour:
    Pale White

    Eye Colour: Red

    Skin Colour: Blueish Dark

    (Bio is Still Being Written)

    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    haafingar hell: 1 Point Jan 29, 2017
  10. NIkah Ash-Runner

    NIkah Ash-Runner the Black Wolf

    Apr 29, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Name: Aesa Wildheart
    Age: 26
    Gender: Female
    Race: Nord/Wolf
    Appearance: As a human, she has a slender and pale body, scantily clad in steel armor and black linens. Her hair is in random locks, wavy, some dreads, and black, long enough to reach her knees. Her eyes are a light silvery lavender color. (see avatar pic.) As a wolf, her fur is black, her eyes are the same silvery lavender. Her tongue is dark plum like a spitz's.
    Bio: Aesa, once a werewolf in good standing among the Companions, became maddened in her worship of Hircine, and killed many innocent people in his name. As punishment for her zealotry, Hircine turned her into a sentient wolf, so that no one would love her or show her mercy. The curse can be broken by an act of true love, whether romantic, friendly, or familial.
    In combat: Being that she is currently trapped in the body of a wolf, her combat skills are limited to that of a common animal, however, her senses are also that of a wolf. She is nimble and two-faced in battle, as she still has her human mind. When she was a human, before her werewolf days, her weapon of choice was a well-hidden dagger.
    Personality: Aesa, being a wolf, is withdrawn both physically and emotionally. She spends most of her time away from society, but sometimes ventures into towns (under the guise of a normal wolf) for scraps of food from more tolerant humans. She is constantly on the lam, evading hunters and bandits alike. Her esteem is nearly non-existent, and she never speaks to anyone. She hasn't had an ally since before she was a werewolf, as even the Companions were afraid of her Hircine madness.
    • Like Like x 1
  11. Vallor

    Vallor The Hunter

    Nov 21, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Vallor Oakdale
    The Basics

    • Birthdate: 4E 153 (17th of Sun's Height)
      Age: 50
      Race: Bosmer

    • Primary Skills:
      • Light Armor
      • Archery
      • Lockpicking
      • Sneak
      • Conjuration
      • Alchemy

      Occupation: Hunter

    • Equipment: Elven Bow, Elven Dagger, a suit of Elven armor, a handful of poisons, various arrows, food items and small items of value that can be sold.
    Personal Matters

    • Appearance: Vallor is small of stature, standing at five feet tall exactly, and built like a runner more than a tank as Nords would be. His hair is silvery white and tied back from his face with a piece of leather most of the time, falling from the tamed hold and often obscuring his face while moving fast or in heavy combat. There is a slender quality to his face, cheekbones high and slightly more pronounced, and the skin on his more oval face is a tad lighter than the golden brown of the rest of his body. Both eyes are glittering pools of black that almost appear reddish brown when light hits them a certain way.

    • Personality:
      • Stubborn
      • Playful
      • Earnest
      • Adventurous
      • Witty
      • Tempermental

      Anything else: Vallor likes eating odd things, such as wolf or bear meat, and can only sometimes be prompted to eat more "normal" things when he finds himself in any sort of small settlement. He doesn't often hunt for deer and instead chooses to spend his time chasing after people or dangerous animals over the more docile creatures around him. The things he dislikes are vast and he can often appear to hate more than he actually does but he's generally straight-forward and easy enough to get along with so long as most of what he says isn't taken to heart.

    • History: Despite being a Bosmer, Vallor was not and has never been to Valenwood. He was born to a pair of rather peaceful Bosmer who lived in some wild land in Cyrodiil in the 4E 153. The first chance he got, he left his parents to begin exploring the world but a run-in with some bandits led him back home where he could train some before deciding to head out again. When he left the next time it was 4E 175, after Titus Mede II became emperor and the Great War had already been ended, and he began traveling around Cyrodiil. There was an instant like for hunting and tracking beasts he happened upon but the best thrill he got was in tracking down outlaws and bandits to gather the bounty placed on their heads.

      It was around the time Alduin returned when he found himself entering Skyrim and setting up an unofficial home for himself in a small shack he found in the woods northwest of Riverwood - after having killed the woman that was living there in an accident when he was caught stealing from her. The majority of his time is spent hunting and speaking with whomever he comes across to ease the loneliness he'd found clouding his life since leaving home. He's not looking for a purpose, for something or someone, and until he finds that he's going to keep hunting. People and beasts, for whoever wants someone dead or caught.
    • Creative Creative x 1
  12. ishiplovexhate

    ishiplovexhate New Member

    Dec 11, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Selena, but she just goes by Selene



    I made her to adapt to different stories easily so really with a tweak she could be anything, but I think her normal weapon style will be knives. And usually a rogue.

    She as bright red hair and green eyes. She has visible muscles but doesn't look at all bulky. She's gorgeous. She almost always wears golden ring with twin sapphires in the center.

    She was from a rich family in the Imperial City. She had a wonderful life and many people loved her. She did lots of dancing. (To this day she can never sit still. She always makes it look graceful though.) Eventually her father pressured her to get married so her husband could carry on the family line. (The daughters of the family line would have all their rights in the family go to the husband). She loved her groom very much and thought he felt the same way but he was actually in with her father. Not wanting to be trapped in a loveless marriage she left. Now she would make a name for herself and she wouldn't surrender anything of hers to someone else like her father wanted. The ring she wears is her engagement ring. Deep inside she stills loves her ex husband to be even if she hates him too.

    She's very good at manipulating her personality but when left to her own devices she brash and rude. Deep inside she's depressed and insecure both wanting love more then anything but also shunning it out of fear of heartbreak.

    She has a black cat named Clan (Since in different rps she'll be different ages, he'll be as well. His personality will differ slightly at different ages but no matter what age he's a mean cat in some way or another.

    She still dances and she's great at it. She can never keep still. But her constant motions don't look like jerky fidgeting but graceful, elegant dancing, of sorts.
  13. Zaiina

    Zaiina New Member

    Dec 20, 2014
    Likes Received:

    Zaina gra-Uzgrazhul
    19 year old female Orismer-Redguard
    [DATE OF BIRTH], The Lady, Stros M'Kai

    Faceclaim: Imaan Hammam


    SEXUALITY: Hetero/demisexual, meaning she only feels sexual attraction towards men if she has an emotional/romantic attachment to them. She's also very picky about looks.
    RELIGION: Sole devotion to Malacath

    CURRENT RESIDENCE: Travels Skyrim alone with her dog, Tivti. Sleeps where she can.
    OCCUPATION: Skooma dealer, thief
    AFFILIATION(S): Dushnikh Yal, skooma dealers
    POLITICAL VIEWS: Neutral, doesn't care


    Zaina is 6'2" and modelesque. Despite her race, her body is lean and toned, with a small waist and wide, muscular shoulders. She has chest-length, dark brown, thick, curly hair which she usually wears down. Her eyes are dark brown and she has a scar on her left eyebrow that she got from a knife fight when she was 15. Her teeth are white-ish and straight with two sharp lower canines.



