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Info Character Profiles

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

  1. SkyrimDawg

    SkyrimDawg Member

    Jun 21, 2013
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    Name: Kareturek
    Race: Orsimer
    Gender: Male
    Class: Assassin
    Weapons: A concealed Orcish dagger
    Age: 35
    Looks: Green skin, A yellow and a blind left eye with an eyepatch. 4'8'', slim and but muscular and and able to crack a skull open, light, modified assassins gear, with a steel cheastplate sewed in.
    Personality: He joined the darkbrotherhood at an early age, but they tried to kill him when they noticed that he was stealing from them, when he was a child a skeever bit him in the left eye, he talks alot because he did not have a family and he wants some human contact, he always carries a bottle of skoma in his pocket, but he found an amulet with a description about his family.
  2. slusheeduck

    slusheeduck New Member

    Jun 22, 2013
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    Name: Caena Seiridh

    Race: Breton

    Class: Bard (though he's not bad with a sword, truth be told)

    Weapons: He's really very fond of his Scimitar. He found it at the side of the road.

    Age: 19

    Appearance: Caena is of the stringy sort, his face showing the dignity of his people. He wears a swipe of war paint on his cheeks (not for actual war, of course, but to commemorate the wars he sings about). True, he's not quite as strapping as the Nords surrounding him in Skyrim, and yes, his dark hair could probably use a trim, but other than that, he (at least in his opinion) is rather easy on the eyes.

    Personality: He loves being a bard. He'd wanted to be a bard his whole life, and he finally went to the Bard's College and did it. Does it mean he's a good bard? Well...depends on his audience. As for his non-Bard life, Caena is rather talkative and friendly, and fond of sarcasm, good food, and a warm fire in an inn. True, he may complain a bit if it gets too cold (but it gets REALLY COLD in Skyrim!) and he'd much rather avoid a fight than engage in it, but when push comes to shove, he's willing to do what it takes to survive and ensure the survival of others.

    Alliances/Enemies: None, at the moment. He'd rather wait for the war to end so he could sing about it; he'll join whoever if he needs to, though.
  3. TheJtlman

    TheJtlman Active Member

    Jun 23, 2013
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    Name: Jt

    Race: Nord

    Weapons: Steal long sword, skinny, red hilt, hilt looks like fire and comes around hand. Like a scimitar but does not connect all the way and on both sides. 1 ebony dagger. Elven bow with dwarven arrows

    Appearance: Around 5'5'' Brown hair that covers face, sky blue eyes. He wears baggy black pants, long sleeve black shirt, and a black cloak with a hood, just touching the ground.

    Backround: A multitasker at his finest, Jt is proficient with lighting magic as well as invisibility. He was raised by his dad for most of his life.His dad taught the arts of swords play and his magic training. After his dads death, Jt was raised by his dad's best friends, Khajiit caravan. For his next years, he learned the arts of stealth, archery, undercover work speechcraft, nature survival, and getting around towns and forest faster by some local wood elves at some point, a.k.a. PARCORE. Jt lost his family though, and is determened to find his family's murders. He is not much of a socialist when it comes to other most species, though he is not prejudice toward anyone. He does prefer to be around Khajiit though. He mainly fights with is Longsword. He tried learning fire several times, but his kitty family banished this after the 3rd time of burning the tents down.He can enchant his sword and give it lighting attributes as well as shooting bolts of lightning. He will at times pull out his dagger in his off hand. When in stealth mode, he pulls out his bow mainly, but does use his dagger every now and then.He will even use disguises to get in where he needs to get in. Never liking to staying in 1 place for long, he is always looking for adventure and, even if not fond of, he will protect any of his allies with his life.
  4. Giltmastermind

    Giltmastermind New Member

    Jun 25, 2013
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    This is the play through I started a few days ago. I have another one names Ragnar but his story ended for me.
    I am still trying to find the character that I gel with.

    Name: Hrignar
    Gender: Male
    Race: Nord
    Birthsign: Steed
    Class: Wanderer- A nomadic type that has no real direction in life. He lives off the land and has no real need for money, will gladly help people out as they move from town to city from city to village. Most things found in his journeys are traded. They are agile in combat keeping distance with a bow, but when not possible using a sword to strike from close in.
    One Handed
    General Appearance: Hrignar was born to have common Nord face; thick jaw, thin lips, high cheekbones and a large naturally crooked nose. His hair was dusty brown and tied back in a loose ponytail and he liked to keep thick but carefully trimmed beard on his jaw, he liked to boast that it comforts him in bed even when the tavern girls would not. When Hrignar had reached man hood he was as tall as most Nords in his village, so he did not stand out when in a crowed. He was not however as strong as most Nords, including his brothers.

    Clothing/ Armour: Hrignar wanders skyrim in a fine but worn leather coat to keep the weather at bay. With this he wears leather boots made in his own fathers forge.
    Weapons: Hrignar uses a hunting bow that has been in his family for generations, it is said to drain people of all energy when an arrow is fired from its string. He also keeps a sky forge steel sword witch he gained from a short stay in the ranks of the companions.
    Biography/ History: Hrignar was born in to a large family by comparison. He had three brothers, and a sister, he was the second youngest of the lot, the youngest being his. Unlike his brothers he was born small and did not develop the same muscularity as his closest kin. Because of this he found it difficult to learn the smithing trade and has a somewhat limited skill to the rest of brothers. Due to the difficulty learning the family trade, Hrignar’s father taught him the way of the bow, as he was taught in the legion. With this he was able to hunt and assist his family in other ways.
    While out on hunt Hrignar would like to study the wild plants and he soon found that he could make alchemical potions by mixing certain ingredients. What Hrignar liked most was studying the effects of poisons on some of the game he killed, thankfully he quickly learnt that he had to be careful with the doses on his arrows else he would taint the meat.
    Quickly Hrignar grew up and soon became of age where he could decide what to do with himself. However he did not wish to leave yet and hung about as the village hunter. However his parents soon pressured him to leave. So he did, and he went and joined the ranks of the companions, but not for long. He grew bored of skyrim.
    So he went home and told his family that he was off to high rock to seek his fortune, and off he went. But his fortune he did not find. Instead he found trouble. He thought that he could run an archaeological dig site, so he borrowed some money to set it up, he could not however pay it back, and had to flee high rock to preserve his life line.
    Thus he returned to skyrim to find his family gone and relocated to Hammerfell in order to escape the civil war. Hrignar decided he would join his family in Hammerfell and settle down, however he ran into some trouble at the border which ended in an injured Breton and bindings tied onto Hrignar’s wrists. This is how he finds himself where he stands/sits.
  5. TheOakForce

    TheOakForce New Member

    Jun 26, 2013
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    Is the armor a mod? And if it is where can i get it?
  6. Freyja

    Freyja Supreme Ruler of Cats

    Jun 26, 2013
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    Name: Freyja ( once called Alle'Di, but she changed her name as soon as she learned to speak the common language of Tamriel )

    Race: Khajiit

    Class: Thief/Assassin

    Affiliations: Thieves' Guild + Contacts in Dark Brotherhood

    Gender: Female

    Age: 22

    Looks: She has bright blue eyes that almost seem to glow in the dark. Her fur is a very dark gray, and her nose and mouth are slightly lighter. She has black stripes running up her nose and down her head into her spine, and she has a reddish tint in her fur.

    History: Freyja was born in a desolate camp in Elsweyr to two Khajiit alchemists. She spent her whole childhood with her parents learning the merchant's trade and training in alchemy. By the time she was thirteen, she could brew a deadly paralysis poison that was quite well known in her region of Elsweyr. Khajiit would always come asking for that special poison of hers to help with a swift kill. And Freyja would always squeeze the best prices out of them.

    Around the time she was fourteen, Freyja and her family started a trade caravan that went through all of Tamriel. As they visited each country, Freyja would learn small things from locals. In their first stop, Valenwood, Freyja trained with an elite archer for the duration of the time her family was there. This continued in each land until she was seventeen, training with an expert, and meeting her family at the border to the next place. However, when they were crossing from Morrowind to Skyrim, they were ambushed by a group of bandits that managed to kill the rest of Freyja's family before she could get to her weapons to kill them. Not knowing quite what to do, Freyja kept going on into Skyrim, where she was ambushed by Imperials.

    Shortly after escaping from Helgen, which was destroyed, Freyja made her way to Riften to join up with the Thieves' Guild. There she stayed, training with the masters and moving up into the ranks until she was made a Nightingale. Soon after, Freyja joined the Dark Brotherhood, but stayed a simple novice, only there for simple contracts and easy money, having no desire to get too close to them. She kept this all on until she was twenty two.

    Currently Freyja is simply roaming around, stealing for the Thieves' Guild and killing for the Brotherhood. When she notices anything out of place or strange, Freyja takes it as an opportunity to make some gold off of loot. She checks in on major cities often to hear strange rumors and help the locals-anything-as long as it led to an adventure.

    Personality: Freyja seems like a bad person, and technically she is, but she is a pretty nice person. She tends to manipulate people, even if she doesn't mean to, it's natural to her. She has a thing for gold, and will do anything for it, no matter the level of morality. There is one thing, however, that really gets to her. Like all Khajiit, Freyja is extremely proud of her race and feels a strong commitment to them. She would let any Khajiit into her home and let them use her money and eat her food, be it a criminal or a noble.
    Likes: Gold, quiet, and mead, darkness
    Dislikes: Ale, loud noises, the sun, overly populated areas
    Master- Sneak, Archery, Conjuring, Speech
    Expert- One Handed, Alchemy, Enchanting

    Outfit: She wears a Nightingale hood and Guild Master Armor, gauntlets, and boots.

    Fighting Style: She normally sneaks into battle with her bow, and uses an ebony dagger and Mehrune's Razor when spotted. She also summons creatures when things start to get out of hand.
    • Like Like x 1
  7. Navare

    Navare Savage Spirit

    Jun 24, 2012
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    Name: Marcus Delevega
    Race: Breton
    Class: Spellsword
    Gender: Male
    Age: 22

    General Appearance: Medium length dark brown hair which flows down around his face, Icy blue eyes, short goatee beard. Reasonably tall for a breton, quite thin but athletic build.

    Personality: Generally a nice person, although quite shy. Finds it hard to take anything really serious, and generally uses sarcasm when uncomfortable and/or annoyed. He is an extremely loyal friend, but to get him to trust you and call you a friend is no easy task. He hates overly confident people, and will often show his dislike towards someone through sarcasm. He has never told anyone about his past, and probably never will.

    Clothing/Armour: Wears a hood almost all the time, in a rather poor effort to cover the large black tattoo covering the right side of his face. Wears armoured mage robes, with ebony padding on his left shoulder, knees, elbows and wrists.

    Weapons: Wields a sword in his right hand, and a spell in the left. Proficient in conjuration, illusion and restoration magic.

    Backstory/History: He was born and raised in Cyrodiil, to a Breton mother and Nord father. He was brought up with strict religious views on the nine divines, but has gone slightly astray of that path.

    He lived a peaceful life, always interested in magic and learning more, no matter how simple or how difficult the spell. Sadly his father disagreed with this, hence why he is so proficient with a sword. He can't say he is annoyed with this though, as his sword arm has served in well in later life.

    He also has a fascination with daedra, and loves to study the various forms, such as vampires, werewolves etc. Sadly yet another thing his parents disagreed with. He left Cyrodiil for Skyrim when he was in 18, in the simple hope of gaining more knowledge, and hopefully falling in love. He still loves his parents to bits, even if they do not get along, and would love to return home to see them someday.

