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    Muad'dib

    The mouse-shadow
    Name: Darius (an alias)

    Gender: Male

    Race: Bosmer

    Date and place of birth: 4E 135, Falinesti, Valenwood

    Appearance: Darius is short, like most Bosmer, and stands at about five feet, four inches by conventional measurement. Travel and necessity has kept him fit, but in a light and wiry shape as most of his kind tend to be. Longish, black hair clearly hasn't seen the blade of a barber in some time, and either hangs free below his pointed ears or is pulled back in a knot. His features are harsh and angular, alien-looking to most humans but common enough among elves. Tanned, but light skin is smooth in places and worn in others. Narrowish, black eyes are set evenly apart on either side of an angular nose, and one pointed ear is missing its tip in what seems like an old, well-healed wound. He bears some physical signs of having seen battle - his face is slightly marred by several faded scars which look like they may have been worse if not healed by some expert hand. Some black stubble oftentimes covers his chin, showing the beginnings of a beard that is never allowed to fully form. The elf's legs are well-toned and seem quite capable of taking him overland at speed despite his smaller size.

    Biography: Born in the walking city of Falinesti, Darius lived as most city-dwelling Bosmer did, climbing and running, hunting, and undergoing an education as a citizen of the Aldmeri Dominion. He was an adept hunter, taking game for survival or to sell. His family was unremarkable - neither wealthy nor paupers, neither in the Thalmor's favor nor their enemies. By the time he reached adulthood, his skill at stalking game undetected and taking them either at distance or in close range had gotten him the notice of the Dominion's military. He quickly enrolled as a scout in the growing armies of the Dominion, and found his duties taking him closer to Cyrodiil as the years passed. By the time of the Great War, he was a favored scout in Lord Naarifin's armies. Living off the land, stalking and reporting on groups of Legion troops, Darius was a useful tool during the war. Always behind enemy lines, before the advance of the army, Darius' arrows were the death of many a Legionnaire. He was an expert at remaining unseen, at surviving in inhospitable environments picked clean of crops or game by foraging armies. Darius was present at a few major battles here and there, but he was never a great supporter of the Thalmor or their methods. Shortly before the war ended, he grew disillusioned with the Thalmor and deserted his army after a violent confrontation. They considered him as a traitor; it didn't help that Naarifin's army was wiped out some time later. Afterwards, he found himself wandering Tamriel under the name of Darius and offering his services to those in need of his skill set - just like with the Dominion, he was apolitical and didn't really take a moral stand on one side or the other. During his decades-long travels, he eventually wandered into Skyrim. He's had to deal with a few overly curious Justiciars over the years, and he's still wary of them; but he's kept enough of a low profile that he's not much of a target to the Thalmor. Still, he keeps his history to himself.

    Skills:
    • Archery - His upbringing as a Bosmer, along with his extensive experience as a hunter, scout, and mer-for-hire, have honed his skills with the bow to a razor point.
    • Sneaking - From stalking game in the forests of Valenwood, to stalking Legion soldiers in the wilds of Cyrodiil, Darius knows how not to be seen, heard, or noticed.
    • One-handed - Having lived a decent period of time, Darius has grown accustomed to melee combat. Particularly, with the dagger, sword, or mace. He's also not bad unarmed.
    • Light Armor - Hide and leather, or more straightforward military armor poses no problem to wear or maintain. Elven moonstone armor is easy enough, though being shiny and metallic, it isn't his first choice.
    • Alchemy - Basic or intermediate potions and poisons lie within Darius' skill set. Surviving in the wild has its benefits. However, more exotic potions hold no interest for him, as he is no mage.
    • Restoration - Some basic healing spells are essential for any well-rounded traveler, but again, he's no mage.
    Weaknesses:
    • Heavy Armor, Two-Handed, and other warrior skills - Bosmer lack the physique and (in Darius' case) the interest to learn the ins and outs of moving in plate armor. He'll let others charge in while he takes a more measured approach.
    • Most schools of magic - While he recognizes the appeal and usefulness of advanced or esoteric magic, Darius lacks the aptitude and interest to devote himself to it unless it's worth the trouble.
    • Lockpick, Pickpocket - While his Bosmer nature and excellence at sneaking might make Darius a decent thief, he lacks "city" skills like fishing through pockets or picking locks.
     

    lucid-dreaming

    Active Member
    Name: Deonella Corellius
    Sex: Female
    Race: Orc
    Date/Place of birth :4E 163, Chorrol

    Dee dee is standing 6'3 tall, with a lean, athletic physique, pale green skin and mold colored hair. She has narrow, amber eyes, a defined nose and a full set of lips. She's an adept in both stealth and illusion, a deadly combination when engaged in the shadows. She has affiliations with both the college of winterhold and the dark brotherhood.

    Background: She was adopted as a newborn by 2 prominent imperial merchants. They took her in when her real mother, a stay-in employee of both merchants, died while giving birth to her. They didnt plan on keeping the child at first, but the couple gave in and eventually fell in love with baby dee dee, since they can never have children of their own. She grew up on an estate in chorrol. Her adoptive parents gave her the best education money can buy, raised her with an aristocratic breeding, and bounded to be the next heir to the family business. Despite being talented in both academics and economics, hushed whispers and the occasional backstabbing from judgmental nobles and jealous competitors cannot be helped. growing up she didnt have any real friends just because of her race, and the kids at her school think it's unusual for someone like her to be even studying in a prominent academy.
    She grew up having a cynical view of the noble society, a distaste for politics and the drama that goes along with it. Time passed and she grew tired of sucking up to nobles and engaging herself in their affairs in the name of business. She wished to study magic and join the mages guild but the aftermath of the war dismantled the order. She left cyrodiil and traveled to skyrim to study magic in winterhold.Not long she got herself involved with the dark brotherhood, hesitant at first, but later accepted and even admired the order's familial bond. Not to mention the thrill of murder was reason enough to make her stay.

    Personality : Dee dee is calm and collected but a bit of a hot head, not in an all out, violent, "I"LL CRUSH YOU" kind of way. She's witty, eloquent and always know what to say, a master debater and a romantic poet (although the latter, she does in the privacy of her quarters, away from shallow, unappreciative critics ). She's always to the point, a strong willed woman, who has a weakness for music and ballads. She's of lawful neutral alignment.

    Skills:
    Illusion
    Sneak
    One handed
    Alchemy
    Alteration
    Restoration
    Light Armor
     
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    Athilea

    Member
    Name: Thoridal Corrine
    Nickname: Thor
    Race: Dunmer
    Class: Thief
    Gender: Female
    Looks: Thoridal has short cropped black hair, grey skin, and red eyes as is typical of her race. She also sports a few scars, and wears intricate white face paint.
    ScreenShot64_zpsiseemex1.png

    Personality: She is cold, rough around the edges, and doesn't seem to care about anyone around her. If you manage to get past that shell, though, she's quite friendly.
    Misc: She is proficient with a bow, but better with her daggers. She much prefers coming up behind someone and surprising them, then shooting them from afar. However, she will do whatever she needs to.
     

    hershangames

    Well-Known Member
    Name: Hershan
    Race: khajit
    Age: 31
    Class: assasin
    Gender: male
    Height: 1,75m/ 5,8 f
    Weight: 89,50k/196 lbs
    Build: very strong on arms and legs
    Laterality: right handed
    Sexuality: heterosexual
    Marital status: married, but he abandoned his wife
    Properties: a house in whiterun
    Affiliations: mages college of
    winterhold
    Afflictions: he doesn't trust anyone, constant sense of danger
    Habits: manipulating people just for the feeling of it, flipping a coin
    Positive traits: strategist, almost impossible to lie at, stealthy
    Negative traits: coldness, lack of trust in others
    Likes/loves: high places, power
    Hates: treason, misery
    Fears: the dark brotherhood
    Aspirations: to be emperor of tamriel

    Appearance:
    Hair lenght: hair covers his head, stopping right above his eyebrows in the front, covers his ears on the side, and reaches the middle of his neck in the back
    Hair color: black
    Facial hair: none
    Eye color: black
    Skin color: Mediterranean
    Casual attire: long black tunic with hood that shadows his face
    Armor: nightingale armor, except for plugist gloves

    Skills:
    Master:stealth
    Expert: illusion, lockpixking, one handed(dual wielding)
    Adept: speech
    Apprentice: archery, restoration

    Gear: set of daggers(blade of woe and frost ebony dagger) and set of swords(nightingale blade and childrend)
    History:
    Early years: Hershan was born in an old farm in elsweyr. His family was so poor that they barely had enough to live. His parents worked all day at the farm, and they often would keep a part of the crop to eat.

    Early teens: Hershan first started stealing from people's houses to make some money. He was good at it, but he was arrested several times. He had dreams of greatness, and tended to treat people as simple pawns. It was around d that time when his parents were assaulted and killed on the road. He then decided to travel to Skyrim to acomplish his dreams.

    Late teens: Hershan had joined both the dark brotherhood and the thieve's guild, and had quickly become their leader, not because of his skills, but because of his leadership. He had mixed the two guilds thus creating the shadow realm, of which he was king. He married a riverwood merchant, just for the interest, he felt no love at all.

    Adulthood: As king of the shadow realm, he soon got the contract he had been waiting for, the murder of the emperor. He changed the testament and the family paperwork of the emperor to make it so that he was to inherit his trhone, and killed him. But something g unexpected happened. Lydia, who had long ago stopped following him, had joined the penitus oculatus. And right when he killed the emperor, she entered the room and saw him. Lydia was one of the few people he liked, and so he didn't kill her, she promised to never say a word if he rejected the trhone, and, although it weighted heavily on him, he accepted.
    But a few weeks later, after a few drinks, she started talking. Hershan lost it and killed her that same night. He would forever had nightmares about it.
    The nightmares haunted him and started forcing him to do nice things and help the people. He then joined the mages college to use magic to help people, and left the shadow realm in the hands of Loki, his right hand man. As was to be expected, Loki soon crowned himself and declared Hershan as a threat that had to be eliminated.

    To face the shadow realm, he had to train days straight without resting. He soon became capable of killing the assassins that were one by one sent to him, although some gave him a hard time.
    And the, he started to seek power again.



    Sent from my XT1032 using Tapatalk
     

    Alxx

    Nightingale
    Name: Jeer-Meena
    Race: Argonian
    Age: 28
    Sex: Male
    Birthdate: 4E 173 5th of Rain's Hand
    Birthplace: Leyawiin, Cyrodiil
    Sexuality: Bisexual
    Family: Chases-Starlight - Mother
    Tei-lai - Father

    Marital Status: single
    Class: Thief
    Laterality: Ambidextrous
    Affiliations: Thieves Guild
    Religion: worships no gods

    Appearance: he stands around 5 ft and 9 inches, weights about 170 lbs and possesses a lean build with just enough muscle to help him scale walls and run great distances. his baby blue colored eyes grace a scaly grey face which is also adorned with yellow scales and a plumage of feathers of the same color; he possesses no visible horns or spikes on his brow.

