This is my first character card in a while. I hope it isn't too long.
Name: Swain
Age: 24
Sex: Male
Race: Half Redguard, Half Nord
Position: Enlisted/ Recruit
Birthplace: Hammerfell
Current Residence: The wilderness surrounding Helgen
Alliances or Affiliations: N/A
Occupation: No previous occupation, but experienced as a hunter.
Appearance: 6’2”, 200 pounds. The bastard son of a Redguard merchant, Swain is a man with the skin of a redguard. From his birth, Swain has been incapable of growing hair on any part of his body, including his head. His eyes are green, and over his left eye is a small scar, a reminder of the first street fight of his youth.
Personality: Having been orphaned as a child, Swain is an introvert. He rarely speaks, even to those that he considers to be his closest friends. He can be rather cruel and coldhearted, as well as immature in his thoughts. He is decent with a bow, and fairly skilled with a sword, though he has had no formal training.
History: Swain's mother, a Nord from Falkreath, had been convinced by Swain's father to leave with him for Hammerfell, under the pretense that they would be married. The couple set off on their journey, deeply in love with one another, searching for a place to call home. All was well for six months. When she told the man that she was with child, he revealed the shady details of his life to the woman, revealing that he was already married, and had a family to provide for already. Gisla and her unborn son were left to die in a strange land. Swain was born on a warm night in the city of Sentinel, his mother dying after giving birth.
From the moment of his birth, Swain was moved from orphanage to orphanage, wondering why his parents hadn't wanted him. He tried his hardest to be like the other kids. He ran and jumped and skipped with the best of them, but to no avail. Finally, after years of trying, Swain succeeded in getting adopted. He and his new family set off for their home in Markarth, but small luxuries, such as family and love, were not in the cards for Swain. At the tender age of eight, Swain witnessed the murder of his adoptive parents as they crossed the border into Skyrim. He watched in horror as the bandits abused his mother, verbally and sexually. He watched as they skinned his father.
He was then taken by the bandits to later be sold to the highest bidder. Luckily enough, the bandits did not live long enough to find such a bidder. A year after his abduction, when he was nine, Swain stood witness as a nord named Beua brutally murdered the bandits, stripping them of all of their possessions. Swain wanted nothing more than to accompany his savior in his travels, but the Nord would hear nothing of it. Beau promptly escorted Swain to the Honorhall Orphanage in the Rift.
This orphanage wasn’t even vaguely similar to the orphanages of Hammerfell. While in Hammerfell, the caretakers neglected the orphans unintentionally, this Grelod the Kind seemed to hate the children. She often beat them, and they never saw any prospects or potential parents.
Eventually, Swain decided that he had had enough. Seven years after having arrived at Honorhall, he had finally decided to leave. He was sixteen, and while he was far older than most other orphans, Grelod had continued to keep him locked up in the orphanage with the others. In the dark of the night, he snuck out of the orphanage, and the Rift, heading west, away from Grelod, and hopefully, toward a new, bright future.
Unfortunately, a bright future was not intended for a boy such as Swain. Soon after his departure from the Rift, the Stormcloak army fell to the Empire, and as a result, a plethora of new, harsh restrictions were put over the people of Skyrim. The young man, sixteen years of age, traveled across the province, witnessing the oppression of many families. He watched as their homes were taken, their crops ravaged, and their spirits destroyed. For eight years he tolerated these conditions, but finally he had decided that something had to be done for these people. The red-nord traveled to Helgen, where he had been told small coalitions of troops were mustering to oppose the imperial oppression.
Roleplaying Sample: (Taken from a fanfic that I started a few months ago.)
The sky was grey as clouds of rain drifted over Whiterun. Besides the clouds, the sky was empty; no birds, no butterflies, no sun. Halvor walked slowly, nearly overrun with grief. Today, he buried a friend.
He walked in and out of Dragonsreach, coming to the landing where Numinex and Odahviing had been captured. Outside, there were twenty or thirty men and women, mostly nords. At the end of the balcony was a small scaffold. On the scaffold was his friend, surrounded by several other people who were close to him.
Halvor slowly approached the scaffold. As he passed, he could hear the people’s sobs and moans. He could feel their pain. He knew what they had lost, and what this man was to them. He looked at the children of the deceased. There were two sons and a daughter, all three weeping silently for their father. He looked at their uncle, a warrior and a man, now brought nearly to tears by the sight of his dead brother.
Halvor climbed the stairs to the scaffold and faced the people of Whiterun. “All of you know who I am,” he started. “Some of you call me Dragonborn, others of you call me Harbinger. You know me as the slayer of Alduin, and as leader of the companions, but how many of you can say that you have known me as a man and a nord? How many of you can say that you’ve sat by my side and ate a meal, or have even held a conversation with me? None of you can. The only man in Whiterun who truly knew me now lies here before all of us, dead. ”
“Jarl Balgruuf and I were great friends, and with him lie all of the things that he believed in. But how many of you know what Balgruuf stood for? Many of you knew nothing of Balgruuf, past his title. You weep for a man that you did not know. And why is that? This man never once shook your hands or held your children. The only time that many of you even saw this man was during his speeches. Perhaps you weep because you are afraid of the Stormcloaks, and others may be afraid of the Imperials. Maybe you are afraid of the Thalmor. Perhaps you weep because those around you weep. But no matter the reason, you are not weeping for this man. You weep because you fear the future that he has left you. But why should this one man have been responsible for protecting all of you? Why can you not stand together and fight alongside one another? Why can you not set aside your petty arguments and allegiances? Balgruuf spent the last part of his life trying to keep Whiterun out of the civil war, but the City itself seems to be in a civil war of its own. Be a citizen of Whiterun first, and of the Empire second! Be a citizen of Whiterun first and a son of Skyrim second.” Halvor’s voice cracked on the last word. He cleared his throat and turned from the crowd, fighting back tears. He sat next to Hrongar who patted him on his back. He looked at the crowd. They had stopped sobbing, and the room was silent.
Hopefully this wasn't too long and boring. Please let me know if this is a terrible CC.