    The next 4 years of his life remain a mystery, although one can say whatever happened in this time changed him, as he is now a harder, less trusting person.

    Alliances: Hates the Thalmor, again due to something in his shady past. Has respect for the empire, mostly from his upbringing. Apart from that he would probably join anyone, although he currently sees no reason to do so.
  8. Welandril

    Welandril New Member

    Jun 27, 2013
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    Name: Alecian Vaelendil.
    Race: High Elf (Altmer).
    Class: Sorcerer.
    Gender: Female.
    Birthplace: Somewhere in Alinor, the capitol of the Summerset Isle.
    Current Residence: Travelling, but main home in Alinor, inherited from parents before they died. Job/Occupation: Illusion enchanter, Illusionist, General petty jobs, e.g. lumer work, mining, anything that suits her current location. For instance, if she was in Elsweyr, she might pick plants etc.
    Apprentice: Illusion, one handed.
    Novice: Restoration, Alchemy, Alteration.
    Sexuality: Heterosexual.
    Looks: 6'3, Long redish hair, Orange/Yellow eyes, High cheekbones, Slim jawline, Long pointed
    chin, Slanted almond eyes, Longish ears, Flat nose.
    Clothing: Usually wears green robes, they're a family heirloom and she prizes them dearly. They're made with the finest Altmer silk, with delicate and elegant embroidery. She carries a small iron dagger, incase she's too exhausted to cast any spells. She wears small green embroidered shoes, with log pointed tips, and sometimes wears a hood, with the same pattern as her robes.
    Personality: Alecian is generally kind to others, she doesn't really have many quarrels with people. She practices the ancient art of magic, she's not very skilled at the moment, however her favourite school of magic is Illusion. She usually practices in her Inn room, casting invisibility spells, but usually failing and having something go wrong like her body being invisible, but her head is visible. She's a young apprentice, at the age of 16, he's not very experienced. She would love to just stick to Illusion spells, since her mother and father were both masters of Illusion. She's a young growing young lady, what troubles will she encountered as a growing sorceress?
    Misc: She likes kind people, but if she sees someone being mistreated, she'll usually punish their mistreater. She loves music, any bard that she encounters she questions and questions. She hates the orsimer (Orc) race, as they slaughtered her family while she was young, suspiciously they didn't touch any other people in the village, just her parents. She thinks that this is a clue to her parent's murderers, was it just some mindless thugs committing a dastardly crime, or something deeper?
    Alliances: She sides with the Thalmor, taking deep pride in her elven heritage, however, she will not join the Thalmor forces, because she simply does not believe in slaughtering innocents for glory, power, and for prejudiced terms towards other races. She respects nearly all the races, except for orcs, however, she will encounter a polite orc from time to time. She does not believe in the Altmer pantheon of the divines. Instead she prefers the Daedra, seeming as though they offer more beneficial factors towards her, and she also has a secret passion for Namira the daedric prince/princess.
  9. EpicVakarian

    EpicVakarian Calibration-Master General

    Jun 27, 2013
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    Name: Beth Signysdaughter
    Race: Half-Nord, Half-Imperial. Introduces herself as a Nord.
    Class: Spellsword, but more mage-oriented
    Gender: Female
    Age: 24
    Religion: Devout worshipper of Talos and Kynareth
    Proficient in: Destruction, Conjuration, Illusion, One-handed

    Appearance: Beth is considered by all to be very beautiful, though she does not think so herself. She is quite thin, with a delicate build at 5'2" while still being fairly curvaceous. She has lightly tanned skin, and long auburn hair which reaches down past her shoulders and onto her upper back. It never looks unclean, even after a 2 week-long trek across the deserts of Elsweyr and the dense populace of Cyrodiil. As a memento of her latest trip, there are exotic flowers in her hair, picked from the forests of Valenwood. She has deep, piercing green eyes, which many of the younger male students of the College of Winterhold have spent hours staring into. She has a tattoo of a dragon on her left cheek, mainly to cover up the scar under her left eye.

    Personality: Beth is an extremely modest woman, having had self-esteem problems from an early age. This also means she is quite shy, and mature. She has learnt to be kind to everyone she meets, largely due to her history. This has led to her reputation in Winterhold as one of the kindest, most selfless and most lovable people in the remains of the town, even if she does originate in the College.

    Clothes/Weapons: She doesn't like to wear armour, but neither does she like to wear robes. This means she stands out clearly in the College grounds. She wears a sleeveless top with a pair of shorts, wearing kneesocks and some thin but appropriate shoes to cover her legs. She has a small arsenal of longswords and greatswords at her disposal, yet she never takes any on adventures, instead preferring to wield her father's old blade when she needs it. For the majority of the time, however, she wields fire spells, mainly as they help keep her warm while also defending her.

    Bio: Beth was born in Ivarstead to a Nord mother and an Imperial father, and was raised under a rebellious household. Neither parents had any love for the Aldmeri Dominion and their restrictions on worship of Talos, so they continued to worship Talos in a small shrine in their basement. However, someone in Ivarstead discovered this, and informed the Thalmor. A squad of justiciars was sent. Beth's parents were both killed, the family home was burnt to cinders, and Beth, aged just 9, managed to escape with a cut under her left eye, which has left a scar for her whole life. She fled to Shor's Stone, and found a healer who managed to mend the cut, but it was too late to completely remove it. Beth decided to go to Winterhold, and the Mages' College. She had always had a talent with magic but had been unable to nurture it properly due to her mother's strong belief in the typical Nordic glory in hand-to-hand combat. She now traveled to Winterhold, and barely made it. Tolfdir found her on the outskirts of Winterhold, covered in snow and ice. Only her fire spells had kept her warm enough to survive. She was then taken in by the College as an apprentice, though very young compared to her classmates, and so she had to be taught independently by Savos Aren, who was eventually considered by Beth to be a foster parent. At the age of 23, she travelled to Valenwood to aid the Bosmer in resisting the Aldmeri Dominion's oppression, resulting in Beth having a strong tan despite living in the coldest part of Tamriel. On her way back, she was caught by the Empire, and taken to Helgen to be executed, where she escaped with Ralof. Now, she is ready to take on the Thalmor and avenge her family, and every other family that has been torn apart by the Aldmeri Dominion.

    Alliance: Strong bond with Ulfric Stormcloak, and a sworn soldier to his cause, due to Ulfric's aims of getting rid of the Empire and then destroying the Aldmeri Dominion. However, she is not racist as many of the Stormcloaks appear to be; indeed she has often comtemplated leaving the cause because of some of her comrades' racist views, but she always decides that defeating the Thalmor and freeing Skyrim is more important than the needs of the (relatively) sparse foreigners in Skyrim.

    Extra info: Since the attack by the Thalmor on her family, she has been unwilling to engage in direct combat until absolutely necessary, preferring to fight from afar with her ranged spells and only using close-range spells and her sword when she has no other choice.
    Since Alduin razed Helgen (when Ralof saved Beth's life many times) and since Beth joined the Stormcloaks, being a shield-sister to Ralof of Riverwood, Beth has fallen in love with Ralof. She doesn't know if Ralof has noticed or if he feels the same, but near Ralof, she becomes nervous, and often overly talkative. Ralof is one of the few people in Skyrim that have never been cruel or hurtful to Beth in any way, along with Savos Aren and her father, and so every day that Beth is near Ralof, she hopes that she will pluck up the courage to confess her feelings to Ralof, to the point of wearing an amulet of Mara along with her 20-year-old Talos amulet.

    Well that was a lot of writing, but that's my character :p
    • Optimistic Optimistic x 1
    Latest Given Reputation Points:
    Simus: 18 Points (Aww, Beth is cute! She'd be fast friends with my primary characters Simus and Alice. They're in my sig.) Aug 8, 2013
  10. Padfoot

    Padfoot Professional Thief, Hunter, and Explorer

    Sep 3, 2012
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    "I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying."
    Real Name Unknown
    Aliases Padfoot, Sneakfoot, Pronto
    Age 23
    Birth Date Unkwown
    Birth Place Falkreath, Skyrim
    Race Bosmer, "Wood Elf"
    Gender Male
    Height 6'0
    Weight 180 lbs.
    Affiliations None, though is known throughout the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood for his work.
    Religion Atheist, though he knows that Gods do exist, he chooses not to believe in their involvements with living beings after death. "They're trying to play you." He says, "They get you to live your life in worship of them, to treat them like these higher beings when they aren't. Sure, they have power, and they are not human - but when you die, you die, and that's that. You go nowhere else, unless a Necromancer gets a hold of you, now that sucks."
    Class Explorer
    "Padfoot" has accomplished many things in his short life. Born an unknown, very little is known of his early years as a child, how and whom he was raised, and how he's acquired such an impressive skill-set. What is known of him is that the people that do know of him refer to him as "Padfoot", or "Sneakfoot", due to his expert ability at keeping a low profile, both on the job and off it. He has also been referred to as "Pronto", due to his skill at completing a task given to him in rapid time, whether it be to steal, discover, or even kill. He is most widely a treasure hunter and thief, collecting specific items and giving them to clients for large sums of money, however it is not completely rare for a client to ask him to take somebody out. He will get the job done, but the Dark Brotherhood is most often the people to seek out, specifically because they think of a killing as honorable, and as a religion. "Padfoot" it all for money, and many steer away due to thinking he may be hesitant on taking the job, though he never is. These 3 expertises are the very reason Padfoot is labeled an "Explorer." He is all over Skyrim, though never ventures outside those borders, which may also be the reason why many suspect he was born there. He knows the area all too well.
    Hair Dark Brown, naturally longer and straight, braided in the back. Goatee.
    Eyes Horizontal (not tilted downwards, like some Bosmer), jet black.
    Skin Complexion A light-khaki color
    Build Skinny, minimal muscle tone, not stocky at all, very long arms.
    Scars None
    Padfoot is almost always wearing a hood, very rarely will he show his full face out in the open. Due his love of Hunting as a Hobby, he most often wears fur armor as a preference to show off the game he captures, which most often consists of Hare and Sabre-Cats. He travels a lot, and this skill helps him save money on food.
    Padfoot is a surprisingly social and enthusiastic Bosmer. It's ironic for a person who acts so low-key and private to outsiders to be so energetic and fun to the people who actually get to speak to him. Padfoot loves good jokes, and loves to make other people laugh with his very universal sense of humor and his excessive sarcasm. He loves to sit back and smoke a pipe and have some mead with his clients as they discuss possible jobs. "A lot of people ask me why I keep such a low profile when they get to talking to me. I say to them well, two-thirds of the stuff I do is illegal, and the other third may involve me breaking into some houses or digging up some burial crypts. Then they come to ask me why I keep my real name hidden. Well, I'm not hiding it in all honesty, I just can't remember it. My sweet darling of a mother's been calling me Padfoot ever since I stole the neighbors boots right from his feet while he was sleeping. Looking back, I think my name sounded something horrendus, something starting with an S... or a Q... Quigley maybe?"

    Money, Jokes, Sarcasm, Hunting, Travelling, Drinking, Smoking, Nice clothes, Lovely houses, Zeal, Humility


    What is known is that Padfoot is deathly quiet and never misses an arrow, and mastering those two aspects makes him more than capable at completing the tasks assigned.



    Stealth is how Padfoot got his nicknames. He was born with a natural ability to be silent and remain undetected when he wants and needs to, and he has applied this natural skill to his current profession.

    Padfoot always had a love for hunting ever since he was little, and most often prefers to take out targets at a safe distance. He had been practicing his shot for many many years, and has became deadly accurate with the bow as a result. He loves to study how deadly certain shot placements are, from the foot to the neck - try your best not to let yourself be the next test subject.