    Personality: Jeer-Meena possess a selfish attitude, he wishes to help himself rather then help others and this is the exact attitude that makes him fall out of the good graces of the Eight. accompanying his selfish nature, he also possesses a need to be utterly snarky then be serious, there is a time when he needs to be but that's hardly ever going to happen. his goofy personality type fits right on in with his snarky attitude to which he prefers a good laugh, a mug of ale with strangers, and even finds the simplest things funny when they shouldn't be. a lockpick breaking, a blind man tripping, a guard chasing him and of course a sword fight where he notices the sloppy footwork. he's a real piece of work, combined with a selfish attitude with a snarky goofy personality there's really no pinpointing to consider him a threat or just a drunken idiot, easily the most deceiving feature about him.

    Likes: Alcoholic drinks, gold, jewels, daggers ((he is a man with simple and yet elegant tastes))
    Dislikes: fanatic religious people, the Eight, rich people, authority figures
    Fears: going to Jail, losing all his fortune
    Quirks: tends to talk with his hands, i.e - gesturing way too much than is necessary when he talks.

    Gear:
    basic brown leather Thieves Guild armour
    Weapons: prefers daggers over swords but will dual wield both if the mood strikes him, he will often use a bow when he feels like striking at a distance.
    Fighting style: up close he prefers to dodge and whittle his opponent down with bug bites before delivering a killing blow.

    Backstory: he came from a relatively wealthy family from Leyawiin, his parents were both merchants that bought and sold jewelry and clothing. their store had become fairly successful that they wouldn't need to worry about going hungry or losing their home anytime soon. Jeer-Meena was the only child Chases-Starlight and Tei-lai were able to have, due to this they have spoiled and smothered him with love and affection. as he grew older his parents groomed him to take over their business and even had him in an arranged marriage with a lovely Argonian from Cheydinal at the age of 19. he had an utterly perfect life where everything seemed to be handed to him on a silver platter- and he was sick of it. everything in his life was nothing but safe and peaceful, it was suffocating with the calmness of the life he had, he wanted excitement and danger to be introduced in his boring life.

    he heard a rumor of that thieves guild was recruiting in Leyawiin, he took this as a sign that his life was finally going to get interesting. during his recruitment quest he showed promising skills that the Doyen overseeing him took a liking to both his skill and enthusiasm so he joined up then and there. since then he has been doing jobs in Leyawiin from simple burglary to pickpocketing nobles and merchants on the street. joining the thieves guild was the best thing he had ever done, this was the type of job that breathed new life into his dull one, he finally started to feel alive but the fun was short-lived; is parents found out about his activities. his parents had begged him to stop but Jeer-Meena had continued to refuse their pleas, his father then realized that he couldn't talk sense into his son so he gave him a choice- either to leave now and never come back or be thrown in jail until he learns his lesson.

    the answer was Obvious to Jeer-Meena and he left that very day with nothing but the clothes on his back and a coin purse heavy with gold. it has been about 10 years since he left Leyawiin and he never looked back, he never contacted his parents since then but it was for the best, a safe life as a merchant just wasn't him. the life of a thief was something he thrived on, he loved the risks and the money that came with it, since he left his home he has honed his skills as well as growing as a person- well backwards of course.
     
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    TheJungleTiger

    Tiger Princess
    Name: Tiger Race: Nord Age: unknown Sex: female Birthdate: unknown Birthplace: unknown Family: unknown Marital status: single Class: Between a thief and a assassin. Religion: unknown Not much is known about Tiger. As that is known is that she is about 5 ft and 6 inches for height 147 pounds has a claw war paint on her face. Her abilities are amazing mostly useful in the forests of skyrim. Eyes are brown hair a mixture of orange and black no one knows if it's some sort of genetic thing or if she just did something to it. Her personality features a bit of humor as well as some seriousness. Her gadgets are hand crafted.
    Weapons: Daedric daggers tipped with a powerful poison, dwarves arrows with a symbol on each of them, poisons if caught, and a weird looking bow with some animal carvings into the bow. Armor: Nightingale armor She has skills to break out of any prison and is very smart when it comes to tricks. People fear her when it comes to her.
     

    Alxx

    Nightingale
    Name: Nirryra Belval
    Race: Dunmer
    Age: 340
    Birthdate: 3E 294 10th of Morning star
    Birthplace: Sadrith Mora, Vvardenfell
    Sexuality: Straight
    Family: Fanial Belval - mother
    Malsis Belval - Father
    Eradas Belval - Brother
    Dirvas Belval - Brother
    Marital status: single

    Class: NightBlade
    Laterality: Left handed
    Affiliations: Morag Tong - former
    Religion: worships Mephala with a passion

    Appearance: she stands at about 5'11, not far off from the typically elven height, she weights around 170 lbs and possessing an athletic build to compliment her style of running, sneaking and climbing. her greyish blue skin is adorned with pale white face paint that look like serpents slithering across her face, the color of the paint perfectly brought out her crimson eyes. her long ruby red hair was combed back to show off her long, narrow face- a perfect example of a elven beauty.

    Personality: like her assassin background Nirryra prefers to be quiet rather then loud, she knows just when to speak and when to remain quiet. this was what made her an exceptional assassin, to her silence was golden if she were to please Mephala. in a addition of being silent she can be quite serious, she can't a joke for the life of her as such things seem to fly over her head but if she suspects it's a crack about her then she won't hesitate to have them meet their maker. aside from being a hard ass who can't take a joke she can be approachable by anyone, as dictated by her appearance but she isn't much for conversation, she's not shy as most would take it but truth is she just doesn't like to talk about idle things. if a conversation has a line of purpose to back it up then she will stay and chat.

    Likes: a good book, quiet places, flowers
    dislikes: loud eccentric people, sweetrolls, alcohol
    fears: losing her family, the Morag Tong
    Quirks: tends to play around with her spells while she waits, i.e. flickering her fire spells, playing with the frost magic, etc. tends to avoid eye contact with those she doesn't know.

    gear: it is a black outfit featuring a skin tight leather that covered her arms and legs, over her body she wears a black robe with silver accents that resembles closely to a mage's outfit. her hands were covered in fingerless gloves of the same material as he outfit, she then wears black boots that are slightly below the knee. a black hood then conceals most of her face from prying eyes unless she lifts her head up.
    Weapons: in one hand she hold a glass dagger and the other she wields whatever spell she chooses to kill her enemy with. she also wields an glass bow for long range.
    Fighting style: she prefers to fight from a distance rather then up close and personal, using her either her bow or her spells to dispatch her enemies, if not an option then she will use her dagger a spell to help her in combat.

    Backstory: Nirryra hails from a family that belongs in the great house Telvanni, Nirryra's parents are both heavily gifted in the magical arts. her father had an excellent understanding of magic like none other, aside from being a wizard he constantly experimented on various magical items to seek out their properties. the main focus of his research being on soul gems and how they operated. her Mother on the other hand was a extraordinary sorceress without match, aside from that she was also an excellent alchemist that had an understanding of plant life and their properties. her potions were legendary and extremely helpful, many would come to her and train under her guidence to be great alchemists. with the two's combined magical abilities it was no wonder that their children mastered magic by the time they were 3 years old. their children being Nirryra's eldest brother Eradas, the second eldest Dirvas and herself.
    from the tender age of 3 she was trained by both her parents, brothers and various tutors to become a great sorceress like her parents.

    Nirryra was happy with her life as being apart of a great house, but aside from the wealth and status she was loved by her parents and her brothers; she would sometimes help her father with his experiments, or spend time training with her brothers but she treasured the moments she would spent with her mother in their gardens. it was a happy time for Nirryra while it lasted, it all soon went away when her mother fell ill. numerous doctors were called to find out what she had and how to cure her, Nirryra had no idea what was going on at the time but she never saw her mother for several weeks before her father finally came out with the news.

    her mother had died and it was quite a blow to their family, her father being devastated by losing his wife absorbed himself in his work to cope and in doing so he barely slept or ate. it took it's toll on Nirryra and her brothers as they struggled to both cope with their mother's death, care for their father and to continue their lessons. over a century had passed and their mother's death still haunted their family but their father took it worse then them, in his state he had became somewhat of a weak link in the Telvanni house and the other houses heard of this. Malsis had many enemies among the other houses for various reasons and to be rid of him while he is weak and his death would be a blow to House Telvanni. one night an assassin was sent to eliminate their father, the assassin snuck into the house and hoped the old Dunmer would be alone but right before he was about to stick a knife to Malsis Nirryra caught the assassin in the act and quickly reacted. Nirryra and the assassin went at it, blade against blade but the assassin failed to remember Nirryra's magical abilities and was burned to a crisp.

    since that event guards were hired to protect her family 24/7, but to Nirryra's surprise an assassin managed to sneak by the guard but they were not there to kill her- they revealed that they were not ordinary assassin; they were apart of the Morag Tong and they wanted to recruit her. the assassin said had told her that they were there when they went to assassinate her father but were impressed about her fighting abilities and wished for her skills not to be wasted by sitting on her ass and become a member of a council rot away slowly. Nirryra considered the offer carefully and come up with conditions if she were to join- she will only accept if her family were not harmed and they accepted. Nirryra would sneak away from her home and go on contract jobs throughout Morrowind, she kept her life in the Morag Tong secret from her family as she wished not to worry them.

    she had stayed in the Morag Tong's services until the year known as the Red year began. Nirryra did everything in her power to quickly evacuate her family from Morrowind and onto a boat to Cyrodiil, they had some important friends in the imperial city so her family would be kept safe and still be able to live in luxury. with the eruption from the red mountain and all the destruction it has caused the Morag Tong suffered heavy losses and needed all their remaining agents to come back but Nirryra refused, putting the safety of her family first and so she was exiled from the organization- and now she is a target. the Morag Tong do not appreciate members dropping out whenever they please so now they hunt her down like a dog until she lays dead. to keep her family safe she left them but hired multiple guards to protect them in her absence. to this day she roams the lands of tamerial, leading the Morag Tong way from her family.
     
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    Thrain

    Member
    age : ~fifteen
    gender : female
    occupation : alchemist
    location : skyrim (adventurer)

    name : thrain deotraedhel
    romance : n/a
    kin : deceased

    injuries : n/a
    voice reference : emma watson
    physical attributes : thrain is a petite bosmer with olive toned skin, chapped lips and almond shaped orbs. shorter than most wood elves, she stands at a slight four feet and ten inches, giving her quite the advantage when it comes to sneaking past unwanted trouble. thrain's hair is a mousey brown and is loosely shaven on the sides while the top is a fair four inches in length. she keeps the longer part of her hair in a bun at the top of her head at most times, but doesn't mind it being down. she might as well have a perfect skin complexion, but there are two scars on her face, one stretched down from her forehead, down her cheek and to her chin, the other beneath her golden-hazel eyes, crossing over the bridge of her nose. thrain wears a pair of plain green trousers that are tied with a leather satchel around her waist, a pair of black boots, and wound up bundle of cow fur to cover her small breasts.

    history : thrain was born in cyrodiil where she lived with her mother and father until she was four years old, when her family's farm was ransacked by bandits. the outlaws killed her parents, but thrain used her small size to her advantage and hid herself beneath the hay in the horse pen. orphaned and less than half a decade old, thrain began her journey to skyrim. after about a month of travel, she found herself at the doorstep of riften, where she joined the thieves' guild. barely fitting into their outfit, thrain was trained as a thief for two years, leaving when she was nearly six years of age. this is when she began to travel researching abandoned ruins and collecting rare ingredients for alchemical research. when she was ten, she was adopted into a caravan of khajiits, where she was trained with more precision to be an alchemist. she is now an adventurer and a traveling alchemist with a tenancy to steal.

    sexual orientation : demisexual
    mental state : thrain has a quick mind and a heart of stone - or at least ice. she isn't one to worry about a stranger's well being but will do anything in her power to help someone or something she's made a personal bond with. while she does hunt animals for their "ingredients," thrain will often avoid harming an animal, even if they are attacking her; she will use a calming spell to tame their fear. as a very young child she learned to deal with heartbreaking loss, causing her to be somewhat immune to the effects of depression that loosing someone can toll. she tends to find older men and women attractive, as she is a teenager and people her age aren't as mature as she'd like.
     