    • One-handed blade (Adept)
    • Speech (Adept)
    • Lockpicking (Apprentice)
    • Athletics (Novice)
    • Pickpocket (Novice)
    • Two-handed blunt (Novice)
    • Persuasive; can talk her way out of almost any situation
    • Negotiation and barter are a strength
    • Observant
    • Intimidation, with both beauty and strength
    • Orcish sword
    • Orcish dagger

    • Lockpicks
    • Skooma
    • Moon Sugar
    • 1 or 2 vials of Sleeping Tree Sap
    • Various books ("The Code of Malacath", "The Buying Game", "An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim", "Thief of Virtue", "The True Nature of Orcs")
    • 1x Healing Potion
    • Food: cooked meat, berries, bread


    Lasinda - Mother, Redguard, currently lives in Sentinel.
    Bagac gro-Uzgramhul - Father, Orismer, dead.

    PERSONALITY: Tough, ruthless, fierce, quick-witted, graceful, and self-confident. She takes pride in both her Orismer and Redguard heritage and will get offended if you tell her she doesn't look like an Orc.

    INTERESTS: Literature, Redguard fashion, Hammerfell cuisine


    Zaina grew up with her parents in Stros M'kai. Her father, an Orc and a prominent drug lord, died from a skooma overdose when Zaina was 16. Her mother is a Redguard and now resides in Sentinel. She became involved in her father's work at the age of 13, dealing skooma and other substances and collecting money from unreliable customers, often having to kill. A year after her father died, she got in trouble with a vicious gang and fled to Skyrim for safety. Now she wanders from place to place, stealing what she needs from the wealthy and occasionally selling skooma and moon sugar on the road.

    Her voice is silky and quick with a what-would-be-South African accent. She has a weakness for boys she thinks are cute. She travels with her dog, Tivti (male):

    #1073 Zaiina, Dec 21, 2014
    Last edited: Dec 22, 2014
  14. DerkontheForum

    DerkontheForum New Member

    Jan 5, 2015
    Likes Received:
    Hi there I am new to this role playing thing so bare with me, I am doing this to add a little more flare to my current play through of Skyrim I am doing now.


    Name: Brandr 7
    Race: Nord
    Age: 26


    Father: Agnar
    Died in 4E 176 at the age of 33 while retaking Markarth in Ulfrics Militia

    Mother: Shawna
    Died in 4E 175 at the age of 28 while giving birth to Brandr

    Brother: Sten
    Died 4E 191



    Brandr lost both of his parents by the time he was one. Although from what his brother tells him their dad was a strong noble Nord, joining the militia to fight for the rights of the Nords in Skyrim, and a very good blacksmith too boot. Shawna, the mother of the boys, was a very fiery Nord woman and very outspoken proponent against the Thalmor occupation of Skyrim.

    Upon the death of their parents, Brandr and Sten were thrust into an orphanage at the ages of 1 and 10. Years passed with them still being orphans, be it because of Brandr's small un-Nord like frame or because of the boys troublesome shenanigans of thievery at the local market. Sten seeing things were not going to get better for them anytime soon, he decided it was time they set out on their own. So that they did, on a cold snowy night 16 year old Sten and 7 year old Brandr snuck out of that orphanage and ventured south.

    Having grown up in rural Skyrim the boys were well aware of the threats it poised, however had it not been for Hroa the Sten and Brandr would not have lasted more than a couple months out there. Hroa took the hungry scared boys under her wing after she saved them from a sabre cat attack in the wilderness outside of Riften. Hroa was unlike any Nord that Sten and Brandr knew of, she was more deadly with a bow than some of the best wood elves, she seamlessly blended in with nature and lived a secluded life in the forests of Skyrim. In fact very few people ever heard of Hroa and even fewer ever saw her in person, but those that had described her as a tall, lean Nordish woman in her early thirties, always carrying a bow and never being seen for very long. Hroa was more wood elf than some wood elves, if you will. It seemed as though she was a Nightingale, but the Nightingales don't exist so...

    Hroa looked after the boys, teaching them how to hunt, gather, respect nature and what it gives you, fear nature for what it hides in the shadows, she taught the boys how to survive like she had. Sten caught on to these teachings much more quickly than Brandr did, Sten was a much better shot with a bow, he was a much more capable hunter, learned quickly what the flora of Skyrim had to offer, build better campfires, you name it Sten was better at it. However this did not make Brandr try any harder, maybe he was too young to realize the severity of their situation, danger lurked around every corner, bandits roamed the country side looking for people to rob, the cold harsh climate of Skyrim was ready to kill at a moments notice.

    By the time that Sten and Brandr were 20 and 11 Hroa started take them on hunts with her, mostly deer and other wild game. However occasionally they would run into some of Skyrim's less friendly residents, but Hroa always handled it safely and swiftly. Brandr, unlike his brother, was always calm and collected when they got into these situations. It was almost like Brandr had something inside of him that made him block out the fear and allowed him to do what needed to be done, however when it came to spiders Brandr didn't want to get anywhere close to those creepy eight legged beasts.

    The group went on for 5 more years like this, traveling the countryside of Skyrim, hunting and gathering, growing very close to one another as if family. By this time boys had become quite good at what Hroa had first taught them, however Sten was clearly superior to Brandr. Hroa knew this and thus always kept Brandr close by her as if she knew the time would come when he would be thrust into the world by himself or maybe she saw some untapped potential that Brandr himself had yet realized. The Thalmor threat was becoming greater in Skyrim and Hroa decided it was time to head farther south, they headed through the mountains towards Cyrodiil. Before they could get too far they ran into a Thalmor patrol, knowing things may not go so good Hroa told the boys to hide. From the under a snow covered bush they watched their lives change again.