    If you had to give one word to describe Padfoot's personality, outside of his job, the word would be "Talker." Padfoot loves to talk. He loves to joke, he loves to intrigue, and he loves to tell stories. He has a way with saying things in such a nice, convincing manner, that he could manipulate and bargain with anyone. There have been times were Padfoot was in some trouble that he's gotten out of just by talking. It's another one of his natural gifts. He's so personal.


    Padfoot has come to enjoy having daggers as back-up, an easy back-up in case bows are for some reason not preferred. Being light, easily concealable, and good for skinning animals and slitting throats, the daggers were certainly a requirement for Padfoot's lifestyle.

    Padfoot can pick most locks quite quickly, but he isn't the best. There have been times were he could not get into certain doors, most often in Burial Tombs. There have been one or two cases were he had to forfeit the job because he couldn't get into a door in one of the crypts, but he has continued to try and get better at the skill.

    The ability to steal something off of a person is more of an enjoyment perk rather than a necessity. He's the type of person that steals things off of people he knows and gives it back just to surprise people and make himself laugh. He's never had to actually use it for anything other than his pure enjoyment, but he likes being able to do it so successfully.


    Light Armour
    Armour in and of itself is truly unneeded in Padfoot's case. The only real reason he's an adept in it is because he's comfortable wearing it because he wears it so much on the job. Padfoot is always silently takes out any possible threats and is thus away from possible harm, he has never taken any real damage from anybody, but the armor is just in case.


    Heavy Armour/Block
    Heavy Armour is too heavy and noisy for Padfoot's liking, and Shields are way too unnecessary because Padfoot never has to defend himself. The targets never know he's there.

    The only time Padfoot ever held onto a two-handed weapon was when he took out a bandit camp a couple of miles north-west of Whiterun. He took an Orcish Greatsword off the ground in hopes of bringing it back to town for some coin, and he strained to just pick it up, simply carrying it was a burden, he couldn't dream of fighting with it. Though he did make some good money off it, Padfoot ultimately decided it was a waste of his energy to carry every two-handed weapon he sees to the nearest town.

    If you were to give Padfoot a hammer and put him front of an anvil, you would see him start to excessively bang the hammer down to make a cool new tune. Padfoot is ignorant in the art of smithing and has no desire to learn the practice, it is no wonder he is a novice at it. The same thing goes for Alchemy, he'll look at the pretty colors of the potions in the vials, but doing science is boring to him. "Let's go hunting instead."

    Illusion/Conjuration/Destruction/Restoration/Alteration/Enchanting -
    "Here's what I'll say on the subject of magic - it is a skill that requires knowledge and patience. The knowledge to know how to cast the spells and the patience to read books and study what the spells are and how to learn them in the first place. I lack both knowledge and patience, and when I say lack, I mean I have zero, none. I was put on this world being somewhat exceptional at a certain set of skills, I believe it is everyone's duty to discover what skills they are exceptional at, and to improve on them until they master them, and then turn it into a living. Magic belongs to smart, patient people. Let the smart, patient people figure that out and grow up to become Mages, it is my place to sit back and marvel at other people's skills, because that's what they're here to do, and it's truly magnificent once you begin to notice that."

    • Like Like x 3
    • Creative Creative x 1
  11. Nocte Aeterna

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

    Jan 29, 2012
    Likes Received:
    General Information

    Name: Aldaril
    Race: Altmer (High Elf)
    Gender: Male
    Age: 149 (during the events of Skyrim)
    Date of Birth: 11th of Last Seed, 4E 52
    Place of Birth: Cloudrest, Summerset Isle
    Height: 6’7” (201 cm)
    Weight: 175 lbs (79.4 kg)
    Occupation: Scholar, Historian
    Affiliations: College of Winterhold (formerly; left the institution following the Great Collapse in 4E 122); independent ever since
    Religion: Apathetic/Agnostic


    Eye Color: Amber
    Hair Color: White
    Complexion: Dark tan hue (nearly akin to an olive)
    Physique: Tall, dignified, and imposing, but wiry and somewhat frail.
    Clothing: A slightly darker pigmentation of Expert-level mage robes and hood.
    Other Info: Aldaril’s skin has the consistency and youthfulness of a typical 30-year-old, due to his slower elven aging.


    Core Traits/Values: Intelligence, ambition, erudition, diligence.
    Pros: Trustworthy, efficient, intelligent, inquisitive, passionate.
    Cons: Eccentric, short-tempered, easily offended, sarcastic.
    Likes: Reading, writing, going off on tangents, honing his arcane prowess, solitary walks.
    Dislikes: Loud people (Nords in particular), water, close-range combat, Stormcloaks, the Thalmor.
    Notable Quotes: “My actions are unfortunately heavily judged here in Skyrim, and it’s rather disconcerting. This passive-aggressive form of prejudice has been tormenting me for decades. I can hardly walk through any sort of fortified settlement these days without contemplating the swift incineration of every third or so native I lock eyes with.”

    Combat Overview

    Overview: Aldaril, having essentially devoted his life to the arcane, is a pure warlock through and through, with his preferences rooted in defensive spell-casting.
    Weapon Arm: Aldaril is ambidexterous (he writes with both hands, and often interchanges them when writing long documents), but on the rare occasion he uses a staff, it is usually situated in his right hand.
    Weapon(s): Staff of Chain Lightning (rarely)
    Combat Preference: Long-range

    Major Skills

    Conjuration (Master): Colleagues have often joked that Aldaril could conjure up an entire civilization. Humor aside, this claim might be closer to the truth than one might think. Atromancy is Aldaril’s magnum opus in terms of magic; he excels at the art, and can summon all three elemental atronachs (though not all at once) for an extended period of time. With Aetherius essentially on his shoulders, Aldaril can prove to be quite the gamemaster.

    Alteration (Master): Believe it or not, Aldaril has seen some pretty damn gruesome fighting in the past, and he’s actually landed himself in a few of said battles. And despite being nearly on the front lines, he came out relatively unscathed on several occasions, with few if any scratches or blemishes. Alteration has become a mainstay in Aldaril’s arsenal, having mastered the Flesh spells. He’s currently working on paralysis, though very few mages can master such.

    Destruction (Expert): Yep, Aldaril’s quite the pyro/storm enthusiast. He alternates between tossing fireballs and chain lightning bolts, and sometimes even dual-casting them. His impressive offensive spell prowess has sometimes allowed him to stagger his enemies with mere spell-casting, but Destruction is not his favorite branch of magic.

    Minor Skills

    Restoration (Adept): Though he may not like to admit it, Aldaril is sometimes prone to taking a few lumps in combat. When this happens, he enlists the help of Close Wounds. He sometimes (begrudgingly) will also heal allies.

    Enchanting (Adept): Making trinkets and other knickknacks glow is a favorite pastime of Al’s. He especially likes to buff his amulets and rings with magicka fortifications.

    Speech (Apprentice): Though by no means an orator, Aldaril has been known to win arguments and debates a few times in his life. His style is not rooted in swaying or allurement, but rather in the art of conversing itself. However, his tendency to ramble can sometimes get the best of him.


    - Staff of Chain Lightning (rarely)
    - Expert Robes of Conjuration
    - Expert Hood
    - Pleated Shoes
    • Like Like x 2
  12. Bob Roberts

    Bob Roberts Member

    Feb 24, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Name: Marcus Jot
    Race: Imperial
    Gender: Male
    Age: 18
    Occupation: just arrived in skyrim, but is on his way to join the legion
    Residence: homeless
    Height: 5'8
    Weight: 200 Ibs.
    Hair color: brown
    Preferred weapon: sword
    Spells: none
    Favorite food: chicken
    Likes: gold, swords, horses, mead and chicken
    Dislikes: stormcloaks and brenuin
    Friends: Hadvar, Alvor, Faendal and Belethor
    Wealth: not lower class, but doesnt have any money because he just arrived
  13. Miryks

    Miryks New Member

    Mar 17, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Name: Rodann

    Race: Nord

    Class: Bladesman, Archer, Blacksmith

    Weapons: Ebony Sword, Ebony Bow

    Skills: One-Handed, Block, Smithing, Enchanting, Light Armor, Sneak, (Apprentice) Restoration

    Gender: Male

    Age: 28

    Looks: Tall, 6'3", muscular but slender build. Long, dark hair, and a dark beard. Mostly equipped in expertly crafted leather armour and a hood, hiding his long hair. Has several noticeable scars from battles with human's and animal's alike.

    Biography: Rodann was born just outside of Windhelm, his father a skilled Nord Blacksmith. He never knew his birth mother, but was drawn as a child to a local elf merchant in Windhelm, named Gaereth, who tried to pique his interest in the arcane arts. He did not care much for spells outside of restoration healing. She also taught him enchanting in the way of Magicka Resistance, due to his unwillingness to jump into the other schools of magic. She called his connection to the world of magic, "one of awareness and defense". She became a mother figure to him, until one fateful evening when a group of drunken Nords attacked her and sent her to her death. He was 15, and in a rage retaliated, killing one of the Nords, a nobleman, in the process. Immediately after, he fled the area, severing all ties to his former life, never saying goodbye to his father. He became a wanderer, owning only what he found (or stole) and learned to fight out of necessity for his own survival. Among his favorite items to find (or steal) were books, raw materials for smithing, and soul gems.

    Personality: Rodann found peace outside of the holds, within nature, and matured into a calm and collected adult, yet always aware. He is not quick to draw his sword, and would rather make deals than fight. However, he is highly skilled in battle and will strike quickly when necessary. He values life above all else, and it will never serve as a commodity. His internal struggle continues, mainly that he could not save Gaereth, and that his own kind could not only perpetuate and allow the prejudice that he saw as a child, but aslo allow it to go as far as it did. In that sense he feels alone, and connected to no race in particular, aside from the fact the he knows his father is a good and honest Nord.

    Misc: Rodann found many books in his adventures and is very much a Nord in that he loves the history and the legends, but he is different in how he looks at the history. No war should ever be fought over such trivial disagreements. His understanding of history and advancement in Smithing were both unique in that he had to complete his training on his own, so his take on things are often unconventional, whether for bad or good. He dreams to one day, when he is ready, walk the 7000 steps, and to speak with the Grey Beards and hear firsthand their perspective on the state of all things in Skyrim.
  14. Bob Roberts

    Bob Roberts Member

    Feb 24, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Name: Grendis
    Race: Dunmer
    Sex: Male
    Age: 25
    Likes: Mead, fighting and beef
    Dislikes: Rowdy Nords, bears and bandits
    Misc: He has no real job. He wanders around Skyrim, clearing dungeons and looting for money. He is saving up to buy a plot of land so he can build his own house
  15. fellowknight

    fellowknight Devil Of The Details

    Dec 2, 2012
    Likes Received:
    This card is under construction and may change in the future.

    Thank you for your patience.

    For a more immersive experience, new sections have been added here as well as all my other CCs.
    Old sections have been updated and expanded, also for immersive reasons.
    In other words, read the whole damn thing, ye dolts! :p

    All images, besides that of Baroth's physical appearance, belong to someone else and they therefore hold all rights of ownership. I do not mean to make profit off of said images and cede all rights of ownership to whoever made them.
    However, while they own what the images look like, I am responsible for using these images properly to represent the present Baroth. Therefore, they do not own Baroth or anything about his persona.

    :D :beermug: Thanks for reading, and please, enjoy! :D :beermug:
    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Baroth Hermingfel

    "We become what we are, friend. I'm dining with my demons. Are you?"