    Amapola

    Member
    Name: Thoridal Corrine
    Nickname: Thor
    Race: Dunmer
    Class: Thief
    Gender: Female
    Looks: Thoridal has short cropped black hair, grey skin, and red eyes as is typical of her race. She also sports a few scars, and wears intricate white face paint.
    ScreenShot64_zpsiseemex1.png

    Personality: She is cold, rough around the edges, and doesn't seem to care about anyone around her. If you manage to get past that shell, though, she's quite friendly.
    Misc: She is proficient with a bow, but better with her daggers. She much prefers coming up behind someone and surprising them, then shooting them from afar. However, she will do whatever she needs to.

    sorry for the OT, but what is the armor Thor is wearing on the picture? looks great!
     

    Nocte Aeterna

    Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Film
    Debuting my second character!

    Basic Information

    Name: Orvar Swift-Sole (given name Orvar Torbensson and Orvar Gray-Wind)

    Nickname: Or, Swift-Sole

    Race: Nord

    Gender: Male

    Age: 24

    Date of Birth: 5th of Evening Star, 4E 176

    Place of Birth: Morthal, Skyrim

    Birthsign: The Thief

    Personal Information

    Height: 5’8” (172.7 cm)

    Weight: 174 lbs (78.9 kg)

    Build Type: Atypical of most Nords, rather short, but with a proportionately similar amount of muscle to his taller kinsmen.

    Eye Color: Blue

    Hair Color: Blond

    Skin Color: Fair

    Physical Appearance:
    383CC4B6A4B6AE196C3D1DCF7B42B4FFF528C94E


    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Religion: Atheist

    Occupation: Mercenary

    Marital Status: Single/swinger

    Current Residence: None officially

    Political Views: Orvar dislikes both the Legion and the Stormcloaks; as far as he is concerned, if there are new places to go, money to be made, and brawls to be won, he cares naught for politics.

    Diseases/Ailments: None

    Family Information

    Father: Torben Edmundsson/Gray-Wind (born 4E 144)

    Mother: Grimhilda Ruriksdottir/Gray-Wind (4E 149 – 4E 186; died from disease)

    Siblings: Hafthor Torbensson/Gray-Wind (brother; born 4E 173), Saga Torbensdottir/Gray-Wind (sister; born 4E 180)

    Personality

    Positive Traits: Passionate, loyal, cunning, witty, caring to friends and allies, excellent survival skills

    Negative Traits: Impulsive, aggressive, stubborn, lustful, disrespectful of authority at times

    Interests: Money, women, clear starlit nights, bets, brawls, animals/wildlife, good booze, botany/alchemy, and hunting.

    Other Trivia: Orvar knows the relative geography of Skyrim like the back of his hand. He also hates being called by his original clan name, Gray-Wind.

    Combat Information

    Alignment: Chaotic Good to Chaotic Neutral depending on sense of loyalty and temperament

    Class: Ranger

    Affiliations/Factions: Companions (formerly), Clan Gray-Wind (estranged)

    Laterality: Ambidextrous

    Major Skills: Archery, Alchemy, Sneak, One-Handed

    Minor Skills: Light Armor, Lockpicking, Smithing

    Combat Style: Orvar primarily relies on stealth and luck when it comes to combat, though he generally only requires the former. He has perfect vision by human standards, surpassed only by that of a Bosmer. Thus, he is an accomplished archer, capable of pelting foes at a distance in vital spots from the safety of the shadows and possessing an average arrow flight distance of several hundred yards. When unable to use his bow (such as when being detected unexpectedly), Orvar is adept at the difficult art of wielding a war axe swiftly – much less two war axes. Though both are slightly shortened in length, they allow him to rely less on blocking and more on skillful agility and speed. Regardless of the combat style, however, his preferred method of combat involves on-the-fly tactics with liberal usage of deadly poisons, often crafted himself.

    Gear and Inventory

    Primary Weapon: Imperial Bow with Steel Arrows (100) and Dwarven Arrows (25)

    Secondary Weapon: Skyforge Steel War Axe x 2 (both slightly shortened in length and volume to decrease weight burden)


    Armor: Scaled set (without the helmet), silver necklace (keepsake)

    Inventory: Aforementioned weapons and armor, spare arrows, potions and poisons alike, food, and waterskin.

    Biography

    Clan Gray-Wind had been a fixture in Morthal for ages past, though the family was always fairly ordinary one by Nordic standards. His father, Torben, was a logger and miller, while his mother, Grimhilda, grew wheat on the small lands they owned, selling it bi-weekly. Though not affluent by any means, the family nevertheless enjoyed admiration and recognition for their hard work and perseverance, especially during Morthal’s bleak winters. In fact, it was Torben’s great-grandfather who helped pull Morthal from its troubled village roots into a bustling small town of commerce and tradition. Gray-Wind’s first son and heir by right, Hafthor, was born in 4E 173. Three years later, Clan Gray-Wind birthed a second son, Orvar, and a daughter, Saga, four years after that.

    Orvar Gray-Wind was a sickly boy, short in stature with an awkward gait and knobby knees, sharply contrasting to his tall, burly, and handsome older brother. Because of this, Orvar was regularly shunned from his similarly-aged peers growing up, and though his family (and the numerous alchemists they consulted) initially assured him that he was no different from anyone else, and that the “milk-drinker” term (among other, less friendly ones) was a mere farce of confident bravado, even they gradually began to distance themselves from him.

    In the ensuing years, Orvar was constantly compared to Hafthor. The latter was taller, stronger, tougher, well-behaved, handsome, and calm; the exact opposite of the attention-seeking Orvar. This trend of belittlement continued, and was exacerbated by Grimhilda’s unexpected death from severe rockjoint in 4E 186. Though the family was crippled by the loss, any existing rancor was amplified perhaps tenfold. Orvar was increasingly ignored throughout his family and shunned by his peers, with the worst of the crowd quipping that “his impish aura” caused the death of his mother. However, this unwarranted free time was not without merit; the long hours of solitude allowed Orvar to teach himself archery and brawling skills with both fists and axe. He befriended animals, as their emotions were far less complicated than those of his peers.

    As Orvar settled into adolescence, his height only reached a mediocre sixty-eight inches, but he began to resemble his older brother and father more and more. However, the damage had already been done, and his downcast feelings soon gave way to bouts of rebelliousness. He frequently got into pub brawls, smuggled drinks out of taverns, slept with whores, and continually found new ways to raise the ire of his family and kinsmen alike. Eventually, his behavior mounted when, at the tender age of eighteen and in a fit of jealousy and contempt, brutally injured a man for sleeping with a woman he enjoyed spending time with. After being arrested by the town guards, his father intervened and gave Orvar a choice: go to prison, or leave Morthal and be sent to the Stormcloak army. He ultimately chose the latter, and, having packed his few belongings in minutes, Orvar left Morthal without so much as a farewell.

    Three weeks into the long carriage ride to Windhelm, west of Whiterun, the caravan on which he was traveling was caught in a battle between bandits and armored warriors. In the ensuing fracas, the Stormcloak caravan was decimated, but Orvar quickly found his alignment; he crept away effortlessly with a bow and arrow set looted off of one of the corpses, positioned himself atop a nearby hill, and shot the bandit leader directly between the eyes just as she was about to administer a killing blow on one of the warriors.

    Impressed with the eleventh hour rescue, the warrior, who had introduced himself as Vilkas, extended an invitation for Orvar to accompany his group back to Whiterun. Thus began Orvar’s three-year stint in the Companions – he was deemed an excellent fit for the group due to his fiery nature and inherent fighting skills despite having participated in few legitimate battles up until then. Otherwise, he had a mixed record: Aela kept rejecting his advances, though she applauded him for his hunting skills; Farkas and Vilkas found him to be a trustworthy friend; Njada thought he was a lout; the rest of them seemed to take him in stride. Many of his Shield-Siblings took to calling him Swift-Sole, as a homophonic double entendre to illustrate his both fast and agile method of fighting as well as his impulsiveness (swift soul).

    Orvar cared little for honorifics, however, and he often clashed with Kodlak and Skjor over tradition and values. This led to Orvar’s declaration of absence from the Companions, though he often credits them with “having opened his eyes to the world”. Having felt himself reinvigorated, Orvar relinquished his old clan name and bestowed himself a new surname based on his moniker in the Companions: Orvar Swift-Sole. With the wind at his back, he chose to become a self-employed mercenary, lending his prowess to those willing to pay.
     
    Last edited:

    Balomew

    Active Member
    This character biography will be updated at the official end of participated threads. This character will participate in only one thread at a time. If you want additional information about this character, then read the thread that this character is participating in from the first post to the last.
    LAST UPDATED: 7/28/2015

    xU5LET9.png

    KHAMUNDAR
    26 YEAR OLD FEMALE SUTHAY
    27TH OF MIDYEAR 4E 175, THE STEED, TORVAL ELSWEYR

    aSLOf62.jpg

    ALIASES, TITLES: N/A
    CURRENT RESIDENCE: Travels, rests at inns
    OCCUPATION: Adventurer, mercenary
    AFFLICTIONS: N/A
    POLITICAL OPINION: Supports the Stormcloak rebellion but disapproves of their audacity. Believes that the Empire willingly caters to the whim of the Thalmor. Suspects Dominion treachery of her people.

    PHYSICAL EXAMINATION:
    Digitigrade, stands at 5'6", slightly crouched posture. Naturally weaker than the common Khajiit. Has full hips and thighs, a defined waist, and narrow shoulders. Her fur is terra-cotta brown with small, round white marking across her face and shoulders. Khamundar has sharp cerulean eyes and shoulder-length dark brown dreadlocks tied at the center with a band. Her short stature is best suited for evasion. Claw-like fingernails are useful for melee defense.