    Sten or Brandr don't know how the conversation went, but they do know that the 15 Thalmor troops drew their swords and started towards Hroa as if to arrest her. Before they knew what was happening Hroa was already shooting arrows, at that moment Sten and Brandr started out from under the bush and from the cover of shadows they let there arrows flying. All three were hitting with deadly accuracy, one down, two down, three, four. Sten glanced over had his baby brother and saw a looked in his eyes like he had been made for this kind of moment, like something in him finally clicked, he was unwavering under pressure. Brandr then glanced at Sten and there eyes meet, in away that was to say I love you brother we are going to be ok, and just at that moment a stray crossbow bolt struck Sten down. Brandr was in shock, but he knew he couldn't move, as it would give away his position, so he kept firing away till the last Thalmor had fallen. When Hroa had made sure that everything was safe she went to check on the boys only to find a 16 year old Brandr holding the lifeless body of his brother and when Brandr looked up at Hroa it was a looked filled with sadness, but not tears, a looked filled with anger and hatred, but not reckless revenge. Hroa and Brandr knew they had to move on quickly, so they buried Sten in the snow covered mountains and moved on.

    Ten years had passed, Hroa and Brandr had been living in the wilderness of Cyrodiil like that had always done. However Hroa was growing old and was ready to quit being nomadic. Also she saw that Brandr longed for his home nation, as they had heard news of a rebellion starting up, and Hroa had seen signs of nature getting ready for something big in the north. So Brandr set off, headed back to his homeland...


    He's independent
    > Probably because he was forced to live on his own at such a young age, with people he considered family. Doesn't ask for help from anyone.
    ---- No followers unless forced to have one

    Not quick to trust
    > Not having much interaction with many other people has a lot to do with this. Also, the fact that he has seen mostly the bad side of mankind out in the wilderness. However that does not mean he isn't willing to help others.

    Doesn't like big cities
    > Being raised in the woods will do that too you, but perhaps spending more time in them will allow him to grow more comfortable.

    Self provider
    > Able to hunt and gather food for himself.
    ---- Will not buy food or water from merchants

    Dislikes Imperials and High Elves
    > Dad fought for Ulfric and brother was killed by Thalmor

    Scared of spiders and big insects
    > Just creepy

    He's very leveled headed and does well under pressure
    > Some people are just born with it and some are not

    Hard to anger
    > Strange for a Nord, but he's not like other Nords


    > Marksmanship
    > Light Armor
    > Sneak
    > Wayfarer
    > Alchemy
    > Light Weaponry
  15. Castra Tanagra

    Castra Tanagra New Member

    Mar 1, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Character Bio

    Name: Crowe (Formerly Adrin Garethi)

    Race: Breton

    Class: (I have no clue)

    Gender: Male

    Age: 32
    Crowe 7.jpg
    Appearance: Tall for a Breton, with hazel eyes and dark-brown hair pulled back in a short tail, close-shaven beard, athletic musculature, quick and agile build, three small vertical scars on his left cheek, one large scar running from his left pectoral to his right hip, commonly seen wearing a hooded tunic made from leather and a steel ring mesh, along with matching gauntlets, boots and trousers.

    Personality: Agreeable and honourable enough, Crowe is nevertheless a quiet soul, and not entirely comfortable discussing his past. To most, he is surprisingly level-headed and intelligent for a man of his trade, displaying both patience and seriousness. However, when confronted by Reachmen, Crowe’s demeanour soon vanished, replaced by a nigh-uncontrollable anger which almost always leads to violence.
    He has been known to be humorous when prodded enough, but for the most part is considered serious and slightly forlorn.
    Once his trust and friendship are gained, he becomes fiercely loyal.

    Backstory: Born to Malcom and Maria Garethi, Adrin was the second son of the House, after his older brother Endon, the family’s heir. Schooled in the politics of High Rock from an early age, Adrin was initially put forward as a hopeful candidate for the Mage’s Guild in Cyrodiil, but was found to have a distinct lack of talent, even at such a young age. Dispirited by this turn of events, Malcom and Maria instead cast Adrin into the role of bodyguard and aide for his older brother, training him to be proficient in many forms of swordplay, as well as archery, under the tutelage of an Imperial veteran. Adrin took to his lessons attentively, and continued to study politics alongside things such as letters and numerals, and was also quietly tutored in the arts of subterfuge and assassination, in case the time should ever come when House Garethi needed a hidden blade. Even from an early age, Adrin was noted by most of the Household as being a quiet and serious boy.
    At the age of sixteen, Adrin had already become a proficient marksman and swordsman, able to strike a target from the other end of the estate’s courtyard, and hold his own against his combat tutor. Eventually Adrin was gifted with the twinned Katanas, Frostfall and Blistersteel, the weapons originally held by Brannigan Garethi, one of several House members who served in the Blades during the Oblivion Crisis, who used the family’s influence to erase himself from Imperial records before going into hiding after the slaughter at Cloud-Ruler Temple, sending his weapons home in secret to be passed down from generation to generation. Adrin was officially put into the role of Aide to his brother, one which he accepted. This role was short-lived, however, as a year later, at the age of eighteen, the family’s estate outside of Jehanna was raided, with many of the servants, staff and Guards slaughtered by Reachmen. With their parents caught in the raid, the two brothers gave their grievances. But whilst Endon’s mind turned to running the family’s political affairs, Adrin became brooding and angry, and soon set off in pursuit of the Reachmen, crafting himself a bow with which he swore to put down his family’s murderers.
    Adrin’s self-planned raid went badly, however, as his skills as an assassin had never manifested to their full extent, and he was subsequently swarmed by several Reachmen, giving him the distinct scars across his cheek and over his chest, and was left for dead in the middle of the road, where he was found, hours later, with crows pecking at his wounds, by a band of mercenaries known as the Blacklance, who took him in and subsequently healed him, giving him the name “Crowe” after the creatures they found chewing on his wounds.
    Crowe spoke little of his past, and instead was welcomed into the Blacklance and rode with them for a number of years, learning how to forge and fletch, how to hunt and pick locks, and moreover, the trade of a Mercenary. Slowly losing his original morals, Crowe became known as a stalwart mercenary, a man who was honourable enough, but often quiet and lost in himself.
    When the Blacklance took a job in Bravil, escorting a shipment of cargo from one ship to another, Crowe spoke out against the leaders of the Blacklance when he discovered the shipments were full of slaves and skooma. Several others also protested their distaste for the job, and a battle ensued between the two sides, ultimately resulting in the burning of both ships and the deaths of the slaves and many Black Lancers. Distraught by the destruction and fearing the pursuing authorities, the remaining Blacklance members went their separate ways, and Crowe returned to High Rock, taking up work for various clients until, eventually, a Nobleman from Daggerfall begged Crowe’s assistance in escorting him across the border into Skyrim after political strife in the courts. Once his job was complete, Crowe found ample reason to remain in Skyrim, with plenty of work for a mercenary, and so he remained, a very different man to the one who first left home…

    Skills: Swordplay (dual-wielding), archery, alchemy, smithing, lockpicking, fletching, hunting

    Weaknesses: The scar across his chest sometimes causes him great pain, he mixes a tonic to mute this pain as much as possible. If the scar were split open, it would bleed profusely. He also despises Reachmen, to the point of blind fury.