    Baroth Iver Hermingfel


    Hodlin Graves

    (This list is subject to change over time)

    (looks 43)

    5th of Morning Star, Turdas.


    Baroth currently resides in Nilheim (after "evicting" the previous tenants), a re-purposed watchtower east of Ivarstead. It's not his only residence, but it's where he spends the most of his time.

    The Ritual

    Nedic (Pre-Nord)

    An unlicensed hiking/hunting guide, part-time substitute caretaker for a wildlife sanctuary.




    225 pounds



    Widowed / Single

    Well enough. Suffers from rare fits of seizures and cramps.
    (This section is subject to change over time.)

    The Misfits

    Lycanthropy, Vampirism
    (Description under Combat Diagnostic)

    Neutral Polytheism

    Shor, Julianos

    The Wicked Flee - True Grit

    1484064594128 (2).jpg
    (Obviously not the best quality, but this is my creation. Alternate versions of Baroth's appearance can be provided if requested.)

    Long and dirty blonde, hangs slightly past his shoulders. Well-groomed beard.

    Pale blue.

    Similar to other kinsmen; Slightly pale due to his mixed diseases.

    Heavy muscle coated in fat layers.

    A white scorch mark on his shoulder, a vertical scar above his belly button, and three scars intersecting on his back.

    Standing at Six-foot-one and weighing in at one-hundred eighty-five pounds, Baroth sports a groomed beard straddling a strong jaw, tweezed eyebrows above a firm visage, and shoulder-length dirty-blonde hair with one braid. His looks do more for him under certain circumstances, but he flourishes them to the extent, though often he is taken as an oaf. Baroth, regardless, wields an intimidating brawny stature and the mind to engage it wherever he goes.


    Sentimental, calculating, loyal, honest..

    Naive, skeptical, persistent, merciful.

    Meditation, the wilds, fresh fruit juice, dwemer technology, simple gifts, cold temperatures, baby sabertooth tigers, the sun's light on the ocean waves.

    Arrogance, politics, underestimation, extreme heat, blood-lust violence, absolute tyranny, the prickling of his beard, bats, spiders, mud.

    Caves, getting lost, failure, losing those he cares for, death in vain.

    Help as many people as possible, see more of the world's secrets, successfully tame a fox, use dwemer technology to advance communication, find a good death.

    Shakes uncontrollably when scared. May tense up to the point of immobilization.

    Baroth, in all his entirety, is a down-to-earth person who only asks that you be yourself and treat others fairly. He knows the habits of other people and has considered them to be natural, but he has a tolerance level for everyone. Baroth doesn't get angry 'too' often, as he often tries to 'mask' his emotions, but when he does get angry it takes more than a cheap ale and a back-pat to calm him down. And given his acquired mind-frame, heightened senses, and illegal resources, he can be a deadly, ruthless adversary.

    With an intricate acumen for death, after countless years experiencing/dealing it, he has a warped his view on society, and feels his place in it has dissolved. To rectify this, he typically acts with altruistic judgement, consequentially causing trouble. He can become emotionally unstable and even outright impulsive when he loses someone close to him, a heartless rage threatening to consume him. His abnormal grieving process has all but matured to solitary contemplation.

    Over the years, Baroth has developed a mutual respect for the unknown despite his natural curiosity. Though he still has wishes to learn, Baroth knows the danger Nirn wields and how quickly it consumes people. A handful of millennia gave him enough insight to evade this demise, but he can't undo the blood sacrament his body requires. Equipped with a photographic memory, Baroth subconsciously remembers each of his victims faces. Because of this, though down-to-earth, Baroth has convinced himself to do what he must to save lives.



    White, Sunshine
    Light Orange, Steel Grey, Orchid, Baby blue, Mint


    Light Nedic surface mixed with a strong Nordic foundation.
    (Scottish-American with Irish toning)

    On the deeper side.

    "C'mon, son."

    Precise/ Educated

    Calm and Collected

    Stiff and rigid on average, but varies depending on his current mood

    Usually when he's nervous/anxious

    Twiddling fingers, bouncing left leg while seated; only in times of anxiety





















    One-handed, Block, Heavy Armor,


    Hand-to-hand, Healing, Stealth


    Other Magic Schools, Lockpicking, Light armor


    Archery, Everything else.

    In combat, Baroth tries to subdue the attacker into submission in order to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. But this is not always the best route, as the assailant may have a group of friends. Though his lumbering looks can be misleading, what he lacks in rigor, he amends with heightened strength and speed. If and when forced to fight, Baroth prefers to get in close with his trusted sword and shield, to either overwhelm, or 'suffocate' his attacker with incapacitating flurries and debilitating shield-bashes, often breaking something in the process. Lately he's applied more brutal techniques.

    Baroth has learned that he can't spend an entire battle behind his shield, and needs to be prepared to have it flailed or disarmed from him. And when it is, Baroth has an array of small knives he can put to use, including a short-sword on the back of his shield. Baroth has also learned a small selection of basic and advanced skills and methods in Archery, Spell-casting, Stealth, Hand-to-hand, and Free-running (despite his growing size.) Baroth also has proficient experience in carpentry, mercantile, astronomy, and physiology.

    Baroth is, by loose definition, a hybrid of both vampiric and lycan origins, leaving him with some of the most lethal strengths from both species and only a few weaknesses. The infection plagues Baroth both internally and externally, an unstable cocktail of heightened sense and possessive antibodies. Immortality, tri-layered muscle fibers, and a resistance to deadly pathogens are among his benefits, while an annual blood-thirst, debilitating muscle cramps, and fits of hysteria measure the drawbacks. With these abilities taken into consideration, Baroth can be both a nightmare of an enemy and an unstoppable ally.
    (See history section for some background)

    External effects
    Inherited from his vampire-portion, his melanin thinned out over the course of a year, leaving his skin tone considerably paler than average.

    Internal Effects
    His skin cells readily absorb sunlight and moonlight alike, enhancing his base strength (via accelerated and reinforced muscle growth) if only by a slim percentage; this permits him to undergo feats on both physical and spiritual planes thought impossible by usual means.

    Centuries of travel and adventure have gifted Baroth with many odd but useful items, both old and new, "borrowed" and rewarded. Though due to the amount of said items, there's a steady list Baroth frequents based on his preference. And also not having his arms ripped off by trolls. But mostly preference.


    Customized leather-wool armor set designed for light travel, acquired from
    It's Ice Wolf leather is durable, all the materials are lightweight, and the wool is a comfy insulant, making it quite ideal for said travel.

    Baroth will usually wear this if he's expecting a long journey, especially through a cold region.


    Moonstone-Steel Sword naturally enchanted to burn the flesh of it's opponent and weaken their armor with every strike. Though its effects have dulled over the centuries, Baroth keeps it sharpened to a razor point.


    Titanium-trimmed Shield naturally enchanted to bounce back half of the momentum to the attacker, adding a boost to shield bashes.
    (If an enemy rams into your shield, he gets half of that momentum back. The rest is absorbed which gives a boost to shield bashing.)


    Leather Knapsack crafted especially for travel and camping.
    The leather it's made of does not wear or tear, even after all these years.




    Ancient Atmoran Sword, Cas en' luume (Herald of time), that houses a unique preservation ability due to it's various unknown materials.
    Though antique and timeless, the blade's saved Baroth's life more than a dozen times and, oddly enough, has always found a way back to it's wielder's possession.

    Variety of potions and scrolls (54 of each)

    Assorted food and wine (15 of each)

    345,000,000 gold pieces. One-third (over half) in a safe buried off in northern Skyrm, and the rest in a pouch in his Knapsack.

    Unfortunately, Baroth's time in Tamriel has given him the benefit of insight to sniff out corruption and power-hunger. The Thalmore reek of both, seeking to pin all of Tamriel under one government where they hold major positions of power. This would, in its adolescence, shackle the Empire, slaughter its upstarts, and hammer down any resistance. To add insult to injury, they also claimed responsibility for a number of phenominal crisis's including the Oblivion Crisis. They're a real threat to Tamriel, and while he has his own private pursuits against them, he wishes the civil unrest in Skyrim would come to a close and both sides would combine forces to end the Thalmor.

    Imperial Legion

    Baroth only dislikes the legion for one reason, The Thalmor. If they realize the thalmor are a threat, why not join with the stormcloaks to take them down? Baroth hopes that both sides combine their efforts into taking down the Thalmor soon, before they snake their way into taking skyrim.


    Being a Nord, Baroth supports his kin in their effort to overthrow the oppressive goverment of the Empire. On the other hand, he can't stand their racial comments to those who aren't nords. If you're trying to help Skyrim, why does it matter what race you are? Again, he wishes they would combine forces with the Imperial legion to overthrow the Thalmor snakes.


    It is sad how the Falmer came to be. The Dwemer were responsible for their enslavement and their grotesque transformation into the blind beasts they are known as today. Though Baroth is extremely interested in the Dwemer’s technology, he can’t help but think that they were terrible for what they did to the Falmer. It’s a definite tragedy and Baroth only hopes something can be done before the Falmer take to more drastic measures in their plan for complete domination of the surface world.


    After educating himself about the Markarth Incident, Baroth has slightly changed his opinion about the Forsworn. Before, he viewed them as a group of bloodthirsty savages but now, he sees the reasoning behind their constant attacks against the people of the Reach. Still, he wishes that they could find a much more peaceful alternative to settling their differences with the local Nords. Baroth still does his best to avoid dealing with them altogether though.

    The Thieves Guild

    To be blunt, Baroth doesn’t like the Thieves’ Guild one bit. They are nothing more than heartless, greedy thugs and they are the main reason why Riften is such a corrupt and dangerous place. He understands that some people have to resort to stealing in order to stay alive. However, those who do it out of greed and malice are rabble. The problem with the Thieves Guild is that the amount of influence they have and rooting out their power will be extremely difficult.

    The Companions

    Baroth respects the Companions. After his many years in their company, Baroth has come to not only like but respect the Companions. And he knows Ysgramor would be proud of his fellow shield-brothers and sisters. Some make them out to be just a band of mindless brutes, but they are actually a family of warriors bound by honor and TRUE purpose. Yes, Ysgramor would be proud indeed.

    Mages College

    Having been blamed by many for the cause of the Great Collapse, it’s not surprising that a majority of Skyrim’s residents are skeptical of the College and of mages in general. Baroth isn’t entirely sure if the College is to blame for Winterhold’s past destruction however he doesn’t hold any sort of hatred for the College or its mages.

    The Dark Brotherhood

    Baroth doesn’t know too much about the Dark Brotherhood, other than the fact that they are a shadowy group of assassins who carry out a countless amount of assassination contracts. They are merciless, twisted killers who take joy in ending the lives of others. He tends to avoid anything that remotely deals with the Dark Brotherhood. After all, he doesn’t want trained assassins sent after him.

    The Misfits



    Being born in the ravaged, war-torn continent of Atmora, Baroth was doomed to die. If the war didn't kill you, the wildlife surely would. Ancestors to the modern day wildlife gracing Skyrim's breath-taking landscapes were little more than territorial, bloodthirsty primitives. In much similarity to the tribal savages they fed on. Blood was constantly spilled, brother turning on sister, sister turning on mother, Father turning on son. Baroth's days began and ended on a sizable stretch of land, his mother and father among the dying farmers of the continent. It was hard work, if they weren't cut down or starved for days on end, but they made the most of it, together. He'd foolishly gambled all that away in the chaos, his ambitions as a young lad leading him to befriend some 'would-be' pillagers. They, taking his loyalty for granted, heartlessly murdered his parents, looted the homestead, and claimed the land under their feeble clan.