    MAJOR SKILLS:
    ● Athletics
    ● Marksmanship
    ● Speechcraft
    ● Unarmored

    MINOR SKILLS:
    ● Light Armor
    ● Security
    ● Sneak

    WEAPONS:
    ● Steel longbow with leather grip, steel arrows

    APPAREL:
    ● Knee-length linen robe, linen leggings
    ● Scaled bracers, leather greaves, insulated boots
    ● Hooded burlap cloak with ear slots

    ITEMS:
    ● Small round moonstone pendant on a leather cord

    PERSONALITY:
    Unpredictable and often dual-natured, like her homeland, Khamundar is passionate and relies on wit to carry here through danger. She acts as her conscience directs without regard for the expectations of others. She believes in law but rarely follows rules and regulations. She takes offense when people coerce others. She follows her own moral compass which, although good, may conflict with that of society.

    HISTORY:
    This Khajiit was born and raised in a city in the southern region of Elsweyr, in the Torval forest. Her clan was tight-knit; each members understood and respected each other's strengths and faults. As a youth, Khamundar was known for her cunning, persuasion, introspection, and free spirit. She eavesdropped on conversations without reveal and noticed details that others did not. She preferred to spend her time alone or around adults rather than around other youths. Born under the Steed sign, she was restless and dreamed of adventuring beyond home.

    The eventual deaths of her father and younger sister, both fatally ill with a genetic disease, slowly deteriorated her social life. She worked well but did not speak or interact with friends or family, despite their attempts. When she caught word that caravans were heading north to Skyrim, she was encouraged to take the opportunity to set a new course for her life. With the blessing of her mother, she joined Ri'saad caravan as an additional guard.

    As the group passed through Cyrodiil, Khamundar began to develop an interest in the Ayleid ruins. Her first few scouts around then, however, drew the attention of Dominion agents. Repelled by their presence, she ceased the expeditions. She rarely stayed close to the caravan at rest stops, more of a tag-along than a guard. Skirmishes and the Dominion's undeniable grip on the province made the province unstable.

    Khamundar felt that Skyrim would be a safer province than Cyrodiil because, unlike the Nordic natives, Legion forces would seek to overwhelm their enemies rather than pillage, destroy, and harm innocents. The caravan crossed the border and made a beeline for Whiterun. Khamundar left her temporary career as a caravan job and took up mercenary work to get coin into her pockets and familiarize herself with the province.
     
    Last edited:

    Baron_Reachman

    Ripper Of Souls

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    Some are born to be warriors, some are born to be scholars and others are born to serve. Through shrouded dark nights and misty frozen mornings a mother and father were accompanied by a small pact of friends searching for a warmth and cover from the frozen hearth of the land of Skyrim. Six friends together alone, open to any sought of attack willingly go forth into a dark damp cave. Unknown to any of them is that they are being watched, they are being stalked. Edging themselves deeper into the cave the six close friends wander into a dead end, however they are unaware that they are now trapped.

    Only looking for shelter to rest they begin to set up fires and camps, the mother of the group is near birth of a new child. Happily the women of the group prepare for the birthing rights and ready themselves for the hard labour ahead. Within a mere twenty four hours the labour would begin, the cries of pain would echo through this damp dark hovel of a cave. However those cries would awaken those watching them from there hidden slumber. Slipping closer towards the camp they watch the birth, mouths water eyes feasting upon those of the pact.

    Only watching however waiting for the birth to end, for those cries of pain to stop, it was a sight to them there fragile eyes witness child birth the beauty of it. They would scatter around mumbling to each other quietly “The child will be ours” one said while the others would mumble “The child bears new blood we shall bring him to her” In awe from the birth of a new Nord boy they began to slip their way into the small encampment. One of the pact males saw these fellow kin men loathing at the sight of the child, he shouted for the women to hide as the men would arm themselves with flimsy axes and pig sticking iron swords.

    It may sound like they had the advantage against these unarmed kinsmen, but what was unaware to the pact men was that these fragile and filthy looking kinsmen were unlike any other. Almost part wild animal they would lunge at the men, it was 3 men against almost 12 of these sickly looking diseased ridden foul mouth kinsmen. The pact men put up a fight but they were quickly dealt with, slowly slipping from the shadows a robed elder kin men would walk around and over the now dead bodies of the pact men. Almost like the eldest one was controlling them he let them feast of the dead, while focusing his attention upon the women and the new child, slowly limping towards them the mother tried to cover her newborn child in her arms while the other girls would go to try and hit the old man. With distaste he cast the women aside with force using fire the women would screech and scream as there flesh would burn slowly killing them. Hobbling his way towards the mother and her child he would put his hands out “Take your hands of the child filthling” the old man would yelp at her however the mother would hold her child tighter. Shaking his head in anger the old man would cast an Illusion spell, paralysing her. Unable to move her eye would only be able to witness as her child is taken from her by this old hag of a man. Having now taken the child and hobbling away he would give a signal to those other almost dead looking kin that were eating away at the men. They stopped and would crawl or run out of the cave following the old man.

    Now having obtained the child he wished for, he would begin a short journey to a rundown old house covered in webs, part of it broken down by a fallen tree. With a sick grin across his faith he would take the child to the cellar, followed by those ugly disgusting kinsmen would aid the man as he would try and climb down. Walking now from the house he made his way into a large set of underground caves some of them filled halfway with water, but one of the caves bridge out across water to a shrine, a shrine dedicated to Namira. Some would think Namira wanted the child as a sacrifice, no she wanted a child to extend her legacy of Decay alive. Instructing the old hollow like man to raise the child as his own, teach him the ways of our kind, she would instruct. Surprised that the elder man would be given directions by the great Namira he would obey her for he feared the wraith he would face from his fellow kinsmen who praise her name.

    Ready to follow the instructions given to him by his lord of decay the elderly man would start his journey in raising this child, Firstly he needed to name the child. Looking to his fellow disciples the elderly man would name this strong born Nord boy “Runir Bjorksvil” the man would name the newborn, difficulties would arise early he needed ways to feed the child. Scarred he would fail Namira and let the child die he had to find a mother figure in those who are loyal the the lady of decay. Finding a healthy mother, well somewhat healthy mother that lived out just south of Whiterun he would put his faith in that women until the young boy would grow old enough to eat and fend for himself.

    Which in the elders mind was around the age of five, it may have been harsh but when the women had raised the boy to five the loyal servant of Namira would return to claim the child of decay. Now a growing Nord boy the elder knew he would have to teach the child everything “Listen Runir your time has come to serve your mistress” unaware of his past as a child the boy would only agree as the old man scared him. Sight can be tricked this old man may have looked petty and fragile but he was a master of magicka and stealth. However the elder wanted to teach Runir to fend for himself so almost instantly from day one the old man would begin his violent and extreme techniques of training. Many would imagine the sicking things the elder could have done to Runir but only the child of decay would know the truths and lies behind those wicked rumours.

    Runir was trained in many arts of combat through severe and intense education of the arts of war, accompanying that he would be taught the meanings of the old mans lord, Namira's lifestyle would be the teaching of Runir , not only in combat to defend his mistress, his divine and his lady of decay, but to serve her in life and death. Decay was the life Runir would be taught, cannibalism was something the elderly man who was raising Runir thought was something that created a common bond with the lady of decay. However in the eyes of common men these teachings and beliefs were considered to be extreme and insane.

    Raised in decay, brought up in decay and taught decay Runir only knew his life was to serve his mistress, the Daedric lord of decay Namira. Growing up for Runir was not something easy, he was always forced to trained, pushed to his limits all in the name of his mistress. Decay followed the boy who was growing up to become a man, however the old man was concern that the teachings would leave Runir an easy target, He had to teach Runir what the “Common” folk did to allow the boy to hide his true beliefs and ways of life. Growing up was not any were near normal for Runir living in decay and death left him look rough and filthy, Many of the follows of the Nine or “Eight” would figure out that Runir is a follow of Namira, but the elderly man was worried if he cleaned the boy up he would disgrace the goddess of decay so the elderly man went looking for guidance from the mistress of decay.

    Seeking guidance from his lady, she spoke to him giving him truth understanding that she would not be able to guide the boy yet she continued to control the old man telling him to hide Runir's belief towards her. Listening and obeying the old man would clean the boy and make him look more “approachable” Runir was quite understanding that many of those that live in Skyrim go against the teachings of the Daedra. Although he was concerned that if he was to follow the mistress of decay how could he conceal his true belief away from those eyes that pry into others business. Now becoming a true man Runir needed to follow his own guidance, with belief he would listen to his mentor that old mangy man who had raised him from being a child. “Go see her, she wishes to speak to you child, our lay has chosen her new follower of righteousness” said the old man, taking in the information Runir would head to the secret location of his lady Namira and he would listen to her.

    Like most Daedra Namira was ready, she had set out a dirty plan to set forth. Runir would go seek guidance fro his lady, and during his prayers of worship she would give him confidence and power all in one, praising his name as the child of decay “My dear boy, my dear Runir your life was forged by decay, but do you know the truth about your past” her plan had taken effect both curious and confused Runir would question about his past and learn the truth about his real family. Angry, hateful and vengeful Runir would seek out his former mentor that old man now with corruption in his heart from his mistress. Completely unaware of what Runir was told the old man would lay down his guard thinking peace finally had been reached, armed and dangerous the child of decay Runir would find the old man in this dilapidated home covered in cobwebs and dust as well as part of it broken down looking more like a destroyed home rather then something to live in.

    Entering the fold Runir was filled with rage, controlled by it armed with a woodcutters axe he step in to the dirty and destroyed part of the house where his mentor the old man was on his knees in prayer to Namira. Runir's face was filled with angry red rage as he stormed towards the old man taking the axe in both hands and then laying the axe into the old man, making a bloody red mess as he Runir practically cut apart limb and limb of the old man giving no quarter. Finally at the end Runir stood, bloody and now in pain for the one person he would have called a father now is just a pile of limbs and gore. His heart beating fast and hard Runir would walk out of the decaying home before falling to his knees, crying out in pain as he looked up at the sky then down at his hands and chest covered in blood.

    Rain came down, the cool air would wave across the area as the rain soaked into Runirs blood covered clothing and body. Tears would roll across his face as he would wipe them, a full grown man a Nord to be truthful crying out in pain. Looking around exhausted due to the anger that had drawn out all of his passion in his blood fuelled rage. Namira would speak to him would calm him getting inside of his head once again controlling him. Standing up Runir would wander down past the house towards a great lay of water, to was himself off. Cleaning himself and declothing he would swim in the bay of water, washing the blood away however he was noticed by a fishermen from Falkreath who saw him soaked in blood.