    Misc: Algar, a Husky pup that Crowe received as a gift from a farmer after taking out a wolf that was stalking said farmer’s flocks. Algar is irrevocably loyal to Crowe, but is generally the more fun out of the two.
    Weapons include a crossbow, twinned Katanas (Named Frostfall and Blistersteel), and a short hunting knife for fletching, skinning, etc.
    Makes enough money to get by, and owns a small property in Whiterun, though he rarely stays there.
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  16. General Charles Xander

    General Charles Xander General of the 11th Imperial Legion

    Sep 2, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Just a quick note: I will be editing this over time as Dalton becomes more unraveled. Just so you guys know ;)

    Trademark: Highly experienced warrior.

    Race: Nord

    Gender: Male

    Age: 54

    Birthplace: Cyrodiil

    Faction: Empire

    Status: General of the 11th Imperial Legion

    Religion: Nine Divines, mainly Stendarr and Akatosh.

    Personality: Dalton was raised to be kind, respectful and most of all observant. Dalton has a strong sense of Moral. Which means he is not afraid to sacrifice himself for others and/or the greater good. This results in him connecting strongly with people, wether publicly or choosing to keep to himself. He prefers the quite and will take the opportunity to have it if given the chance. Though he will remain in the public when having a drink or just merely enjoying the sound of innocence. Dalton will always question before killing. Preferring to understand the reasons of action before executing them, this has had him close to insubordination once, but his persistence always pays off.

    Observant- The longer Xander analyzes an individual, the faster he may find a weakness or opportunity.

    Good- Xander will almost always do the right thing.

    Resistant- Having been stabbed through the chest resulted in Xander being a bit more resistant to pain in his upper torso.

    Controlled- Whether on the battlefield or refusing the one extra bottle of mead, Dalton is patient and responsible at all times.

    Chivalrous- Being mostly raised by his mother, he was brought up to be a gentleman, seldom does he ever refuse the common courtesy.

    Likes: The Empire, skirmishes, duels, civilians, weapons, Argonian Ale, Honingbrew Reserve, hunting.

    Dislikes: Stormcloaks, Foresworn, Falmer.

    Hates: Aldmeri Dominion, Thalmor, Traitors.

    Backstory: Dalton Charles Xander was born and raised in Cyrodiil as an only child to a proud mother and father. Dalton's life was happy aside from his father rarely being home. His mother however was a housewife and raised him proudly. The times his father was home, he taught him how to fight and to kill. His father warned him that one day, he will need to take a life. He sat with his father on a hill outside the Imperial City carrying a case. After a quite talk, his father opened the case to reveal a thin, long, glowing red sword. His father told him that his grandfather weilded this sword as a member of The Blades. He told him that this blade recognizes his families blood and "chooses" to be owned only by them. His father gave him the blade. That is when his life took a turn.

    The Great War had started and the Empire had been taken by surprise. Years of conflict took place, but the Empire was clearly being overtaken. Dalton realized this and immediately went to enlist himself. His father was stationed in the city and disapproved of Dalton's enlistment. Quickly setting his emotion aside, his father finally allowed his son to become a soldier. It was to late however, as Dalton finally equipped his armor, the Thalmor had begun to siege the city. The Emperors evacuation had taken place and Dalton decided to follow the Blades escorting him. He managed to regroup with his father and the rest of the 8th Legion. When it was time to go, the gates opened and the fighting begun. The 8th was being demolished and the numbers thining quickly. Dalton managed to kill a few, but without much combat training and experience, he didn't stand much of a chance. Dalton was run through by an Aldmeri soldier. Just before he was about to be finished, his Father slew the Elf. His father glanced at his bleeding son for but a moment, until he received two arrows in the chest. Dalton watched his father fall and die. Shocked at the events that have taken place, he stared into nothingness until he realized someone was trying to heal him. He looked up to see an Imperial Healer tending to him. The healer not fully finished, brought Dalton to his feet and tried to retreat. While limping away, Dalton fell. He looked up to see that his healer had been impaled through the throat by an ice spike. Dalton unable to move, looked forward to see the Emperor himself looking at him with defeated and torturing disbelief in his eyes. Before the Emperor could do anything, his Bodygaurds moved him and pushed him along. Dalton's vision was blurred and he slipped into darkness.

    He woke up in the dense cool of night. Looking around he saw only bodies and blood. In the distance, he could see the city burning. Dalton managed to turn over and see his father. As cold as ice, his father still warmed his heart but left only sorrow. He crawled to his dad and said his goodbye's. He took his fathers sword, and limped off to follow the others. For hours he walked, limped, crawled his way to the camp. When he arrived, he collapsed of exhaustion and the Emperors bodyguards took him to be healed. The next day, he was called up by the Emmperor and promoted to Legate. Dalton refused, but was given it anyway. When the Day came to take back the city, he was ready. He was stationed with the 11th Legion and when the battle of Red Ring had finally been won, he knew he had his revenge. He had been promoted to General and set in charge of the 11th Legion where he is stationed today.

    Bloodbane: Bloodbane is one of the two sister blade swords in Xander's arsenal. It was given to him by his father Cornelius Xander and also Ulfgerd Xander before him. At the moment not much of Bloodbane's history is known, but it is rumored that it was blessed or cursed via the death of a master vampire and was cooled from its fiery enchantment at the throat of the world, resulting in a blood chilling effect on the blade.
    Effects: Absorb Health and ice damage.

    Windscourge: Windscourge's history is just as mysterious as her sisters, but they do share a similar past. Taken from his fallen father during the Great War, it is known to make the target fatigue as well as provide an electrical shock through the targets nerves.
    Effects: Absorb Stamina and electrical damage.

    Sahiel: Sahiel's origin was completely burned and destroyed in the sacking of the Imperial city. It was obtained and given to General Dalton Xander as compensation for his participation in the Great War. Most of its abilities are somewhat mysterious, however there have been some recording's of its abilities. One of the powers seems to barricade the user or a certain area for a prolonged amount of time. Another ability it seems to have is to be able to repel most spells or powers from other beings and keeping the user safe from harm. It's final known ability is to be able to self combust in a blue fiery explosion up to 60 feet wide. Anything within the area of explosion seems to dissipate immediately. This however is the result of pushing Sahiel to it's near maximum power. These are just a few of the known abilities that it has. Future recordings are currently being analyzed. Unfortunately these abilities appear to come at a cost. With each prolonged ability activated the cross seems to lose power overtime. When the power of the cross is fully drained, it's central soul gem must be replaced otherwise it is rendered useless.