    At first, Baroth was nothing but a tool to the clan, a mechanism regarding mundane tasks and humane desires. He often would become so engrossed in the madness, he'd scream until someone put him out. Women shared his dreadful fate, only the bolder of the bunch earning enough respect to join the men. But as the years passed and Baroth grew into a stronger will and body, his ambitions resurfaced, hungry for revenge and conquest. Gradually, he clawed his way to a higher standing, then another until he was one of the most dangerous men in the clan, known in old times as "Fire-Breakers". He was next in line to lead as their conquest spread more rapidly, hundreds falling to their reign. The Men of Fire were well on their way to headbutting some of the larger tribes, border-dogging one of the founding clans
    in the region, until a lass changed all that.

    A routine raid. Their signature left a mark on the land: impaled corpses of rival clan members and bystanders too slow to run. Scouts raced about, clearing the way for their migration, killing man and woman alike, sparing only the young. Baroth had no semblance for right or wrong anymore; when he had the reins in his hands, he'd kill as many of the bastards as he could. He might've even killed himself. Screams of a woman tore through his mind, five years younger than Baroth, and held in a tight death struggle. Steely eyes, a clenched visage, clean skin and soft lips; the body of a true breeder, from one of the neater clans. Numb to displays such as this, Baroth opted to observe. But there was more to her. Screaming and clawing angrily, she was unwilling to give the invaders the satisfaction of seeing her falter and give up. Baroth admired that. Numbers were not in her favor however and before she could deface the next man, they rushed her and forced her to the dirt. They'd have her before she was beheaded.

    Baroth didn't know, to date, what snapped in him; or, rather, what mended. Like the heavy fog of greed and sin and impartiality had all dissipated, his world finally righting itself and making sense before him.
    Baroth had seen the horrors the land and its occupants had to offer, and he wanted to spare this woman that, buy her some time. A split-second twitch was the only warning his comrades got, his blade eagerly tearing flesh and spilling blood as the men around him fell. Some were no match for his prowess, and when the lass was set free, even fewer could stand them. Teetering on the edge of life, standing among the handful of fallen brethren, Baroth's last memory was the fighting grace the woman brandished, ending the last of his scouts.

    Deep sleep. A yearning in his bones that lowered his guard, welcoming the soothing slumber hungrily. Raw pain all over constantly, tearing into him, in the soundless space. Cleansing flashes of his early childhood: Green grass, ripe harvests, healthy animals neighing. Tugging on his father's beard as a toddler, his toothy grin, the twinkle in his eyes as he'd make firm promises of a safe life. His mother's laugh, her soft voice carrying him with song at night, biding him to rest in the storm. Days as a young boy, skipping rocks and harassing horses, sleep without a worry at all. But the end didn't come. He awoke and fell to darkness periodically, unfamiliar voices and shifting figures around him. When he was conscious, the chief revealed himself: Ysgramor of "Dawn Kings" owed him shelter and food; Baroth saved his daughter.

    *Long days and darker nights. Ysgramor was descended from a long line of proud chieftains, where outsiders had no place among his people. His daughter, Jouldi, radiated with a bitter spite and anxiety; owing her life to a savage sickened her but she kept an eye on him. The warriors were a quiet bunch, uneasy he wasn't dying somewhere else. Clan abandoned, deep in enemy territory, he may as well be. The moment they let him go, he'd get devoured in the carnage outside. So he took a blade to his own throat, eager to set himself free, but he couldn't. He didn't want to give up just yet. Jouldi had seen that. The soft moment's in his eyes, the relaxation in his features as he slept; these small, unnoticed moments were what defined him. Deep down, he was just a boy trying to run home. He approached Ysgramor and challenged him for a spot in the clan, (recent incursions had left Dawn Kings' ranks thinning), which he reluctantly accepted.

    The new few months went fast, in a painful blur. Olden code demanded he face several rites of passage as an enemy outsider seeking a place, each more intense than the last. During this time, he and Jouldi formed something of a relationship and hid it from Ysgramor. During the final trial, a three-on-one with Ysgramor's top warriors, Baroth revealed their love and his passion for Jouldi's company. The two locked in a death struggle, Baroth just barely coming out on top, further professing his desire to have Jouldi as his mate. This was a turning point for Jouldi and her pre-determined spouse who later fell in an ambush against Baroth. In a country defiled by bloodshed and apathy, they'd found each other and that's all that mattered.

    But the conflict snaked its way to Ysgramor's doorstep and seemingly insignificant battles drove him to outright invading as his coalition (Sun-Breakers) sought to quell the rise in mindless violence that mounted on rampant slaughter. The combined effort both abroad, Baroth's maddening frontline massacre, and domestic, Jouldi's 'persuasive' enlisting methods, wasn't enough to hold envy at bay. Ally turned on ally, cutting one another down in pursuit of that envy, the stench of death driving Ysgramor's own army to turn on itself. He would start having visions of a land beyond Atmora, a nameless continent with a promising future. The lone survivor among a handful of men, Baroth defeated a rogue sage wielding dark magic and found his way home, at the cost of his mortality.

    Something darker flowed in Baroth's veins, he could feel it. He could hear people moving beyond walls, smell their musk, sense them through obstructions. He was hungry more than anything, attracted by the stench of raw meats from fell game. Sunlight haunted him as Dawn Kings made the trek to shore, to a new life of uncertainty but freedom. Over the course of a month he got worse, to the point of full scale seizures and starvation-


    Inn to inn, tavern to tavern, Baroth traveled the countryside, constantly running from the war that was hot on his heels. It had been almost twenty years since his parents had been killed, and he had just barely survived. Until, at last, he came to it. When all hope had faded beyond recall or desire, he saw it. Gleaming in the distance, shining in the sun, a beacon of hope that warmed Baroth's ever-cold heart. Ysgramor's palace. He knew, being a fellow Nord, Ysgramor would surely help him. Give him supplies, food, rest, armor, a horse maybe. He was so joyed to see it, he almost shed a tear. Almost. Rumor had spread that a visionary, and anyone who desired to follow him, was sailing to the south, in hopes of finding a better life. It appeared he and Baroth were very much alike. As soon as he was done here, he could head over to the visionary and leave this cursed land for good.


    When he began the long walk there, he heard a scream somewhere far behind him. It sounded like a woman. Going to investigate, he found a stone tower in the dense woods, shrouded in a hint of darkness and, death. Entering like the fool he was, and going down the long stairs and winding pathways as quiet as possible, he stumbled upon a sickening sight. Two men were undressing in front of a tied up princess, at least that's what one of them called her, and he knew exactly what they were gonna do. While the princess struggled to get loose, he quietly crept down the stairwell to the room she was located in, and killed both the men. As he finished the last man, he looked over at the princess. Her beauty was beyond detail. She seemed to have an aura of peace and tranquility about her that forced Baroth to stop dead in his tracks. Her eyes searched his ragged soul for hope, as she shed a single tear down her cheek. He was baffled at the mere sight of this woman, and could only stare into her eyes, looking for an answer to her beauty.

    Suddenly, heavy, armored footsteps sounded behind him, and he could only turn to see a soldier ram him out a nearby window. His world spun wildly, the trees swinging this way and that, before he hit the ground. As the darkness cleared, he heard the princess' voice far off somewhere. "Stay right there, i'm coming to get you!" He heard her say, before his vision ultimately cleared up. Although The other man was dead, fallen on his neck, Baroth felt a sore spot on his waist. He sat up as the princess came running towards him and, surprisingly, her bonds had been cut. She must have been working on them while the bandits were preparing to, well, you know. She slowed in her run, covering her mouth with both hands cupped. "Oh no. Oh gods no..." He was curious to why she was so worried all of the sudden, and looked down at his bloody waist.

    In the fall, he must have landed on a shard of glass, because he was bleeding out like there was no tomorrow. He reached down and grabbed the shard of glass, when the princess' soft, firm hand stopped him from pulling it out. "No. That will only accelerate the bleeding. Leave it until we get to the city. I have a horse not far from here. Can you stand?" Her heavenly, also firm voice asked him. "Yea....can you help me up?" He asked her, raising his hand up towards her. She nodded and met his hand, pulling him clear to his feet. Strong. Like any Nord woman. He put his arm on her shoulder and leaned on her as she led him through the dense woods to her horse. Unless he was mistaken somehow, that was a Destrier Horse, rarest of all horse breeds. How she got one, however, was not the question right now.

    He mounted the steed after the princess and they rode off, towards the gold-diamond palace of Ysgramor. Nearing the city, however, Baroth started feeling woozy, a first sign he was going into an unconscious state from the bleeding. He had little time. And as the city's Gold-Diamond gates backed open, he slipped into unconsciousness and fell off the side of the horse. Awaking in the infirmary, Baroth immediately wanted to thank the princess for what she had done. But, like in any other infirmary, the nurse told him to stay put until he was all healed up. The princess, Joldi was her name as she told him, checked in from time to time, making sure he was alive and well. Ysgramor checked in as well, having only short time to talk but much to say.

    Over the next ten years of stay at the palace, Baroth was well fed, well taken care of, and well supplied. Seasons came and went, holidays flew by, and the days crept on. Though, in these ten years, he developed a sort of, relationship, with Joldi.

    They would talk more, and hang around each other more, and sit in the gardens, discussing the war and the visionary's ship. Before this announcement, Baroth had previously gone to war in distant lands unspoken of and remained absent from Atmora for four years.
    Joldi refused to lose Baroth again after that and he refused to leave her ever again. The two had made a solemn vow to never separate for all their lives, no matter what.
    No matter what.
    They both wanted to go with the visionary, but needed only wait until Ysgramor was ready to go. Then they could both be together, get married, have children even. Speaking of children, he and Joldi had a child on the way. He kept insisting HE was a boy, and she kept saying SHE was a girl. But they never fought over it. He was soft then. Soft for her. Then, that one night rolled around.
    The night before his birthday.

    He heard a crash, like a vase being shattered, and he sat up in his bed. He decided he would investigate, after a moment of forethought, and quickly stood up to get dressed. He slipped into his casual midnight tunic (A.K.A Pajamas), And walked out of his room, into the hall, and towards the throne room door. After opening and closing the door, Baroth looked about the room. Recent signs of battle and struggle hung all over the room and Wuuthrad, Ysgramor's favored weapon, was embedded in the diamond floor. The feasting table normally found in the center of the room, was flipped, and the pair of guards found at the four doors of the room lay dead in heaps. Along with the guards, men garbed in black robes line the floor, no doubt Ysgramor's doing. The princess was on her knees in front of the steps leading to the throne, her hands were bound and her face wet from crying. Ysgramor was on his throne, a few scars and cuts but otherwise unharmed, his hands also bound.

    Before Baroth could do anything, he felt a hard smack on the back of his head and he fell forward, unconscious. He woke to see his own hands bound, on his knees, with two robed men behind him a hands on his shoulders. Then, as he looked up, he saw it. A beast he'd never seen before. It was pale, though a little bit grey, it had wings similar to that of a bat, a massive, muscular physique, and sharp, long talons where his fingernails should be. The beast' voice was a deep, harsh whisper, warning Baroth of it's power. He spoke of how he needed Baroth for an experiment; a 'new breed' of Nightspawns. A hybrid.