    Sighing to himself Runir would walk up to the fisherman giving him a wave before only walking to him covered by a cloth the fishermen was clearly scared but agreed to have a chat with Runir, slowly building a small trust and bond with the fishermen Runir would take it easy, but knowing that he can not let anyone say anything right now. Both scared and emotional the Nord would take it upon himself to take the small steel dagger that the fishermen was using to gut the fish he caught and drove that dagger into the fishermen over seven times, causing the blood to spurt and spit making more of a mess then he planned. By the end of the slight struggle the fishermen had and the screaming Runir would have stabbed the fishermen twice in the chest and three times in the throat then eh finale two into the eyes. Exhausted by his actions he would continue to clean himself off and his clothing before feasting on the body of the fishermen. Runir was now free to roam having killed an innocent men with no witnesses and brutally chopping away at an old mans body till it was just limbs and gore. Unaware were he would go now Runir would venture into the depths of skyrim and begin to forge himself a new identity to cover up his bloody truth.
    ________________________________________________________________________________________

    Basic Information

    Name: Runir Bjorksvil

    Age: 23

    Date Of Birth: 30th Last Seed

    Birth-Sign: Warrior

    Hair Color: Blonde

    Eye Color: Hazel

    Race: Nord

    Gender: Male

    Body Type: Average Muscular Build

    Sexuality: Straight

    Martial Status: Single

    Property: None

    Affiliations: Thieves Guild/Dark Brotherhood

    Afflictions: Insomnia & Paranoia

    Laterality: Right-Handed

    Religion/Beliefs: Namira/Mistress Of Decay


    Armor: Ancient Nordic Armor Full Set Including Helmet

    Clothing: Full Set Of Fine Clothing

    Height: 6 Feet

    Weight: 120lbs

    Skin Tone: Pale

    Occupation: Mercenary

    ________________________________________________________________________________________

    Family Information
    1274852_1378312091400_full.jpg

    Mother: Dortida (Deceased)
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    Father: Angin (Deceased)

    images

    Sister: Torria (Alive-Location Unknown)

    Family/House Name: Ererssen

    Family House Home: Winterhold (Destroyed)

    House Belief: Talos

    ________________________________________________________________________________________

    Other Information


    Alignment: Chaotic Evil

    Class: Barbarian

    Primary Skills: Two-handed/One-Handed/Marksmanship/Heavy Armor

    Secondary Skills: Alchemy/Destruction/Conjuration/Speechcraft

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    Weapons: Dwarven Two handed Axe & Nordic Crafted Crossbow
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    ______________________________________________________________________________

    More To Come Look Out For Some Journal Entries And More


























     

    Balomew

    Active Member
    MARIAN IGNISS,
    34 YEAR OLD FEMALE NORD
    16TH OF SUN'S DUSK 4E 167, THE ATRONACH, BRUMA CYRODIIL

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    PERSONAL DETAILS

    NICKNAMES/ALIASES: N/A
    SEXUALITY: Undecided but likely bisexual, as in attracted to both genders.
    RELIGION: From what she has learned, the Nordic race worshiped unique entities long before the Atmoran migration. Though the pantheon has been reassembled on numerous accounts, several deities have remained over the centuries: some gods, some Daedra, & others worshiped heroes of old. Marian follows the Nordic pantheon and respects tradition. She especially reveres Kyne, the mother goddess of the Nordic people.

    CURRENT RESIDENCE: The Igniss family have a household in Bruma Cyrodiil, though Marian rarely spent nights there. It is not currently an option for safe shelter. Since Marian does not have and is not fully capable to getting a permanent residence of her own, she is currently homeless, spending nights on the road.
    AFFLICTION(S): Long-term memory loss reaching back to the beginnings of her childhood. Joint hypermobility in her elbows, thumbs, and knees. Experiences auditory hallucinations, an effect from childhood trauma.
    OCCUPATION: N/A. She is nothing more than a wandering wisp of what once was & could be.
    AFFILIATION(S): Would be a particularly worthwhile addition to the Thieves guild or College of Winterhold. Considering applying to the College.
    POLITICAL VIEWS: Stormcloak 100%. The Nordic people can function perfectly well without the crumbling Imperial Empire or their puppeteer, the Aldmeri Dominion, always seeking unsanctioned power over Men. She does not hate the Empire, she pities it, and desires freedom above all things. Who rules the Nordic homeland: the Nords, or the Aldmeri Dominion invaders? They kidnap and torture natives that are too proud to refuse to stop believing in what has been tradition for centuries.

    PHYSICAL DETAILS

    Average at 6'3", Marian has the hereditary pale complexion and angular heart-shaped face. Freckles spread across her nose and high-set cheekbones. She has two small, faded horizontal scars across the left side of the upper bridge of her nose. Thin eyebrow arch over large, round pewter-green eyes, marking a tall forehead interrupted by black hair kept short and trimmed. Marian's shoulders are narrow and sloping, and she has a lightly built body with wide hips and full thighs.

    EQUIPMENT

    MAJOR SKILLS:


    • Conjuration (summon, control, & dispel entities and items from Aetherius)
    • Light armor (dodge attacks & move unhindered)
    • Sneak (use silence, shadow, & cover to avoid detection)
    • Speechcraft (use charm & persuasiveness to influence others)
    MINOR SKILLS:
    • Alteration (alter & manipulate laws of reality)
    • Mysticism (manipulate magical forces & boundaries to bypass physical structures & limitations)
    • One-handed (daggers & small blunt weapons)
    SPELLS:
    • An Alteration spell, Light creates a manipulable ball of light
    • A Conjuration spell, Bound Weapon conjures a temporary weapon from Aetherius
    • A Conjuration spell, Command commands the mind of a targeted creature, humanoid, or Daedra
    • A Conjuration spell, Summon Undead summons an entity from Aetherius
    WEAPONS:
    • Simple steel Cyrodilic dagger
    APPAREL:
    • Leather jerkin and boots over common clothes
    • Hooden burlap cloak

    BIOGRAPHICAL DETAILS

    FAMILY:

    • Horlaf the Younger, father, male Nord, deceased
    • Evette Igniss, mother, female Nord, deceased
    PERSONALITY: Marian approaches distressing situations with sarcasm and humor. She is rash, often acting first on a whim and then developing common caution. She is a very proud individual and takes family and tradition very seriously. She is quiet but prefers to be around others, often fighting a fear of being left alone and unwanted. Despite her big mouth and stubborn streak (preferring to do things her way even if it means later admitting being incorrect), low self-confidence often has Marian wondering if she's all talk. Though compassionate, she is also notably selfish and can be seen as rude or racist. She hides her emotions from even herself (therefore sensitive and emotional) and avoids sentimental interactions. Marian is observative, analytical, and meticulous.
    INTERESTS: Nordic lore, mysticism tomes, Aetherius (source of conjured items & entities), the Thu'um, & poetry.

    HISTORY

    Marian Igniss died on the day she was born to two Nordic parents during the early reign of Titus Mede II. The early portion of her childhood that she doesn't remember was spent as an invisible, intangible wisp observing the lives of her parents, especially her mother, the only people that she was unfamiliar with. She saw the world as the living saw ghosts - ethereal-like, and that was all she knew for most of her life. Though the young Igniss was dead, she had not been removed to Aetherius. Her mother felt her presence at times, & spent a few minutes after dinner to pray for her deceased newborn. As a creature of both Aetherius and Nirn, Marian had the aptitude to mimic human actions from observing and accessing primal ancestral memories, but could also locate areas of natural magic - where Aetherius and the physical world touched to form wonders. She spent her evenings in these places.

    Though dreadfully lonely, she was protective of her parents and had a sense of pride lingering from her Nordic lineage. She was not sure how much time she spent wandering, watching the lives of the living and wondering what she would do -
    could do - if she were more than she was. Looking back, perhaps she had sunk into a deep depression since she realized the totality of her predicament. She remembers that her father became dreadfully ill & that she had tried everything in her power to heal him. His wife told him that their child was watching over them from the stars.

    It was during this time that the family received a house call from Dominion agents that had been tipped off that the family was worshiping Talos in secret. They stripped the house bare searching for an amulet, ignoring her father's condition, but found nothing. Had he not been ill, they would have punished the family nonetheless as a lesson to heretics. As it was, the Thalmor were fearful of returning empty-handed or appearing as fools to the public, so one agent by the name of Ondolemar planted a Talos amulet in the home & openly declared the Igniss family heretics. They were taken to the local prison, despite Horlaf's fever.

    The Dominion dealt with heretics in only one way throughout Tamriel: lashes & then public execution by hanging or block. Past deaths at the gallows had made the veil between the physical world and Aetherius weak; though Marian would have more power over the physical world here, if her parents died, there was absolutely no chance that they would become like her. She might be the only one in the world like this. The only way to save her parents' lives would be to interrupt the execution, & she wasn't certain that she could. Regardless, when the future public lashings and hangings was announced, she made a plan.

    She tried countless times to free her parents beforehand, but only succeeded in letting Horlaf catch glimpses of a wisp of magic. On the hanging day, her parents were taken out to the pole to the lashed just ten times to ensure the humility. Marian thought that she could bear seeing this, or at least turning a blind eye, but she could not. As she watched each of them receive their lashes in turn, rage began to fill her heart. She saw the pain on her father's face at each lash & the hopelessness in her mother's eyes. There was nothing but cold & dark in Ondolemar's, who watched from a distance, and that is what forced Marian to act.

    Witnesses recall feeling something rush through their ranks. Instead of being pushed aside, several of the citizens collapsed as Marian moved through them, an action that she had never done before & that had unexpected consequences. She began to take on the form of a middle-aged woman in the nude as she rushed at the gallows where her parents were stationed in front of. The veil previously mentioned at this site tore open: she could feel the rush of the current that threatened to shred her physical form. Witnesses claim that the ground quaked & there was a yawning darkness that flashed at the site, and then a piercing, screeching sound that was Marian's shrill, ghostly scream. The dark flash disappeared suddenly. All were dead at the site with the exception of Ondolemar, who had thrown up a ward as citizens in the crowd collapsed.

    Marian awoke at the Riften guard barracks. The guard had seen her collapsed on the road. They brought her in & garbed her in common clothes. They checked up on her in the morning to find the stranger armed with a dagger of Cyrodilic design threatening the unfamiliar guards. She was explained where she was and how she got here. The guards found it amusing that she did not know what year it was, & readily dismissed her claims that she had jumped nearly two years forward in time. Marian could see what her living kin did. She is currently trying to organize a carriage back to Bruma to discover what happened to her parents. As it is, a particular Altmer in Markarth would pay good coin to learn of a particular middle-aged Nord woman who disappeared from a crime scene two years ago. Though she is unaware of it, Marian's life has only just begun, & there is more in story for her than she could ever have imagined.

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    “You will face your greatest opposition when you are closest to your biggest miracle.”
    ― Shannon L. Alder
     
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    Nocte Aeterna

    Sir Not-Appearing-in-This-Film
    Basic Information

    Name: Aubert Francoeur

    Race: Breton

    Gender: Male

    Age: 31

    Date of Birth: 29th of Midyear, 4E 170

    Place of Birth: Wayrest, High Rock

    Birthsign: The Steed

    Personal Information

    Height: 6’4” (193 cm)

    Weight: 191 lbs (86.6 kg)

    Build Type: Tall with a generous composition of both lean and buff muscle, befitting of a man who runs around in heavy armor all day.

    Eye Color: Green

    Hair Color: Chocolate brown

    Skin Color: Fair, nearly pale

    Physical Appearance:
    CC1BA6E939B8BAF4857E46268BD241EE11C9D300


    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Religion: Eight Divines

    Occupation: Guardsman, occasional bard on the side

    Marital Status: Single

    Current Residence: Markarth

    Political Views: Generally favors the Legion.