    Volon: Volon is a gilded wrist-like crossbow implemented onto Dalton's left forearm. Naturally due to it's decreased size, it's power is reduced. With numerous augmentations however, it can penetrate iron armor. Nothing beyond that unfortunately.

    Snowstagger: Snowstagger was given to General Dalton Xander by the family of a medic that once tried to save his life during the Great War, for sending his condolences. Snowstagger was forged from Dwarvin metal ingots in the cold city of Windhelm in EastMarch.

    Prolium: Prolium is a steel greatsword that Xander rarely uses, however it is on his person. It has the ability to inflict scalding heat on to a foe.

    General Dalton Xander is not a skilled battle mage, however he is moderate in using destruction magic. Though he prefers ice and fire over electricity.

    Note: it should be known of Xander's helmet enchantment that allows him to breath perfectly in any situation.
    • Like Like x 1
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  17. AndgerTheNord

    AndgerTheNord Member

    Dec 16, 2014
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    Name-Andger Stormblade
    Race-Nord Werebear
    Appearance-Unusually Tall, with long blonde hair and ice blue eyes, weres a full set of ebony armor with an ebony sword and shield.
    Personality-Very grim, and enjoys drinking and brawling
    Weapons-Ebony Sword of Vampirism, Ebony Shield of Shock Suppression, uses fireball at long range and also uses Ironflesh and Frost Cloak, knows the shouts Unrelenting Force, Disarm, and Dismay
    Bio-Grew up to worship Talos, and to be a great warrior. Andger works as a sellsword, starting off from pitty bounties that only paid a few septims, to guarding the Black Briars, and being paid thousands per job. He hates the thalmor and the ban against Talos, yet despises the Stormcloaks racist and xenophobic veiws against non nords after his altmer godmother was killed after being suspected for being a thamlor spy.
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  18. AndgerTheNord

    AndgerTheNord Member

    Dec 16, 2014
    Likes Received:
    Oh I forgot he is his own class,(Block, one handed, heavy armor, destruction and alteration)
  19. ⁌balomew⁍

    ⁌balomew⁍ Member

    Feb 1, 2015
    Likes Received:
    basic details

    Full name, alias, title:

    For nineteen years in High Rock, this character was known as Mhairi Jealhard. Her name has changed a second time, this time at the beginning of the dragon crisis in Skyrim. For the time being, she goes by the name Lesli Wallace. She has no current aliases other than “Breton” or “girl.”

    Gender, race, age in years:
    Lesli is a woman. As quoted from the website Call of Time, "Note that in Tamriel, Earth's medieval gender roles are practically nonexistent." Therefore, Lesi sex in any province should not raise any eyebrows unless noted otherwise. Lesli is a Breton. Bretons are the half-breeds of the Nedic and Aldmer peoples. The elven blood has since diminished. Bretons are naturally skilled in magic and are renouned for bizarre traditions and lethal court intrigue. Due to her manmeri blood, Lesli's ears are slightly pointed.

    Age, date of birth, birthsign:
    Unfortunately, Bretons do not inherit elven longevity. Lesli is currently twenty-three (23) years old. She was born on the 2nd of Frostfall, 4E 179. The Tower constellation reigns highest in the sky during the month of Frostfall. Those born under the Tower sign share a gift with locks and for finding valuable objects.

    personal details

    Sexuality, religion:
    Lesli considers herself to be heteosexual. Her religion consists of the Nine Divines and three specific deities. Akatosh teaches that endurance in politics - an important trait in High Rock nobility - results in success. She respects and is academically interested in Magnus, god of sorcery and architect of Nirn. Sheor is the Breton god that is the source of all strife. He is thought to be a demonic version of the Nordic god Shor, and was born during the dark years after the fall of Saarthal. Lesli is likely to blame Sheor for any unnatural coincidences. This section is subject to change due to encounters that may give her reason to question her sexuality or religion.

    Current residence:
    Lesli does not currently have a permanent residence in Skyrim. Until she finds such a place, she will spend nights at the inn or on the road. It is for this reason that she keeps a leather tent, firewood, linen wraps, apples and water in her backpack when planning to travel. At inns, she is likely to socialize lightly with residents, but not other travelers.

    Lesli is not currently afflicted by any diseases, mental afflictions or other health issues. This section is subject to change due to encounters in which Lesli might contract an affliction.

    Occupation, affiliations:
    For much of her life, Lesli has wondered what happens to the souls that, theoretically, are recycled into their given race's respected afterlife. Lesli has long since adopted an interest in the magics and functions of draugr as they relate to Sovngarde, one supposed afterlife. She has not and does not intend to explore Nordic burial crypts alone. She is interested only in the functionality of magic, the power of Magnus, not its destructive or constructive uses. In short, Lesli is a scholar on the theory of magic as it relates to draugr. Her experience with magic as a Breton allows her to recognize enchantments on armor pieces, jewelry and weapons. Before she crossed the border into Skyrim, she was a student in the theory of magic. She is currently in contact with, and a student at, the College of Winterhold.

    Political views:
    As a general rule, Lesli leaves the politics regarding the civil war to the natives of Skyrim. In High Rock, Lesli was born and raised around political intrigue. It is because of this political intrigue that Lesli is now in Skyrim, having changed her name twice in about four years. She finds the presence of political struggle in Skyrim to be relatively normal, albeit lacking in flavor. The Bretons are renowned for utilizing politics as a form of warfare; Lesli is no exception. However, it is her incompetence in the political Game that has caused her such strife and ousted her from her homeland. Her political dexterity has been weakened during the years she has spent away from Breton society. Lesli's political views will be further developed later on through in-character interactions.

    Physical details:
    Appearance is very important in High Rock, as it reflects your social status. Mhairi is meticulous about her appearance, and takes insults to her appearance close to heart. She works only with her natural appearance. She believes that nobody is truly ugly unless they mistreat their appearance. She keeps her armor clean and may spend many hours caring for a weapon or shield. To Lesli, this is as much a spiritual habit as it is simple cleansing.

    Physically, Lesli is capable. Like most carriors, she is keen on utilizing exercise to keep her body fit and prepared for battle. This was also a key factor in High Rock society, as letting oneself go "soft," including at an old age, was looked down upon. Imperials are renowned for allowing their elderly to become disabled. Imperials are generally looked down upon by Bretons, including Lesli, for this reason. Keeping your body in shape is as important as keeping your mind clear of illusions.