    "Usually", He explained, "The virus would kill the host within seconds, eliminating any chance of a hybrid. But since you are a middle aged man, you should be able to handle the process. I hope." He nodded to the two men behind Baroth, who stepped in front of him, both grinning ear to ear. One of them suddenly hurled over, like as if his stomach was aching. He bursted into a black flash of energy, and all that stood in his place was a black beast. It's body resembled that of a wolf, the head more than any other body part; the had black fur all over, long claws, sharp teeth, and the tail of a wolf, all at twice his original size. A beast to be reckoned with. "Begin." The pale beast said, before the black beast bit into his wrist. The other man bit into his wrist but didn't transform.

    Almost immediately, Baroth felt the effects of the combined diseases. His sense felt at their height, yet he had no balance when he tried to stand. He fell on his side, his vision a blurry haze, as he watched the pale beast glide towards Joldi. He landed by her side, bending down to her neck, all the while, staring at Baroth. "Though this power does come at the cost of...." He grinned as Baroth knew what he was about to do. Joldi said nothing, only stared into Baroth's eyes, as a single tear rolled down her cheek. "....loss." He finished, biting into Joldi's neck, sucking the life out of her. Baroth couldn't move, couldn't stand, even breathing was hard. Ysgramor was, angry to put it lightly, and bursted past the few men in his way, heading straight to the pale beast himself.

    The beast reacted quickly by dropping the princess, grabbing Ysgramor by the throat, and throwing him towards the western door. Just then, the doors bursted open, and the city guard poured in, taking a good score of the robed men before the battle began. Being heavily outnumbered, the pale beast turned to retreat, seeing it as his best option. Before he retreated however, he left eh the good people with a few words. "YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME!!! I AM ODMING!!! THE FIRST OF MANY!!! MILLIONS MORE SHALL WALK IN MY FOOTSTEPS!!! WE WILL MEET AGAIN, BAROTH." Before he flapped his wings, crashing through the ceiling and into the night sky.

    Darkness took Baroth, and all around him was nothingness. He saw but one faint light in the distance, and like the fool he was, he ran for it. The closer he got to it, was the further away it seemed to go. Until, suddenly, when he was five feet away, it went out. He felt a hand wrap around his neck, raising him off his feet, and into the chilly air. Then, the light was right on top of him and he could see his attacker. It was the pale beast he saw earlier. "You can run. You can pretend you fight for good cause. You can become a knight even. But you will ALWAYS belong to me. You're mine now, Baroth Hermingfel. Now.....and for all eternity." He said, before slamming Baroth into the ground, waking him up.

    The next day, Baroth awoke to the whole castle in a bustle. Maids were clearing out the kitchens, guards clearing out the barracks, and nurses clearing out the infirmaries. This was when Ysgramor called him to the throne room. He spoke of how the visionary was setting sail in a few days and that he was emptying the city so he could take as many people as possible to the new land to the south. Baroth apologized and apologized about Joldi, but Ysgramor simply shook his head and asked Baroth if he was going with them.
    He actually had the think about it, considering he kinda felt like he belonged here, but at the same time he wanted to get out of here. The land was dying from faulty kings and would rip itself apart from the war. Climate changes were bringing in cold fronts and soon an unbearable winter would spread over Atmora and freeze virtually every rock and mountain.
    Moreso, Baroth morally couldn't stay. Glancing upon any part of the land caused him to remember all that had passed. All of the grief, and loss, and bloodshed over the fields once green, the mountains once tall and strong now crumpled, and the forests flourished and lively now charred and snow-blanketed ruins of their predecessors. A land truly destroyed by the unnatural and unnecessary conflict of men and elves.

    Desecrated. Distraught. Broken.

    Broken like Baroth. A hollow shell of his former self. And to the day, he's assured he can never again be the same. Losing Joldi had broken him in more ways than he'd ever be able to know. He was weak, bloodied, and exhausted from a long, unforgiving lifetime in Atmora, and sought what all survivors sought.

    Baroth agreed to go with Ysgramor and the visionary, prepared to get out of this madness, like he promised himself so long ago. After packing his bags and getting his gear, he had only one more place to stop before he left. The Blacksmith' shop.

    A few weeks back, Baroth had put in a small request for a set of Atmoran Armor. Back then, It was quite the common gear, though only the richest could afford it, it was WELL worth the coin. Considering it gave far more protection than any steel armor ever could, and was two times lighter, it was an obvious choice. He'd need it if he was to make it across the Sea of Ghosts, and beyond the horizon. After picking up his armor set, he collected a few rewards he'd earned over the years around the city, leaving him with alot of con but nowhere to spend it. Then, the journey to the ship. It took the entire city the rest of the day to clear out and three whole days to get to the ship's location, after that, they were off. To the unknown, the south.

    New land, new hope, new life.

    Along the ship ride, Baroth met an Atmoran in particular who said he was destined for something better than this. His name was Eliphas. He said that there was power he could tap that he'd usually only be able to dream about. He claimed that he deserved better than this Nordic way of life, and with that, eternal power, instead of one-time glory. The way the man spoke of power sounded almost, unnatural, like as if he were dealing with beings far beyond power of himself. Baroth dismissed himself from the conversation, convinced Eliphas was mad, and tried his best to forget about it.
    After all, what power could possibly be eternal?

    After a perilous journey, the ships touched ground in modern day Skyrim, a snowy province of icy peaks, snow, mud, breath-taking mountains, and mighty rivers. But as they soon discovered, the province was already occupied by mer, or Snow Elves, and was thus named Mereth, in honor of them. As his fellow Atmorans grew and prospered alongside the Snow Elves, Baroth took to the mountains and caves. He was eager to explore the new land and make sure it was safe, aside from the nature life and wildlife. Upon studying one of the caves, Baroth saw a faint, glowing light at the far end of the cave. Going to investigate, and breaking down the brittle cave wall, Baroth stumbled upon a city of gold and stone. A fort of pure genius. Occupied by by a race that he soon recognized as, Dwemer.

    Masterminds of crafting and smithing, the Dwemer were the most technologically sophisticated race of mortals, as Baroth found out early on. Their ability to breath life into an inorganic object simply baffled Baroth, and he was sure it would amaze his brothers and sister's back on the surface. And the one thing that really stood out about the Dwemer, was their ability to telepathically communicate. They taught Baroth this ability over the years it took to gain their trust and prepare the ceremony. He also came to meet many brilliantly minded Dwemer in his time underground. Fhelzhadm was one of them, he had a son too that worked on an amazing contraption know as the Aetherium Forge. He made so many amazingly advanced weapons, it practically rivaled the gods. Fhelzhadm was a council man on the first council, a group of the smartest Dwemer and Chimer, all gathered to plan wars and battle strategies. Over the next few years, Baroth dug deep into the Dwemer culture and lifestyle, intrigued by the way they lived. The Chimer, a newly formed splinter group of Altmer who worshiped their Daedric Gods openly, had arrived in various Dwemer forts around Tamriel. And, just like the Dwemer, they scorned and mocked the new group of mer. When Baroth fore saw a bloody war coming, he caught news of something else. Something closer to him than the Dwemer.

    He had heard his kin had built their first city, Saarthal, and were living in relative peace with the Snow Elves. Until one night. The Snow Elves had slaugthered and murdered everyone in Saarthal. Everyone but Ysgramor and his two sons, Yngol and Ylgar. Dropping the Dwemer business for now, Baroth joined them on the journey back to Atmora for more help. Five hundred companions heard their story and joined them to journey back to Mereth. Once there, they drove the Snow Elves out of their own land and forced them to spread, cutting down their numbers significantly. They named the land, Skyrim. This war would be known as The Return. A few days after The Return, Baroth returned to the underground fort and continued his living amongst the Dwemer. Ysgramor wished him luck and bid him farewell with a pat on the shoulder and a hug. He named Baroth, True-Shield, in honor of his service in The Return and named him his first shield brother.

    While he'd been gone, the remaining Falmer turned to the Dwemer for help, and were made slaves. The Dwemer, however, had tricked them and a generation later, the Falmer were blind. As the Snow Elves went blind, the war heated up in Morrowind, fighting over differences of religion and reason. The Dwemer preferred reason to faith, and thus, despised the ways of the Chimer. On the other hand, The Chimer were staunch Daedra worshipers, and despised the Dwemer for their reason and mockery. It seemed all out war was inevitable, but the Dwemer soon found themselves in an unlikely alliance with the Chimer. Nordic warriors had invaded Morrowind and they called for reinforcements. As the war approached, Baroth left once again, taking it as his chance to finally rank up on his melee skills and maybe even build his own house.

    He built his house somewhere in what is now known as Falkreath Hold, though it burned down many centuries ago, he eventually built another in central Skyrim, near where Whiterun would be built. Sixteen years passed, and Baroth had mastered his sword, shield and heavy armor skills. He Eventually made his way back to the underground fort and found that the war had ended a week ago and had ended with a prosperous peace. Both groups had found an unprecedented prosperity. A Golden Age, but not for everyone. A group of Dwemer refused to join the first council because of their strong hatred for the Chimer. Their leader hurled a hammer across Tamriel and settled where it landed. He named the land Volenfell which later translated to, Hammerfell. Meanwhile below the icy surface of Skyrim, the tension between the Dwemer and their Falmer slaves grew significantly. After generations of enslavement, the Falmer were instigating a rebellion of their own, planning to put their masters to the sword. They called it the War Of The Crag. It lasted decades and decades, a tireless conflict. But it's what happened in those decades that matters.

    During the war, Baroth served as a sort of negotiator for both sides. Laurius, a slave of Fhelzhadm, was leader of the operations and battles of the Falmer. Baroth did everything he could to convince Laurius to not attack the Dwemer. But he simply said, "Oh Baroth.....if only you were in my shoes. Then you'd understand." Baroth eventually gave up, focusing on something else that was FAR more important. The Tonal Architect Lord Kagrenac of the Dwemer constructed Kagrenac's tools to harness the powers of The Heart of Lorkhan. It was an artifact found under Red Mountain, harnessing the powers within would bring about unfathomable power. Kagrenac planned on using it to assit his kin in ascend to godhood in the form of Anumidium. Anumidium was their Brass god, a Massive, brass Centurion built by Kagrenac.

    Baroth focused all his energy on stopping the Dwemer from using the powerful artifact, but he did not heed. He and his house were strong about using it and nothing Baroth said could convince them. It appears that the Chimer disagreed with Kagrenac also, and wished to stop them. So, Baroth attended the a small meeting in Dwemereth, the Dwemer's capitol city and, on that very day, the first council was shattered, and Baroth barely drafted an agreement letter. He was confident that it would work, but when he was walking to get it sent, he noticed the entire race had vanished. This left him with many questions, but no answers. Eventually, Baroth rejoined his kin above the Dwemer. He missed alot. Only by heading to the nearest archive deposit, did Baroth find out what happened.

    A dragon war passed and his kin were murdered by the thousands. The Dragons, along with the help of Kyne, taught the mortals the Thu'um. So, the Nords fought back and eventually killed most of the Scaled beasts, the rest fled to remote areas. Those gifted with the Voice were known as Dragonborn. Lord Harlad, long descendant of the Legendary Ysgramor, took the throne, and centuries later, Vrage the gifted led a conquest upon all other provinces. But the conquest and the Empire ended when King Borgas, the last of Ysgramor's line, was killed during battle. So, without a leader, the empire soon fell to the elves. Later, a man named Reman Cyrodiil ushered in the second empire. But he was assassinated by a member of the Morag Tong. In the third era, a man by that name Tiber Septim and his legionnaires ushered in the third era. Talos, Tiber Septim, was the new emperor and the first mortal to ascend to godhood.