    Diseases/Ailments: None, though he bears multiple burn scars on his abdomen and back, as well as down his right thigh.

    Family Information

    Father: Lefevre Francoeur (4E 138 – 4E 188; died when corsairs sacked Wayrest)

    Mother: Severine Francoeur (4E 135 – 4E 188; died when corsairs sacked Wayrest)

    Siblings: None

    Personality

    Positive Traits: Brave, calm, resourceful, caring, loyal

    Negative Traits: Quiet, shy, introspective, naïve, pensive

    Interests: Fishing, combat training, cooking, medicine, playing the lute, singing, and traveling.

    Other Trivia: Much as he is reluctant to admit it, Aubert gives excellent rousing speeches. He also has a great singing voice.

    Combat Information

    Alignment: Neutral Good

    Class: Paladin/Crusader

    Affiliations/Factions: Markarth City Guard (consultant/battalion commander), Imperial Legion (by extension), Dawnguard (western extension)

    Laterality: Right-handed

    Major Skills: Two-Handed, Block, Heavy Armor, Restoration

    Minor Skills: Archery, Smithing, Speech

    Combat Style: Combat-wise, Aubert is a classical knight with a penchant for restoration magic in addition to defensive combat. He primarily fights with the greatsword – a heavy weapon typically reserved for the bravest and the physically strongest – but he displays excellent proficiency of the weapon with aplomb nonetheless. When faced with undead foes, the Breton augments his swordplay with Stendarr’s Aura, a powerful cloak spell that shrouds himself with pure light, exhuming any and all enemies from beyond the grave. He is also proficient at healing his own wounds and the wounds of others, but his restoration spell work is average. Occasionally, when engaged at a distance, Aubert also favors the crossbow, which sacrifices accuracy for power.

    Gear and Inventory

    Primary Weapon: Steel Greatsword (Flawless)

    Secondary Weapon: Enhanced Crossbow (Exquisite)

    Armor: Steel Plate set with Dawnguard Full Helm

    Inventory: Aforementioned weapons and armor, a few healing potions, waterskin, food, crossbow bolts, a small lute, and tattered parchment for lyrical purposes.

    Biography

    Gather ‘round, ye lads and lasses

    For a tale worthy of the tallest glasses

    It began midsummer, 4E 170

    Our story begins in High Rock, the Breton theocracy


    Wayrest yonder, a city far south

    Nursed the Francoeur family from the depths of its pouch

    Aubert the only, born far before term

    His ailing infancy, for which Oblivion yearned


    But he grew tall for a Breton, did Aubert the Brave

    For he knew perseverance even at a young age

    He learned combat at his dear dad’s request

    Because sometimes we think that father knows best


    Adolescence did not differ much from years before

    Little did he know that he’d seldom learn more

    He was taught in earnest, through song and sequester

    But 4E 188 brought forth a wound that would fester


    Pirates and corsairs, brandishing blades in the night

    Assaulted Wayrest not far from first light

    Aubert fought bravely, greatsword in hand

    But this fateful evening was the Francoeur’s last stand


    Butchered like hogs on a poaching vacation

    Mother and father’s death brought forth no elation

    And for once, Aubert ran

    He had been wounded and burned, and wanted not to understand


    He fled Wayrest without a second thought

    Too much violence, the bandits had brought

    He had his armor, his lute, and his song

    And he prayed that his instincts would not steer him wrong


    Eastward he went, as the story goes on

    He thought he’d make it to Evermor next dawn

    This proved false, as that was also sacked through

    The elders, the sickly, and the children, too


    Ambushed at once by a remaining troop

    Aubert and his greatsword slaughtered the group

    He was victorious, indeed, and his charred flesh showed it

    But it was time to move on, he said;

    For corsairs, High Rock was a pulpit


    Skyrim greeted him with the Reach in his view

    To Markarth he rode, smelling of ash and sinew

    He would surely find more refugees there

    Or be imprisoned by the Nords without even a care


    But the latter was not so, it seemed

    For the Reach had its own mortal disease

    The Forsworn, they said, were killing innocents

    In a flurry of unprecedented events


    So the valiant Aubert took up his blade

    And said, “I’ll fight for Markarth – my home is dismayed.”

    Thus he defended the dwarven-forged lands

    With steel and healing magic to guide his hands


    Over a decade later, and our story is the same

    Only, Aubert is known in Markarth by name

    He goes where is needed, and sings afterward

    With lute and voice to revitalize the hurt


    Indeed, the Breton is a man of honor

    And as for Markarth, a new age is upon them

    He aids the guard whenever he can

    To assist the Jarl in defending his land


    And though he is valorous, lyrical, and true

    This is where our epic finally concludes

    For Aubert the bold, the loyal, the great

    May have just written this poem to impress a date!


    (But he didn’t. He’s just a good guy, though generally more modest in person.)
     

    TheRipper

    Skyrim's Finest Ripper
    QpGbiJA.jpg

    This Is A Reference For His Attire
    (Not His Look)

    Vistha Galmesh
    Name: Vistha Galmesh

    Alias: Vist

    Age: 27

    Birth Date: Sun's Dawn - 30th

    Birth Place: Cyrodiil - Leyawiin

    Birth Sign: The Lover

    Origin/Race: Saxhleel Or Argonian

    Gender: Male

    Laterality: Right Handed

    Sexuality: Heterosexual

    Marital Status: Single

    Affiliations: Dark Brotherhood, Silver Hand & Dawnguard

    Alignment: Chaotic Good

    Afflictions: Mild Schizophrenia

    Religion: Nine/Eight Divines

    Patron Deity: Mara & Kynareth

    Habits: Continuous Foot Tapping

    TaeRaifacdf.png

    (image is To Show His facial Looks)

    Being calm,collected and quite unpredictable at times Vistha is both dangerous for his animosity, yet quite deceitful for his ability to hide his aggressive nature with a calm collected and sensual cocky voice. Many would consider him to be arrogant, short tempered and bizarre. Although living in Skyrim has made him that way for seeing how his kin are treated. His short temper is caused by the sights he had to see in Windhelm, not only that fact but the limited aid and help other Races were given just like his kind.

    Positive Traits: Unpredictable & Strong Willed

    Negative Traits: Unpredictable & Short-Tempered

    Likes: Ale,Women,Violence & Death

    Dislikes: Stormcloaks, Imperials & The Altmer

    Fears: Torture,Vampires,Werewolves

    Aspirations: Obtain a mass amount of wealth and status within Skyrim

    Quirks: Stutters Under Pressure And Talks to Himself Alot

    35431-1357490090.jpg

    (This is to Define His Stature and Body Build As Well as his Skin Pigmentation)


    Height: 5'11
    Weight: 155lbs
    Build: "Well Endowed"(As he would describe Himself) Fit, Strong Build & Almost Military Like Posture and Stance
    Hair: None
    Eye Color: Light Blue
    Scars: Four Scars Two Across His Lower Jaw And Two Across His Left Eye
    Facepaint:
    White Face Paint That Cover His Eyes


    4D86CA5942281045B0A9374F9E2D78B1CCB8325B


    "At the age of about sixteen my family decided it was better to find shelter and warmth away from Leyawiin so much had happened to it before I was born, and even at my birth my family and I were living in a cheap inn. One bed to ourselves and that was it, father always went out from the sun rise to go hunting, don't think he went hunting for us, he did it for the lord of the lands around Leyawiin, all he got was a few meaningless coins for his service, while mother stayed at the inn as a bar-hand. I kept to myself mostly mother and father were always so busy, I guess it was a good thing since I was able to explore the town for myself. Leyawiin was either raining or cold, probably cause it was built right near the ways of water. or perhaps the Nine, sorry Eight thought it would be nice to always have wet weather."

    "Hahah I remember one day I was out looking around, just exploring on me own I notice an odd new fellow in the town, he was well kept, well spoken and look to have gold upon gold encrusted jewels on him. Fellow was not very bright though, he stumbled into a rough part of the town, I guess he was a Breton, well I thought he was a little to short for an imperial plus those longer looking fingers. Anyway enough about how he looks, the point i am trying to get to is a funny one. So the fellow starts asking around to some of the folk that live in the shanty part of town. Not to sure what it was about, but while he was asking the local some of those cats snuck up on the poor fool and stole away with his pouch of gold."

    "That day was a good one, but it got even weirder for the next few days. After those thieves made off with lots of gold and jewels it started showing up around town, thieves must have been apart of the thieves guild. You know the guys that take from the rich and give to the poor. So after my little wander around the town I head home, well to the inn and as I open the door, their they are those cats and my father talking. Shocked really I was but that was not what got me, those cats had handed him a good amount of gold that they had taken. From what I overheard they found out about me mah and pa and the rough life they are living. Mah was almost in tears and Pa just kept saying thank you over and over again."

    "One of the cats noticed me as I stood there looking dumber then a piss pot, I was only a wee little lad at the time just exploring all I could trying to learn from everyone, cause mah could not afford for me to be properly taught by the local priest even. Anyway the cat kneels down to my height holds out a small pouch full of gold, of course I was scared at first this cat was not what I would expect a thief to look like black fur but built like a soldier come to think of it he might have been an Ex soldier.Anyway he looks at me straight in the eyes and says 'Remember' that is all that bastard said, of course I still remember it"

    "So within a few days Pa had planned to make a desperate run out of the town befor anyone realised that we were running, it would have been simpler, but someone reported Pa as a thief,which meant we were always being watched. All I can think about that day is being so tired, Mah and Pa just stayed up and kept watch for any chance we could go. right then as the sun began to rise Pa grabbed me not even my hand just picked me up and took what he never, which was his bow and arrows, while mah took nothing. My head is just looking down at my parents feet as they begin to run fast, here I am popping up and down on me Pa shoulder as he runs like a wild animal for the gate before anyone notices us. Then I hear it 'shut the gates!' real loud Pa swore under his breath as he ran, almost their we manage to beat them closing the gate Now Pa pops me down and tells me to run fast, I nodded and took haste with Mah as we ran."

    "Looking back now an again I see Pa just keeping up following not far behind me and Mah, dam I felt so exhausted but mah would not let me stop, and for dam good reason to man hunter were hot on our trail now all of us had a bounty on our head, not a small one either one thousand coins each to whoever brings our heads back. All I can think while I am running is where are we going to go?, its like were wanted criminals now. After about four hours of endless running we reach water. Without haste we all went into the water, but swam under so no one could see us. Pa caught up them and took hold of me and Mah leading us more north. As I was young and never had any knowledge at the time where we were swimming to Pa had taken me and Mah past Bravil"

    "After about almost 6 hours in the water we head back onto land, Pa looks at me and Mah with desperation on his face in his mind he only cares about us making it. What made that worse was as we began our journey towards Bruma we all heard what sounded like horses at speed, Mah keeps going forward and I look back, their they are six horse riders pointing us out, man hunters. Pa looks at Mah and me for one last time before he says goodbye.As sad as it was I knew we would be next mah just took my hand rough and led me up into the wilds. For one last time I look back and their I see my dad standing face to face with four other man hunters, the other two he must have taken down with his bow."