    Lesli has gone through numerous physical transformations since she left High Rock. Since she entered Skyrim, she cut her straight, dull, dark-brown hair so that it touches her shoulders. She has light grey eyes and an oval-shaped face. A scar mars the right side of her face; it angles diagonally so that it cuts from under her right cheekbone to the right side of her chin. Below is a URL of Lesli's face and the upper portion of her armor (Apotheus armor from the Immersive Armors mod):


    Major skills:
    ✕ One-handed
    ✕ Light armor
    ✕ Alteration

    Minor skills:
    ✕ Restoration
    ✕ Speech
    ✕ Pickpocket

    Favored spells:
    ✕ Alteration ✳ Novice ✳ Candlelight
    ✕ Alteration ✳ Novice ✳ Equilibrium
    ✕ Alteration ✳ Apprentice ✳ Magelight
    ✕ Alteration ✳ Adept ✳ Detect Life
    ✕ Alteration ✳ Adept ✳ Ironflesh
    ✕ Restoration ✳ Novice ✳ Healing
    ✕ Restoration ✳ Novice ✳ Lesser ward

    Cyrodiilic steel sword
    ✕ Iron tanto
    ✕ Iron hunting knife

    ✕ Apotheus armor
    ✕ Apotheus boots
    ✕ Apotheus gauntlets
    ✕ Linen hood
    ✕ Nordic Imperial light shield
    ✕ Burlap cloak
    ✕ Black wolf-fur knapsack

    Knapsack items:
    ✕ Small leather tent, 1 bedroll

    ✕ Food rations consisting mostly of apples
    ✕ 2 large steel water canteens
    ✕ Burlap emergency health kit


    A minor house in High Rock (Wayrest), the Jealhard family deals with foreign trade. High Rock tradition demands that all houses remain politically active. A proud native Breton, Mhairi's father worked her and her family hard to ensure that this remains so. For nineteen years, she was pushed to uphold the standards of her well-to-do father. He was a stern man, kind at times. She could not look at him and call him father as would a pampered Imperial child. High Rock looks down upon weakness in the family. The houses have no time for smiles and sweetcakes. He talked down to his children and often yelled, but he never physically harmed Mhairi or her younger brother. Her father fought battles with words, not violence.

    Her brother did not always see eye-to-eye with his father's means of action, but he always approved of the reasons for action. His patience underranked his father's, but they shared in Breton pride and ambition. Her brother acted much like their father, but he was not a bad man. Like the Altmeri racial pride, her father and brother believed that manmeri were the best of the races, destined to fight for dominance. The Aldmeri Dominion were violent in their mission; this is why they will fail, and the more subtle approaches of the Bretons will succeed. Her father was quieter about his beliefs, less bold about them than her brother was. Mhairi did not follow their beliefs. The races were created to be separate and peaceful, not cooped into an Empire. She dislikes practically everything about the Imperials, from their customs to the Empire itself. Nonetheless, where her father and brother believed that war leads to prosperity for High Rock, she believed that peace benefits all races.

    Their mother worked on trade ships at the main harbor to deliver and retrieve foreign shipments. She spent most of her time at home. Mhairi treasured the time that her mother was home; it was a breath of fresh air, up until her father coops her in their bedroom. She could hear them whispering beyond the door.

    Like most native Bretons, Lesli was schooled privately. At a young age, she showed interest in magical theory. Where her brother treasured competition, Mhairi preferred progressing at her own rate without a win-lose chance. She was not particularly popular amongst the lesser houses, nor was she disliked.

    When she was nineteen (19) years old, Mhairi was separated from her family and removed from High Rock. It was no secret that she was interested in the magical structure of Nirn and, in this case, the magical functions of the afterlife. Her father had gone to a council meeting and left her and her brother at the family home. Her mother was bound to be home in a few hours, and her brother had locked himself into his bedroom. Unable to stay within the house and tempted by the clear outside weather, she left the house and headed towards the town square.

    She wandered around the neighborhood marketplace, browsing wares. Several hours later, she began to return home, hoping that her mother might be there when she returns. Upon returning home, she found her mother speaking to three guards at the front door. Mhairi does not like speaking of this. She was framed for the murder of a male Nord. His name was Haldir, and he had been here long enough to be considered part of Wayrest culture. His corpse had been found on a street corner that she had passed on the way home but did not pass through. Somebody had to take the blame. Her father was furious, and for once Mhairi truly feared for her safety at his hands. Her brother was silent; her mother could not keep silent. Two days later, Mhairi was moved from a temporary cell in Wayrest to a boat to Anvil, Cyrodiil. Most criminals were kept at the prison, but it was currently going under reconstruction. To provide herself the hope of starting life anew away from her family and High Rock, she changed her name to something more Imperial - to Lesli Wallace.

    Lesli hated Cyrodiil, although the land itself held a certain charm. She avoided large Imperial settlements and settled in at a small northwestern town. She received her facial scar when travelling from Anvil to Chorrol; the mage that wielded the knife, desperate as she was and garbed in a black robe, fell to a gut wound. Like many things, Lesli did not question the reason for the attack. Why bother? Chorrol became what Wayrest could not be for her. She found work as a tavern wench and had an interest in becoming a bard. She trained from time to time at the local Fighter's Guild, as bards need to be able to handle themselves legitimately in combat. She had been trained in High Rock; techniques in Cyrodiil with a blade and small blunt weapons were vastly different than they were in High Rock. She adapted to the Cyrodiilic fighting style, although she was never truly comfortable.

    She spent much time at the local Mage's Guild, spending most of three years covering her homesickness with work on understanding magical theory. As much a home as Chorrol had been for her, she was still unhappy in Cyrodiil. She sold the house, gathered her notes, and attempted to legally cross the border to the province Chorrol was closest to: Hammerfell. She was caught by Imperial authorities. There were apparently some lasting conflicts between Redguard rebels and Imperial soldiers defending the White-Gold Concordat; despite the Hammerfell treaty, some were still unhappy.

    Lesli then attempted to cross the border to Skyrim. Oddly enough, there were no Imperial patrols here. She had not heard of the new civil war in Skyrim. Mhairi did not have the misfortune of being ambushed with Stormcloak rebels. Technically, she was an illegal foreigner, but she did not see things this way. She was now in Skyrim, and interested to see what it can offer her.

    It seemed to be either too cold or too hot. The smaller towns held nothing of interest to her, and the majority of large settlements were just not befitting. Word of dragons began to circulate; she pushed it off as stupid Nordic superstition. Recently, Lesli was informed that Solitude was a more Imperial settlement in Skyrim, where the sun shines warmly, most of the time. It was expensive, though. Figuring that expensive was better than cold or covered in mosquitos, she is currently preparing for a trek to Solitude.
    • Like Like x 1
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    #1079 ⁌balomew⁍, Feb 2, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 9, 2015
  20. Nocte Aeterna

    Nocte Aeterna Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Film

    Jan 29, 2012
    Likes Received:
    I've really been itching to get back into RP'ing, so...