    Now, stranded in the Fourth Era, Baroth looked for purpose, cause. He found it, but not in the direct manner he'd anticipated. A mugging had occurred close to him and he'd moved to act, later realizing he still possessed one of the ideals he once followed in Atmora. Self-less sacrifice. And it is by this same ideal Baroth now acts, operating as not the man he once was, but perhaps a silhouette of him. A fallen shadow of selfless risk, boding a mysterious future.

    Attached Files:

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    AS88: 18 Points Aug 1, 2013
    Gidian: 10 Points (Dark Souls 2 looking armour, and an epic spin on the history of Tamriel. This guy's CC is an awesome and unique read all on its own.) Aug 7, 2013
    Andre Marek: 8 Points (Love the armor, really suits the image of Baroth I've had for a while!) Oct 15, 2013
    #875 fellowknight, Jul 18, 2013
    Last edited: Nov 5, 2017
  16. Gunnbjorn

    Gunnbjorn Formerly known as Arillious

    Sep 2, 2012
    Likes Received:
    Gunnbjorn Skull-Splitter
    Gunnbjorn Skull-Splitter is a wandering Nord Warrior often seen throughout Skyrim. Gunnbjorn is a freakishly large, even for his race, and is often steered clear of. He earned his surname Skull-Splitter for being known to split the skulls of fallen or dead enemies with a small hatchet as signature.
    Character and Appearance
    Gunnbjorn Skull-Splitter is well known for his size, cruelty, and prowess in battle. Gunnbjorn is extremely tall (over seven feet). "He has a cruel body, with shoulders so wide it could be compared to a Frost Troll, and arms as thick as the trunks of small trees." Gunnbjorn weighs approximately 340 pounds, with nearly all of it muscle, making him nearly inhumanely strong. His strength allows him to wield a six-foot, two-handed Battleaxe with just one hand, giving him enormous reach when he chooses. His strength is so pure that he's been known to cut men in half with one single slash.
    In battle he wears the heaviest, thickest combination of scaled and plate armor in all of Skyrim. Wrapped around the armor is a mixture of wolf and bear fur, both for warmth during the cold winter nights, and for intimidation in battle. He wears a unique, steel-horned helmet.
    Gunnbjorn is known for his extreme violence in battle, he is a brutal man with excellent warrior instinct. But he is quiet and of little words, and is very solitary, never leaving Skyrim and very rarely sighted.
    Gunnbjorn's history is dark and filled with blood. He was born in Skyrim, where exactly is unsure. He lived with his parents and older sister in seclusion up in the mountains. His abnormally large stature showed even as a young boy, and it was no doubt that he was going to grow up to be a great Warrior, his father's concern was putting Gunnbjorn on the right path, and teaching him to use his natural skill for good, and for honor and loyalty.
    At the young age of 12, Gunnbjorn would walk a quarter-mile down to the nearby village to buy groceries, he would return to find his home pillaged and ransacked by Bandits. His mother and sister had been stripped and tied up against the front pillars of the house, dead. His father's limbs were scattered across the front yard. The corpses were already charred from the house set on fire.
    It is believed that after that, Gunnbjorn fled into the woods, and became his long life as a wanderer. It is also rumored that he went off to join the Dark Brotherhood, for witnessing the slaughter of his family and his home forever gave him a pit of rage and a need for revenge. It truly corrupted him, and is what gave him the pleasure of killing. Within the next year, the same Bandits that happened to be living in a cave a mile away from Gunnbjorn's home were found completely slaughtered.
    Full Name: Gunnbjorn Skull-Splitter
    Race: Nord
    Age: Unknown (late twenties, early thirties).
    Height: 7'3"
    Weight: 340 lbs
    Birth Place: Skyrim
    Birth Date: Unknown
    Allegiance: Dark Brotherhood
  17. IndurDawnD3ath

    IndurDawnD3ath The Legendary Conundrum

    Jul 22, 2013
    Likes Received:
    Gender: Male
    Name: Cindur
    Race: Dark Elf
    Personality: Pyromaniac, Freaks out during fights. Calm and collective otherwise.
    Fighting Style: Charges in whilst on fire. Uses fire magic, and fights in melee with an enchanted stahlrim dagger that drains magicka with each hit.
    Backround: Grew up on the Island of Solstheim, until his family and ancestral home was burned alive at a very young age, because of a family rivalry with the Redorans. He has become obsessed with fire ever since that day. At the age of 10 he burned down his village in a diabolical rage. At the age of 15 he moved to Skyrim and found himself in the College of Winterhold, where he studied for a year. After the first year, he was expelled from the college for being to reckless. So at the age of 16 he was alone in Winterhold and had nowhere to go. And nobody to help him. Until................
  18. Banten

    Banten Member

    Jul 22, 2013
    Likes Received:

    race: imperial
    gender: male

    appearance: Yortos has a bald head but a large black beard, on his forehead is a red circle with a dot in the middle of it.
    Yortos wears leather armor over his torso but his arms are uncovered.

    Who is Yortos?: Yortos was born on the streets of the imperial city where he had to steal in order to survive but one day the guards got enough of the young thief and threw him in jail. An older prisoner gave the boy a book and learned him how to read. This book changed his life and when the young boy was freed he started working for the imperial city library, here he learned about the world and its people. But the life of a librarian was too boring for Yortos and he decided to start traveling around Tamriel during his travels he has learned how to use a wooden battestaff. But in Hammerfell a strange thing happened, Yortos got a vision there a vision that he was meant to go to skyrim for reasons unknown and so here he is.
  19. EpicVakarian

    EpicVakarian Calibration-Master General

    Jun 27, 2013
    Likes Received:
    (This will be my character for a possible Game of Thrones based RP which won't be part of the canon of ASOIAF, so don't judge it on Skyrim lore :p)

    Name: Isabel Stark
    Race: Human
    Class: Warrior
    Gender: Female
    Age: 27
    Religion: The Old Gods of the Forest
    Proficiencies: One handed swords, shield, archery

    Appearance: Quite small. 5'4" tall, quite thin but still strong, especially for a woman at this time. Very long red hair; reaches down to her waist, but shorter fringe; only down to the bridge of her nose. She ties it back in combat so as not to restrict her ability. Has the Stark family crest tattooed on the back of her neck. Piercing light blue eyes.

    Personality: Hates Lannisters, especially Joffrey after putting her father Eddard to death. She vowed to kill Joffrey and Cersei after this, but left Jaime, Tywin and Tyrion out of the vow due to the fact that they had had nothing to do with the event. Later on, she adapted this vow to include Walder Frey in the death list. She is modest, but proud. She can lead an army just as well as she can take care of her brothers. Unwilling to be married until all threats are gone, including the Lannisters. The only Lannister she is willing to let survive is Tyrion, due to his kindness to her sister Sansa and his disgust at his family's actions in the War.

    Equipment: Wears thin armour and a thick cloak outside of battle, in fitting with the traditions of the Starks and the Northerners. In battle, she wears thin but robust plate armour to protect her from most piercing attacks while not restricting her movement. She wields a sword named 'North' in her right hand, and a shield in her left in battle. Out of battle, she still wears North on her waist, "just in case".

    History: She was born to Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark in Winterfell, Eddard's third son. Born in 285AL, Robb Stark and Jon Snow were barely walking when she was born. She was always more like Arya than Sansa; she didn't want to be a lady, she wanted to be an honourable woman who fought in battle, much like Brienne of Tarth. Eddard accepted this and sent her to training with Robb and Jon. Because of this, she was just as skilled at swordplay as either, and was very close to both of her older brothers. When Eddard, Sansa and Arya went to King's Landing, she stayed behind with Robb, Bran, Rickon and Maester Luwin. However, once Eddard's wrongful execution at the hands of Joffrey came about and Robb went to war, she decided she would go with him. She urged Maester Luwin to help Bran and Rickon as much as possible, in case no Stark ever returned to Winterfell. She sat on Robb's councils and acted as one of his closest advisers. When Walder Frey asked for their uncle Edmure Tully to marry a Frey girl as repayment for Robb's earlier betrayal, and for them to join him, Isabel urged Robb not to go with Edmure, to send someone in his stead. She said that Walder Frey was a petty man, who would want revenge, and she was afraid he would betray the Starks. Robb ignored her, saying that "a man would have less than no honour if he killed a man for revenge at a wedding." However, Isabel was right. Robb and Catelyn were killed, Robb's unborn child and his wife with them. She, fortunately, had elected to stay out of the Twins, guarding the outside instead. When the Frey soldiers began to turn on the Starks, she fled, realising she could do nothing to help. She crossed Arya and the Hound, Sandor Clegane on her way out of the Stark camp. She managed to convince them to come with her and not to walk into a trap, and they fled from the Freys together. She knew that her family was effectively destroyed; Winterfell had been burnt by the Ironborn, the Greyjoys, which she believed meant that Bran and Rickon were dead. No legitimate sons of Eddard were left alive, and for all she knew, Jon could even be dead by now, too. She, Arya and the Hound escaped past the Neck, hoping to reach the Wall, and aid in the fight against the White Walkers.

    Alliance: Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane. She now supports Stannis Baratheon's claim to the Seven Kingdoms.

    Extra Info: Harbours an extreme hatred of a selection of people, and recites their names before sleeping, having learnt this habit from Arya. The names she recite are: Joffrey Baratheon/Lannister, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Walder Frey, Roose Bolton, and Ilyn Payne. Even so, she believes that all of this hatred should be put on hold until the White Walkers are no longer a threat. Since she received the raven from Maester Aemon of the Wall, she now believes that the biggest threat to Westeros, Essos and all the free lands are what lies beyond the Wall, not what lies within its reaches.

    EDIT: There is now a much more detailed version below
  20. Farthlion

    Farthlion I swear to drunk, I'm not Talos.

    Feb 1, 2013
    Likes Received:
    ***CREDIT TO REXTORET who allowed me to shamelessly steal his blank CC form.***

    Kjan Strong-Hammer

    » NAME Kjan Strong-Hammer
    » ALIAS None
    » AGE 19
    » BIRTH SIGN The Lover
    » RACE Nord
    » BIRTH DATE Sun's Dawn 17, 4E 182
    » BIRTH PLACE Winterhold
    » CLASS Close Combat Thief - Utilizes melee-style combat, but carries thief attributes.
    » GENDER Female
    » HEIGHT 5’6
    » WEIGHT 130
    » BMI 21.0
    » BUILD A runner’s build – strong legs, but not as much upper body strength in comparison.
    » LATERALITY Right-handed
    » SEXUALITY Heterosexual
    » AFFILIATION Treva's Watch Bandits/Rift Hold Bandits
    » AFFLICTIONS Due to a case of ataxia as a young child, Kjan’s upper body muscles never developed properly. Consequently these muscle are very weak and somewhat uncoordinated.
    » RELIGION A firm believer in Talos
    » HABITS Kjan has the bad habit of attempting to steal things, and making very poor decisions about when she attempts to steal things. She also loves to gamble.
    » HOBBIES Kjan’s primary hobby is to run long distances, something that is quite easy to do in Skyrim. Many instances of running away from guards have helped build up a natural reserve of stamina and endurance.


    » POSITIVE TRAITS Street-smart, fast thinking, strong minded, and the potential to be a good friend
    » NEGATIVE TRAITS Skeptical, untrusting, greedy and stubborn
    » LIKES Money, valuables, running, winning, and animals
    » DISLIKES Guards, nosy people, bards, losing, and alcoholic beverages
    » FEARS Water – she does not know how to swim
    » ASPIRATIONS Kjan’s greatest wish isn’t to repay the debt she owes. It’s to accelerate to when the time to pay it is up, so that Kjan may move on with her life.