    "I could swear he looked right at us, before those bastards drove a sword through him each. He made no noise no sound, just lots of blood, Shaking my head now as those images haunt me on the rest of my Travel towards Bruma, no one told me it was cold and we had to traverse across mountains. Just our dam luck Mah and me had to stop for something to drink, luckily up in Bruma we were unknown. mum used some of our new coin to get drink and food. Straight away as we finished we were off and this time now having clothed ourselves with fur so we don't freeze to death."

    "Perilous it was, we had to climb a dam mountain that was how desperate we were, I just kept thinking those Man hunters were right their, it drove me forward, but also into something else, something that still haunts me to this day. Anyway once we finally reach Skyrim we are free, not really Mah still had the coin but I knew something was wrong, call it a gut feeling but we were being watched. each time we moved whatever I felt moved with us, I never saw it the next thing I do is turn my back to see if we are being followed. While turning around I am struck with blood, it just hits my face and chest. at first I looked at me in shock was I shot?, then I look to Mah and it was to late, they got her, right through the dam throat."

    "Panicking I run over to her to see if she was still alive,faintly she was still able to move, in which so she would give me the coins and just point like she was angry in a direction.Tears running down my eyes I see several men and women in fur to, Having no choice I ran with haste in tear, running through dense thick woods. Exhausted I collapse struggling to breathe, With the faint sight left I see a dark figure, to me it felt like a long time I was out, when I awoke my clothes were changed my body was tended to, it was so strange then out of the shadows, a familer face shows up, it was the Khajiit that said remember to me."

    "Why was he here I thought to myself, then my mind went into a blaze of fit the memories of my Pa and Mahs death haunted me. comforted by the cat I looked to him asking where I was, he replied my new home, Shock hit me now I remember where I was, I knew it was Skyrim but I had no idea what town or what part of Skyrim I was in. 'Ratways' said the cat, I was confused I had no idea, then he helped me to my feet and showed me, we were underneath the city of Riften he explained he said it would be better off if I stayed with his family, odd a bunch of cats living in ratways, he laughed as I said that, then he would show me what he meant by family."

    "The Ragged Flagon now that was something new to me, a bunch of thieves live underground. However I was afraid at first, but the cat introduced me to the family said I would be working as a bar hand, like my mother. Well he said I would work their till I was ready. Always thought it was odd that he said I would be better off living with them underground them above ground while I was young. On my forth winter at the age of 20 I was aloud to leave the ratways, to live my own life now. It was hard I only knew how to live in the ratways this was something knew to me, however I felt comfort by the water, so I would start to live right near it, I found a small boarded up area that i could pull open it led to what looked like a former part of another ratway, but it was all covered up and some of it collapsed."

    "It was home for me now, luckily I still had a good amount of coin I got from the cat and my own means, they were thieves after all I learnt a few things from them and by them I mean they whole lot down in the Ragged Flagon, crazy bastards they are. Life was not easy I tell you that, eventually I began exploring Skyrim, moving around and doing what I can here and their working for who I want when I want"

    "Most people always question me about my existence to the Silver Hand, and most of those asking are either companions of werewolves. None of this would have happened if it was not for my own mistake, it was a cold night out in the holds of Skyrim I was not far from Winterhold. Although the cold was getting to me I had to take refuge somewhere there was nothing around me to make a fireplace or a tent, of course if I had not spent all my coin on ale I would not be in that position of starvation and idiocy.Anyway i found a small cave that seemed to hold off the cool air well."


    "I was desperate I had no choice so i took it upon myself to enter the cave, at this point i was already regretting the decision to, but I had no choice it was either freeze to death in the cold or take home here and wait for the storm to calm.In my mind i thought that cold would stay forever, it was as my mind just focused on that. Managing to stop those thoughts I would go to see what resources i can find in the cave.Suddenly i here this chatter from some Nords who had just wandered into the same cave i was it, dam i said to myself only lightly to, but somehow those bastards herd me and in seconds one of them would come running towards me no weapons, just a loud growl and almost leap towards me"

    "In panic and fear i would kick and punch back against the one who was going for me, i hit him a few times making him angry, boy at that time i thought i was going to die that Nord just growled then howled loudly transforming into a beast. A werewolf as they are known, in a mere second so did the other Nord, But his transformation was stopped by a group of kinsmen that were well equipped with armour and what looked like silver weapons at the time. While distracted I would roll away from the werewolf that was right above me, a battle erupted between those armed with silver and the werewolves. The battle looked like a lost cause, those werewolves were tearing apart the kinsmen. I knew i had to help so i took it upon myself to take a dead Orcs silver great-sword, with a lunge and a stab towards the first werewolf i would puncture its flesh deep and drive the sword all the way through so it came out the other side"

    "With that the beast went foul and its last howl was loud and deafening, however with that as a distraction those that were left alive from the werewolves fatal attacks would strike as a group upon that last werewolf slashing, hacking and mauling the thing to its bloody and brutal death. Personally I was exhausted, but those that saved me would once again come to my aid explaining to me that they are werewolf hunters, or Silver Hand as they called themselves. The leader of the group that saved me was a gorgeous Wood elf she would then tend to my wounds and treat them, in a quick decision I would ask if I am aloud to become one of them. The wood elf looked at me with strong eyes examining me. I barely had any experience how to use a weapon properly, but she nodded and said that they would train me and teach me survival tactics properly. After all the things i learnt would have most likely killed me faster then save me. " (Still Work In Progress)














     
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    Vauldis

    Member
    Name: Vauldis
    Race: Argonian ( Vampire)
    Sexuality: Heterosexual
    Class: Necromancer
    Alignment: Neutral Evil
    Gender: Male
    Looks: Because I'm bad at describing I'm just going to link an image ( it's just my avatar)
    Lhahajb.jpg

    Ehhh doesnt show that much so i'll describe him abit more. He has red war paint covering most of his head. He is not particularly stocky or thin, just average and he is average size for an argonian. His head has two relatively small spikes coming out of the pack with a tuft of dark red hair between them.

    Personality: Vauldis is very cold , intelligent and rather unsensitive. He's also rather cruel. Despite this he has a soft spot for many of the creatures around Skyrim , although this can make him seem insane due to the fact this soft spot is filled by wolves , bears, and to a degree frostbite spiders. There's no apparent reason for this really. He prefers to be alone, with like-minded people ( mages , preferably necromancers) or with his undead minions.

    Likes: Reading,testing out spells ( on creatures..or people), silence, killing and burning, alchemy.
    Dislikes: the divines , vigilants of stendarr, dwemer ruins, fist fighting.

    Religion: Daedra worshipper (Molag Bal).

    Political views: Vauldis cares little for the civil war and sees it only as an opportunity to spread misery and discord. He sees the Empire losing Skyrim as just that. So naturally he supports the Stormcloaks but doesn't really involve himself in the war.

    Starsign: The Mage

    Age: 23 (age when turned into vampire, in reality he's pretty damn old)

    Birthdate: 3E 410 Rain's Hand,5

    Diseases: Slight case of pyromaniac , gets a feeling of joy when he sees things on fire. Vampirism

    History: Assumed to be born a few weeks earlier than when he was found abandoned on the streets of Bruma, Vauldis showed signs of magic proficiency even at that age , accidentally shooting sparks or embers. He was quickly adopted by the Mages Guild ( mainly due to the fact that nobody else would) and raised by the lead mages there for some time. However a year or two after Vauldis was taken in by the Mages Guild there was a break in from a servant of the Black Worm cult who was sent to kill and steal from the mages , however this member of the worm cult noticed the extremely young argonian and thought stealing him away could cause major amounts of trouble for the guild. Vauldis , despite many of the necromancers disliking the idea was quietly raised and taught about necromancy, the daedra and all manner of things he would have not have learnt for years otherwise. He didn't exacty have the kindest or most patient of teachers but he learned quickly, if he didn't would face extreme punishments such as being locked in a small cage with nothing but bread and water. He didn't have the friendliest relations with his.... guardians.

    Eventully he was a fully fledged necromancer of the worm cult and,however this didn't stop a blood starved vampire ( who was a member of the cult himself) feeding off the young necromancer and accidentally infecting him. Vauldis saw this almost as a gift as to him in meant he could continue to perfect his skill in necromancy forever.
    After the worm cult was destroyed (again) Vauldis quietly moved to Skyrim and experimented in secret and solitude until the civil war and the dragons came about. He decided to travel to the college of winterhold and see if he could pick up any new tricks under the guise of a young mage.

    Skils: Conjuration ( mainly necromancy), Destruction(mainly fire), alchemy, basic enchanting skils
     
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    Balomew

    Active Member
    NO.
    This is dead.

    Gelid wisps harried the northmost sphere
    Everything bleached hollow under the heavenly eyes
    O’er sea untouched by immortal gears
    By divine presence, mortal essence dies

    CURRENT RESIDENCE: Heljarchen Hall, a family hosuehold in The Pale:
    Upon entering, the guest is greeted with a small dining hall. A kitchenette and miniature library are indented in the right wall. To the left is a small empty room.
    A trapdoor behind the stairwell leads to the cellar, decorated with a disturbed archery target and combat dummy. Dust gathers on an armored mannequin, and on the rim of the shield and steel of the Ferik heirlooms. Storage is sparsely occupied by mead.
    The second story consists of another small bedroom. A single bed sits vacant besides one wall. An old double frame, dust gathering on its pine planks and metal ornaments, leans beside a desk and wooden chair laden with study equipment. A few books are piled on the desk's face, their corners so often damaged that they appear frayed and uneven when closed.
    Overlooking the front of the sturdy old two-story building, a large and often shaded second-story window gives a view of a petite greenhouse. Inside of the window space, a shrine sits on a small shelf: the clothes there are stale and stiffly folded, but the amulet of Mara lies polished and unbroken.

    POLITICAL VIEWS: Raised by parents determined to let their child make decisions entirely his own, and spending his years of youth in a time of peace, he didn't form a significant preference until the civil war started. The local jarl wasn't logical in his support of the rebels. Knowing that enemy forces may seek to destroy native traditions, Mryfwiil would prefer that Nords maintain solid control over their home province.

    PHYSICAL DETAILS: Mryfwiil has the typical Nordic visage, reaching 5'8" with general moderate muscle bulk and a solid stance. Sun-kissed skin and numerous scratches and gouges across his back, arms, and one old gash at his left hip off-white and knotted with scar tissue. Shoulder-length tarnished bronze hair, voluminous and coarse, is bound in many places by thin braids kept by thin metal wraps. Above a short boxed beard on a round jaw, focus is drawn to bright teal eyes cloaked by drooping eyelids and shadowed by thick, protruding brows.