    Basic Information

    Name: Neleras Imayn

    Race: Dunmer (Dark Elf)

    Gender: Male

    Age: 51 (though due to the longer natural lifespan of elven races, appears about 25-27)

    Date of Birth: 21st of First Seed, 4E 150

    Place of Birth: Raven Rock, Solstheim

    Birthsign: The Lord

    Personal Information

    Height: 5’10” (177.8 cm)

    Weight: 162 lbs (73.5 kg)

    Build Type: Average physique with decent athletic ability.

    Eye Color: Crimson

    Hair Color: Black

    Skin Color: Ashen gray that appears to gleam a sort of metallic silver when under appropriate lighting

    Physical Appearance: [​IMG]

    Sexuality: Heterosexual/Demisexual

    Religion: Non-practicing, but occasionally acknowledges the Eight Divines. He is indifferent to Daedric influence.

    Occupation: Archaeologist

    Marital Status: Single (and ready to awkwardly mingle)

    Current Residence: Windhelm, Gray Quarter (unofficially; usually rents a room at the New Gnisis Cornerclub)

    Political Views: In general, Neleras does not care for the politics of Skyrim, mainly because he does not tolerate racism or prejudice of any kind. Thus, he strongly dislikes the “true Nord” archetype, and attempts to avoid any contact with them whenever possible.

    Diseases/Ailments: None

    Family Information

    Father: Malani Imayn (4E 98 – 4E 164; died in mining accident)

    Mother: Verusha Imayn (4E 106 – 4E 199; died while still fairly young from disease)

    Siblings: Aldaril Imayn (brother; 4E 146 – 4E 166; died in adventuring accident), Eranis Imayn (brother; born 4E 148), Reymi Imayn (sister; born 4E 155)


    Positive Traits: Intelligent, resourceful, intuitive, loyal, witty, curious, caring

    Negative Traits: Sarcastic, brooding, occasionally pessimistic, slow to trust, sensitive, easily angered

    Interests: History, reading, writing, cooking, traveling/exploring, magic

    Other Trivia: Neleras has a pronounced fondness for cheese and foreign liquor. He also loathes it when people call his work “boring”.

    Combat Information

    Alignment: Chaotic Good

    Class: Spellblade

    Affiliations/Factions: College of Winterhold (as a scholarly reference rather than an actual member)

    Laterality: Right-handed

    Major Skills: Alteration, Illusion, One-Handed, Destruction

    Minor Skills: Light Armor, Restoration, Enchanting

    Combat Style: Neleras unites sword and spell almost flawlessly. He is effective at both distance and melee combat alike, though he falters at blocking oncoming blows due to having a spell in the offhand instead of a shield. Thus, he relies on dodging and advanced mobility instead, making Light Armor his favored form of protection. He is highly proficient in three schools of magic (Alteration, Illusion, and Destruction) and fairly decent in one (Restoration), but he is by no means a pure mage, leaving him outclassed by some of the more elite “pure” arcane wielders. To compensate for this, he is an excellent swordsman and duelist in addition to being quite gifted with magic.

    Gear and Inventory

    Primary Weapon: Ignistongue (Elven Sword with Fiery Soul Trap enchantment)

    Secondary Weapon: Feasting Fang (Elven Dagger with Absorb Health enchantment)

    Favored Spells: Ironflesh (sometimes Ebonyflesh), Paralyze, Frenzy, Fear, Invisibility (rarely; Neleras cannot hold the spell for longer than about 15 seconds, but is actively trying to improve this), Chain Lightning, assorted runes

    Favored Element: Lightning

    Armor: Elven Gilded Armor, Elven Gauntlets, Elven Helmet, Elven Boots, Amulet of Magicka, Ring of Magicka Regen

    Inventory: Aforementioned weapons and armor, healing potions (health, stamina, and magicka), food, waterskin, a few lightweight books and scrolls


    The Imayn family had once been one of Vvardenfell’s most powerful kinsfolk. They bore close ties to the Great Dunmer House of Hlaalu, and primarily made their home in the Hlaalu-controlled city of Balmora in its High Town district. These distant ancestors of Neleras had lived a life of wealth and luxury, having numerous stakes in various economical ventures over the years. Their primary trade, however, was in textiles and clothing, where they oversaw the production of fine robes and linens for high-ranking officials and nobles, with a notable example being members of House Hlaalu.

    But as history would have it, unfortunately, this period of prosperity would be marred by turmoil; namely, the infamous eruption of Vvardenfell’s Red Mountain in 4E 5, which caused the Odai River to nearly swallow Balmora whole. The few surviving Imayns that had been spared by the catastrophe had fled Morrowind in a huff, seeking refuge among fellow Dunmer on the then-Skyrim-controlled island of Solstheim. With their riches gone, the family was forced into a less lucrative profession: mining in the frontier town of Raven Rock. Despite the fact that Solstheim was given to the Morrowind government in 4E 16, the Imayns still struggled to prosper in the mining business.

    This struggle in lesser living conditions would persist even after Neleras Imayn’s birth in 4E 150. Though he was born into a poverty-stricken incarnation of a once-revered Dunmeri family, the family itself was tight-knit and close. Neleras lived with his parents, two older brothers, and younger sister in Raven Rock, where his father was one of the settlement’s premier miners and his mother an alchemist. Initially, Neleras’ childhood was enjoyable. He played with his three siblings and other local youth almost constantly, though he was often protective of his younger sister Reymi, who was five years his junior and had been born with a stutter, which she was often teased for.

    As a young elven boy, Neleras had a wide variety of interests. He enjoyed reading immensely; the texts he read often spoke of brave adventurers or scholars exploring tombs, crypts, and other areas that housed ancient artifacts, which greatly interested Neleras ever since he was first able to read said texts. Despite his bookish tendencies, he also felt strongly enough about socializing and playing games with friends and family that he could be persuaded to put whatever he was poring over down once in a while. This relatively cheerful time period coupled with the family usually being able to provide for themselves gave Neleras a largely jovial and heartfelt demeanor in his single-digit years and early teens.

    One evening in the late 4E 150s, Neleras’ father, Malani, returned from the mines with an odd purple-tinged gemstone in hand, having stumbled upon it while prospecting for ebony. It turned out to be a small amethyst, which could have been sold for a decent amount of coin. Although the rest of the family did in fact intend to sell it (given their financial situation), Neleras, who was awestruck and fascinated by the fact that such aesthetically pleasing pieces could be found in mines and tombs, persuaded them to keep it for himself; he still wears the gem on an amulet to this day, as he considers it his first “find”. Along with being a devout book-a-holic, this experience convinced Neleras that his future might lie in archaeology and history rather than in the trite manual labor associated with mining or farming.