    » HAIR LENGTH Unevenly cut, just below the shoulder. Normally Kjan prefers to tie her hair up when traveling or initiating a fight. When relaxed and not expecting to break a sweat, Kjan takes it down.
    » HAIR COLOR Brown
    » FACIAL HAIR None
    » EYE COLOR Blue
    » SKIN COLOR Light tan
    » SCARS A small scar on her left palm from tripping on a stone and landing on a piece of metal when she was young.
    » ATTIRE [CASUAL] When not in armor, Kjan will wear a simple green dress. This appearance is a way for her to easily gain a stranger’s trust before robbing them.


    » Thalmor [DISLIKES] – As someone who was raised to worship Talos, Kjan maintains a great hatred toward the Thalmor.

    » Imperial Legion [DISLIKES] – Similar to her reasons for not having such a great relationship with the Thalmor, Kjan also does not care for the Imperials. She considers them cowards for bending at the will of the High Elves.

    » Stormcloaks [LIKES] – Kjan doesn’t believe in the overall Stormcloak cause, but they have enough of a common interest in Talos for her to be somewhat fond of them.

    »Falmer [DISLIKES] – While she hasn’t encountered any herself, Kjan has heard many stories about the Falmer and is quick to judge.

    » Forsworn [NEUTRAL] – Not being too fond of the hold guards in Markarth, Kjan doesn’t have much of a problem if the Forsworn are wreaking havoc in the Reach.

    » The Thieves Guild [ENEMIES] – After killing one of their members, the Thieves Guild is not fond of her, and Kjan is not fond of the Thieves Guild.

    » The Companions [NEUTRAL] – Kjan really has no opinion on the group due to having no history with the group.

    » Mages College [NEUTRAL] – Similar to The Companions, Kjan knows the Mages’ College is there, but lacks enough history to give an opinion of the group.

    » The Dark Brotherhood [NEUTRAL] – Despite the countless crimes she has been caught in the act of committing, Kjan has never been sought out by an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. Therefore Kjan couldn't care less about the group.


    » Speed - Kjan's greatest strength is her speed. It's unmatched and allows her to gain an equal ground against stronger opponents, where she is weakest.
    » Stamina - Being an avid runner, Kjan has been able to build up an unusually large natural reserve of stamina.
    » One-handed swords - Being given her first sword at a young age, Kjan had plenty of time and opportunities to attempt to excel at her weapon of choice. While she is very young for having such sword skills, she has had an unusual amount of time to train and experience to have trained against.
    » Light Armor - Kjan knows how to choose and wear her armor well to fit her style of fighting.
    » Lock picking - Growing up with a bunch of bandits allows one to pick up a few things, one of them being picking locks.
    » Speech - Kjan's a fairly well spoken woman when she chooses to speak.
    » Alchemy - Kjan is somewhat familiar with ingredients and their effects from having to help treat plenty of injuries during her time in Treva's Watch.
    » Blocking (with a sword) - While she is not very good at it due to her lack of strength, Kjan can put up a block or two with her swords during a fight.
    » Sneaking - Kjan tries to be sneaky, but most of the time she is terrible at it.
    » Pick pocketing - Kjan sometimes also succeeds at this action, but it usually is futile.

    » FIGHTING STYLE – Not having a lot of strength, Kjan had to figure out how to fight against some of the more powerful opponents she came across. It was then that Kjan figured out she had to utilize her speed and stamina. Often, she would dodge attacks and wait for an opening, but at other times she would have to create one. Kjan's strongest muscles were in her legs, so she figured out that using them to trip or kick an unsuspecting opponent helped her a lot.The lack of upper body strength also forced the young thief to have to learn to take advantage of gravity and momentum. With all of her attacks, Kjan has to either get a running start, or use her own body weight and gravity to stab into an opponent.


    » Health – Denotes vitality and the amount of damage able to be taken.
    » Magicka – Denotes amount of magicka and the magical capacity to cast spells.
    » Stamina – Denotes amount of physical energy and the ability to perform strenuous activities.
    » Strength – Denotes physical strength and the ability to deal damage with melee attacks and block melee attacks.
    » Endurance – Denotes physical toughness, the ability to withstand pain, illness, and fatigue.
    » Agility – Denotes balance, coordination, reflex, speed, and steadiness in combat.
    » Intelligence – Denotes ability to learn, reason, plan, solve problems, strategize, ability to comprehend complex ideas and general mental capability.
    » Will – Denotes magical strength, the general ability to cast spells and magicka regeneration.
    » Spirit – Denotes mental toughness, willpower and the ability to keep fighting past fatigue, injuries and one’s own limitations.

    Health ■■■■■□□□□□
    Magicka □□□□□□□
    Stamina ■■■■
    Strength ■[COLOR=#909090]□[/COLOR]□□□
    Endurance ■■■■□□□
    Agility ■■■■■■■■■■
    Intelligence ■■■■■
    Will □□□□□□□
    Spirit ■■■■■□□□


    » BIRTH – Fenren Strong-Hammer met Val at the College of Winterhold in the year of 4E 180. Strong-Hammer, a mercenary, had just finished a job for one of the mages at the college and now was returning for his payment. Upon his arrival he met Val, a Nord from Cyrodiil studying Illusion magic, and the two immediately hit it off. Despite Fenren’s unpredictable job which sent him across all of the holds in Skyrim, the couple was able to maintain a relationship.

    On Sun's Dawn 17, 4E 182, Val gave birth to a healthy baby girl named Kjan. The event came with the request that the couple go to Cyrodiil, where her family lived, to raise their daughter. Fenren denied the request angrily, and stormed off to the place his childhood friend had taken refuge years before: Treva’s Watch.

    » CHILDHOOD – Due to Fenren’s connections with one of the leaders of the bandit group living within Treva’s Watch, Kjan and her father were welcomed and treated well. While her father was very focused on his duties within the group, he was a surprisingly dedicated father. The man filled the void that Kjan’s mother left out, being attentive and caring when it came to all of his daughter’s needs.

    Kjan was raised at a young age to worship Talos. Her father was quick to tell anyone that questioned his choice in beliefs, that he was more than certain his faith in the deity had saved him while he was just a young, foolish mercenary. Because her father rarely ever seemed so serious, Kjan simply believed him.

    When Kjan reached 3, the group of bandits found some uses for her. Given that the young girl was now able to speak, walk, and follow directions, they began to use her as a setup for ambushes. Often, Kjan would pretend to be lost or in some type of trouble, gaining a traveler’s trust and eventually leading them down the path and into an ambush. For Kjan, it was all a good game. A game in which she was rewarded with books, toys, and paper in which she could draw on.

    Around the same time as she began participating in these bandit activities, Kjan contracted a severe case of ataxia, which was very poorly treated. This sickness did permanent damage to the development of her upper body muscles, causing her strength and coordination to be damaged as an adult.

    When Kjan was not busy setting up ambushes and spending time with her father, she spent most of her time with her best friend, Jon. Even though Jon was 2 years older than her, they were the only children around, and consequently, they had to spend a lot of time together.

    When Kjan turned 8, the two children began to have an even more active part within the group of outlaws. Instead of pretending to fight with wooden swords over fake treasure, the two were given real weapons. Jon received 2 one-handed swords while Kjan was given two daggers. Even though they were undersized compared to the one-handed weapons Jon had received, the steel daggers were heavy for the young girl with weak muscles, making it tough for her to wield more than one as the two children would practice fighting. With their new weapons, the two children were told they were now expected to fight if the fort were under attack.

    » TEENAGE YEARS – PRESENT – As Kjan grew older she began to notice that she was treated differently than the other bandits. More specifically, it became apparent that she was a female among males. Many of the men in the group of bandits would be hesitant to allow her to fight, with her in attacks or against her during training sessions. They saw her as a liability – someone who lacked the strength to be able to last in the world they lived in. The unavoidable fact that these men also hadn’t been around women in quite some time lingered. While Kjan didn’t exactly meet the standards of beauty expressed in much of Skyrim (living with bandits had made her naturally a bit rugged), Kjan wasn’t necessary ugly either – and this was enough to gain unwanted glances from some men. Such events naturally caused Kjan to be untrusting and wary. Never did she let her guard down or turn her back to anyone. It may have seemed unnecessary and paranoid, but it was how Kjan learned to live. This mentality continued to carry throughout the rest of her life.

    Kjan grew into a very competitive young woman. Often, she would gamble – hating the feeling of losing, but loving the thrill of a win. The gambles were simple most of the time; how many travelers would they encounter today? Could someone beat her in a running contest? Who could eat the most cheese before getting sick? Even small fights that she would pick were fair game for earning coin.

    Being both younger and naturally weaker than the men in Treva's Watch, Kjan learned to fight using her greatest strength - her legs. Often she would use a combination of speed, brutal kicks, and footwork to overcome her opponents. While using her legs for actual physical attacking was something that worked well against new enemies, foes like Jon - whom she had trained against countless times - were able to use it as an opening. Nonetheless, Kjan's speed was exceptional, truly acting as her one unmatched weapon.

    At age 18 Kjan’s life took an unexpected turn. At first there was just panic throughout the group of outlaws, but then there was anger. Kjan quickly found out through word of mouth that Jon’s father, one of the more senior members of the group, had taken off with every septim and treasure that they had collected over a 20 year span. Years of work, blood, and carefully calculated raids and ambushes simply disappeared overnight.

    The bandits weren’t stupid. They knew that if they didn’t locate Jon’s father soon, he would forever be out of their grasp. For two weeks, a party headed by Kjan’s father attempted to discover and follow any leads. Two weeks, and they came back empty handed and more bitter than ever. Anger blinded the group of outlaws. Someone had to pay the price for what had happened, and if it couldn’t be the traitor himself, it would be the next best thing. When Kjan heard that the group had plans to take their aggressions out on Jon, she wasn’t sure what to think. Fenren had raised his daughter well, instilling the belief that her greatest loyalty was to the group. However, at the same time Kjan felt the overwhelming sense that what was happening was wrong.

    Without much prior thought, she turned to the Bandit Chief’s right-hand man, Fenren Strong-Hammer. The man took sympathy in his daughter’s words as Kjan explained the confusion she had been experiencing. While he understood that she felt it was unfair, it was also how things worked. If enough bandits in the group came to the same conclusion, there was no stopping them. It was a strange, corrupt way that the outlaws governed themselves, but it worked.

    In a an attempt to desperately save her only friend, Kjan proposed an idea – one she regretted. Kjan would return the spoils that Jon’s father had stolen. She would collect the same sum of septims for the bandits in exchange for Jon’s life to be spared. Most of the bandits in the group liked the idea, while others were skeptical that Kjan would ever return. In order to fix this problem, they’d give her a time limit. Kjan hated herself for getting into such a mess. She wasn’t built to be a thief, and it would be next to impossible to gather so many septims in just 5 years. While the bandits had been able to collect the coin in 20 years, Kjan was a single person. It would be at least 4 times as difficult.

    With one last farewell to her friend before she left, Jon presented Kjan with the two swords he received when he was 10. They both knew the chances of him coming out of the situation alive were slim. Although they refused to say it, they would most likely not see each other alive. Without so much as a hug or goodbye to her father, Kjan left Treva’s Watch knowing that the seconds – lost moments that she would never be able to have back – were ticking by.

    Kjan carries two smaller than average Nordic Swords that were given to her by her friend Jon before leaving Treva's Watch. These are her only weapons she chooses to carry.

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