    ITEMS:
    Large brown-furred knapsack with emergency supplies, ragged burlap bedroll, a torch, and a woodcutting axe
    Small black leather-bound journal with many pages filled by tiny crabbed handwriting

    PERSONALITY: He has become who he had feared he would develop into as an adult. In his younger years, this man was known for his boastful smile and tragic comedy. Much has changed within a short period of time, after encounters with death countless times over. Now he is rigid and formal, serious and with an eerie calm. He might break out, suddenly, with a discharge of emotional distress. When once he dreamed, now the recent past haunts his sleep. Seen, perhaps, as an alcoholic, though in truth he avoids liquor in even small doses, though the bottle does call him at times with a taunting pitch, one that promises not answers but to quiet the questions.

    HISTORY:

    He was as uncommon as any child in Tamriel, which was, to say, common. Mryfwiil was raised to ask any question, to be curious about any thing, except for his parents' opinions. Early on in youth, he learned that it wasn't opinion that mattered, but how you presented yourself to others regardless of judgement. Both parents worked at a private lumber mill not far from home; they would work all day, keeping some of the wood for them and having the rest sent to Dawnstar. In return, a runner from Dawnstar would sometimes return with meats, saving Mryfwiil a run to the frozen coastal city. As a child, he explored and wondered, running and immersing himself in an imaginary world in which nothing mattered but the bonds that held people together, and that was the only currency - likeness. So he was an unusual child in that, instead of playing soldier and kicking around his nearly three years younger brother, he read and sang to himself, and when he didn't realize it, his parents listened and smiled to each other. Life was a daydream and he was the daydreamer, constantly spinning tales.

    In his teenage years, the lack of time spent with parents, plus the unmentionable and long puberty years, slowly separated Mryfwiil from his parents and even his little brother, who followed him around and saw him as an idol, a mentor on how to think and be you. Yet even as he gravitated away from his family to begin poking around to find his own path through this paragraph of life, he became known to the Dawnstar locals as the rowdy young man with the wild open grin. He was hopelessly romantic, flirting and breaking promises as soon as they were made. He was a polite man, but also emotionally off-key. These were the years that he found who he was.

    He moved out of home in his mid-twenties, moving in with a girl that he believed he loved beyond any competition. She had challenged him at his every advance, but it wasn't the thrill he was seeking anymore. He was still lost, but now he had somebody and he was certain that he was in love. They stayed together, bonded by love but not married, until he received a particularly imposing letter from his father. He and Jorlaf were going adventuring to the Sea of Ghosts. Wheras Ricard felt certain that there was no danger except for mystical lights, and Jorlaf was still entertaining the prospect of adventure even at this age, Elisea felt uneasy and was superstitious about the Sea. Ricard had extended an invitation, and though his mother begged him not to go, he took up his father's offer. He had no fear of the legendary Sea-Ghosts, and he had always wondered about how it was on the Sea past that great endless horizon.

    It was the Sea-Ghosts that did them in the end, though. The claim that they drew sailors to their death was right. The crew quickly fell in love with the playful magical balls of light. Everyone did, except for one young crewmate. The Ghosts seemed to lure them towards something and, like a skeever after rot, they thought that something hidden lay ahead just for them to find. They did indeed, but not the material goods that they had expected. One night grew particularly stormy, lightning and thunder rattling the roiling waves. The wisps guided them, they still thought. The ship pulled up like it had been pulled from above at one end. It tilted, slammed against the waves, and just like that the Maria Forster and her crew were smashed and pulled under. The water brimmed with the light of the wisps as they lingered just above the water like they were watching the dying drown.

    The listen, surely, has noticed by now that we still speak as though our character still lives. Of course he doesn't. We're not talking about some demigod favored by the divines. He yelled, screamed at the wisps, and the last thing he knew was the tip of something hard against his head. A number of wisps had been following his movements. He had heard that they were the souls of the drowned at Sea here, perhaps dead Atmorans or spirits from the original islands swallowed up by the hungry ocean. He did now know it then, but he knew soon after his wake on an ice block miles from the wreckage.

    He knew from the way he felt. Unbeknownst to him, Mryfwiil had sit the side of a jutting plank that drove into his scalp. Yet there was no gnarly scar, only a thick package of blood where his head hurt most. He had died at sea, as the Ghosts had, lost in this world without form. And slowly his creative mind began to realize the concept. Suppose that his soul had been fleeting, but mortal souls are stubborn. He was bound there, but even as there was vacant space within him, another soul joined. They gathered around him, maintaining the life in his body even as the concept of his existence by magical law faded. A man that lived after death, but he could not walk after that trauma. He didn't know who he was anymore. He had another spirit within him, a force that seemed to threaten to push him out. They coexisted - they had to, for this body to survive.

    He floated. It was as if divines - or some deep magic - had tugged him closed to home. A fishing boat had found him and brought him to shore at Dawnstar. The people didn't know this man without a smile. His brows brooded, his skin darker but lacking that healthy glow. He was a stranger to the woman he loved, who turned him away and refused to bed with him. She had felt him pass, but only knew that something was wrong. She told him that she didn't love him anymore, and told him to leave and never return.

    At the family home, blood stained the polished pine floor, a tiny dry pool of it. His mother had felt something terrible had happened, so terrible that she could not live anymore. She couldn't live for anything else. Mryfwiil found her with an empty hand and knife up her jaw. He felt lonely, betrayed, and totally isolated. He was unknown to the people he had been with for a great portion of his life. He had no direct family left. He now spends much time at the Dawnstar port, staring out at the endless horizon over the Sea of Ghosts, a plain line and rugged waves. Now it was not just a legend of lost souls, but a fact of his own lost soul and the pain of losing the ones that had always meant the most. Often he looks at a knife, a stabbing of longing in his heart, and wonders if death might be the better option than this undeath, this nonexisting. The internal silence was drowning him from the inside out. He had fits, but was mostly dead quiet, just sitting at the pier watching the unchanging horizon, as if that ship might come back home and return it all back. But no ship ever came.

    jRRQlur.png

    AUTHOR'S NOTE
    Rather than plan a simple history, I wrote directly from my singular soul. It bleeds into my fingers and types until I can't feel my fingers anymore. Bless the muse that gifted me with this sweet dream - of the average-looking Nord, sitting in the snow watching the horizon, his hair thick and scruffled with messy braids and eyes deep or empty. I saw the look on his face as he thought that this was true loneliness was, and feeling it all for the first time. I saw him stand, trek off in silence, and even then peek back, a sharp, angry look in his eyes. A lost, broken, hopeless man - this is when heroes and villains are made.

    So anyway, I know that the history probably wasn't what you were expecting entirely. It's flawed, of course. I've been writing for at least seven hours straight, all off of a dream. I don't even know how my brain is still working by now. The history was straight from my dark heart, with virtually no refining. I refuse to change anything in this. It is how it is. It will be further defined in roleplay. I'm just glad that I got all of this character crap out. It's gone, it's out of my system. Hate it, love it, whatever. Let me know what you think. Maybe I'll recreate him at some point, but it's hard to do that without advice. PM me if you have anything to say, even if it's just "Your history section sucks." But I'm not taking plot ideas. All of the general concepts here stay the same. Alright, I think I've rambled for long enough. Now I can finally sleep in peace, now that Mryfwiil lives elsewhere.. and that something else lives within him, deep inside.
     
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    fish-with-feathers

    King of Trash


    Name
    : Ardarume Caemahl
    Age: 329
    Birth Date: 6th of Morning Star, 3E 307
    Gender: Female
    Race: Altmer
    Class: Dark Battlemage
    Birthplace: Alinor, Summerset Isles
    Currently Lives: Windhelm, Skyrim



    Appearance: Ardarume has the telltale golden skin and height of an Altmer, standing at around six and a half feet tall. She has a narrow face with a pointed nose and chin, as well as slanted amber eyes. On the upper left corner of her lip she has a small scar. Her hair is sandy and done in a sidecut. Her torso is of a willowy build, save for her fairly defined butt. Across her chest and back she has various other scars, a result of being tortured while incarcerated.




    Apparel: She wears Master College robes with a scarfed hood. Around her neck she wears a silver pendant in the shape of a eight pointed star with a ruby set in the center. On her hands she wears a pair of lightly armored black gloves, along with a silver ruby ring, and on her feet she wears a pair of heeled boots. She also has a trimmed wolf fur cloak she wears in colder regions and a mask that allows her to water-breath. All of her apparel has been enchanted, mostly to increase her magicka pool and regeneration rate.

    Personality: Sadistic, psychotic, vengeful. There are many words that could be used to describe this monster of a woman. She feeds on the pain of others and the only person she truly holds any love or care for is herself. As such she has no qualms with abandoning her allies in danger or using them to ensure her own survival. She is frighteningly brilliant and years of being the in middle of Thalmor politics has made her very good at hiding her true intentions, often appearing benevolent to the general public. Woe to the traveler who encounters her on a lonely road however...


    Major Perks: Conjuration, Destruction, Alteration, Enchanting, Speechcraft
    Minor Perks: Illusion, One Handed

    Weakness: Glass cannon, prone to act rashly when enraged
    Strengths: Magically strong, very smart, agile


    Commonly Used Spells:
    • Destruction: Firebolt, Fireball, Sparks, Lightning Bolt, Frostbite
    • Conjuration: Bound Sword (Soul Trap & Dispel Daedra)
    • Alteration: Ebonyflesh, Candlelight, Paralyze, Detect Life
    • Other Schools: Fast Healing, Fury, Muffle


    Weapons:
    • Bound Sword - Her main weapon of choice, she prefers using it over a traditional sword as it has no weight and requires no repair work. She has enhanced it through her studies so that it can trap souls and banish summoned daedra.
    • Steel Dagger - A backup weapon she keeps hidden in her robes. She has enchanted it with a powerful life draining ability.
    History: A former member of the Thalmor, she was one High Inquisitor but was branded a “traitor” and incarcerated within the very Hall she once served. Managing to escape and kill her replacement, she fled towards Skyrim in hopes of hiding among the chaos of the uprising. She was caught however and sent for execution, only to again get free, this time by the appearance of Aludin. For their actions against her she has sworn vengeance on the Thalmor, devoting herself to hindering and killing them by any means possible...and if people around her suffer in the meantime, all the better!
     
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    Mercutio

    Assistant Regional Manager
    Might as well try, right?


    gandalf-art-wallpapers-9.jpg


    Name : Gandalf


    Birth Date : Unknown :eek:

    Place Of Birth : Unknown :eek:

    Aliases : The Grey, The White, Olórin, Mithrandir, Incánus, Tharkûn, The White Rider, Greyhame, Stormcrow, Old Grey Beard, Big Grey Beard, The White Pilgrim, Láthspell


    Age : Around 2,000 years old (looks like mid 60's)


    Religion : Unknown (Some say he's a God :eek:)

    Current home: Throat Of The World....locked away from the world. Just awakened

    Appearance : A 5'6" old man. Long white hair and a long, silver beard.

    Apparel : Wears long robes. Also has a big wizard hat

    Weapons : Gandalf has a magic staff. He also wields Glamdring, a sword (can be used 1/2 handed). Also has Narya, a ring (Not known what it does but it is thought to be very powerful)

    Items : Always carries a smoking pipe


    Perks : Alteration, Illusion, One handed/Two Handed and, Restoration

    Theme song:


    Mods are amazing :)
     
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