    4E 164 changed the family, however, and not in a good way. In Midyear of that year, Malani was killed in a partial mine collapse from which he could not escape from in time. Since Neleras’ father was generally the voice of reason in the family and usually resolved any conflict that they might have had, the grief they felt in the wake of his death was both palpable and surreal. The aftermath proved taxing on the remaining Imayns; a rift quickly formed in the deteriorating household. Financial ruin due to their primary source of income being taken away. The mine officials and town guards alike both refusing to pay any sort of restitution. Emotional turmoil and bitter arguments over seemingly minor things being blown out of proportion. Etcetera, etcetera. Reymi and Neleras had become withdrawn and depressed, while Eranis and Aldaril would periodically have conversations that would culminate in shouting matches and (on some occasions) physical altercations. But unfortunately for Verusha Imayn, the remaining parent of the family, her husband’s death coupled with her alchemy business on the verge of failing caused her to turn to skooma and alcohol in the following months, and the once-caring mother who could previously provide for her kin with relative ease suddenly became abnormal, paranoid, and abusive.

    The next six years seemed to drag on slower than a horker’s crawl. The family grew even more impoverished, and Verusha would routinely be too sick to work. In addition, her fury began to mount even more. The Imayn children, though nearly old enough to live out on their own, decided to take matters into their own hands. Neleras, whose interest in archaeology persisted, would often go on short excursions with his eldest brother Aldaril, who taught him how to wield a sword. Though the duo seldom found anything more than ash spawn residue, the adventures still provided them much relief from the stress caused by living at home, and whetted Neleras’ wanderlust appetite ever so slightly.

    In Sun’s Dusk of 4E 170, however, things took a turn for the worse once more. After a particularly difficult day involving two verbal conflicts with his mother, Neleras and Aldaril then began to argue amongst themselves. Aldaril accused Neleras of not putting forth enough effort towards caring for their mother, whereas Neleras noted that Aldaril was defending her simply to get onto her good side. The altercation began verbally, then escalated towards physically. It ultimately reached a fever pitch when, in response to Aldaril pulling a knife on him, something odd happened to Neleras. His hands had suddenly begun to glow a pale blue color, pulsating with the sparks of arcane lightning. Bewildered in the face of danger, Neleras panicked, causing his fingertips to shoot out a powerful yet poorly articulated lightning bolt spell. The out-of-control blitz struck Aldaril squarely in the chest, the impact of which flung him headfirst into the hard stone wall, killing him instantly.

    The town guards, who had heard the commotion, arrested the tearful Neleras in what seemed like a heartbeat. As he was led away from the household in bindings, he kept his eyes closed, unable to look at the remainder of his family, for he had erected them an insurmountable wall of shame. He was thrown into Raven Rock’s prison, where he would serve a life sentence. Though the verdict was steep, it was necessary, since Neleras could not control his newfound magical powers.

    Neleras spent the next year as well as one would expect; broken, ashamed, and fearful. He initially passed the time in his cell by imagining different ways to escape until he was permitted a quill and parchment. After that, he wrote tirelessly. Though the temptation to write an apology letter to his family crossed his mind constantly, he decided against it every time. Instead, he wrote memoirs, incantations, and whatever else he thought of. Whatever would pass the time, even though time always stood still in prison.

    Fourteen months into his prison sentence, Neleras received a cellmate: an Imperial thief by the name of Naevius Vinicius, who had been caught while trying to sabotage a shipment of sujamma from Morrowind (allegedly, because he had “wanted to try some of that foreign stuff”). Though Neleras and Naevius were distrustful of each other at first, they gradually became friendlier over the course of several days.

    Two weeks later, Naevius revealed that he had smuggled in a set of lockpicks, and that he had waited as long as he did to tell Neleras so that he could trick the guards into a sense of complacency. The two prisoners agreed to plan a jailbreak scheme; Neleras vowed to leave Raven Rock and never return, and Naevius would stowaway on a ship to Skyrim or Morrowind, where he would eventually attempt to return to Cyrodiil. The plan was hatched late one night, and Neleras and Naevius successfully snuck out of prison without attracting the attention of the city guard (though to be fair, the prison warden had fallen asleep). The duo then raided a nearby armory for weapons and armor (unguarded due to it being off-hours), and bid each other farewell not long after.

    Alone in the Solstheim wilderness, Neleras spent several weeks living off the land, attempting to distance himself as far away from Raven Rock as possible. He survived mainly on a not-so-steady diet of scathecraw and ash hopper jelly. His travels eventually led him to Tel Mithryn, the hub for the magic-centered House Telvanni, which he had read about numerous times over the years. Convinced that this place would help him refine and control his magical abilities, he pled with the sardonic and condescending Master Neloth to take him under his wing as an apprentice. Though it took some convincing (and lots of senseless steward-oriented tasks), Neloth reluctantly agreed.

    In total, Neleras spent eight years in Tel Mithryn, though it only took him one year to bring his magical abilities under control with the instruction of Neloth. He then spent the remaining seven years assisting him with research, honing his interest in history and ancient artifacts. He explored various ruins and crypts on the Solstheim mainland, such as Kagrumez, Nchardak, and Vahlok’s tomb. This was a time of enlightenment and moral development for Neleras; he realized over the course of this period that although he could not atone for his grave mistake, he could still pursue his lifelong aspirations in spite of it.

    In 4E 180, Neleras and Neloth decided to part ways. With Neleras now being a full-fledged researcher and historian, he decided that the crux of his work laid beyond the borders of a small, refugee-populated island. Thus, with all of his belongings in tow, he boarded a ship to the Morrowind mainland, eager to explore his own culture first.

    Neleras spent the next two decades thoroughly exploring everything he deemed worthy of investigation, which ultimately led him all over Tamriel. In Morrowind, he unearthed several prominent artifacts that were thought to have been lost to the eruption of Red Mountain. In Cyrodiil, he discovered a tomb that still had virtually all of its treasures and offerings intact. In Hammerfell, he wrote a book about a mysterious desert mirage that seemed to appear to certain Redguards throughout history. In High Rock, he worked with a court wizard to unearth a long-lost staff with numerous mystical properties.

    His travels brought him to Skyrim during the tail-end of 4E 196, where he currently is doing research on the many Draugr crypts and Dwemer ruins that dot its landscape.
    #1080 Nocte Aeterna, Feb 3, 2015
    Last edited: Feb 7, 2015

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