Are you guys still accepting applications? If so, here is the character I made specifically for this RP.
Name: Rowan
Race: Imperial
Age: 34
Birth Place: Solitude, Skyrim
Residence: Solitude
Laterality: Right Handed
Occupation: Scholar and Historian for the bards college
Marital Status: Single
Morality: Neutral
Family: None (Orphan)
Appearance: Strong jaw line, high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. His brows are rather angular and give him a somewhat more serious expression than what his current mood may actually be. Short, dark brown hair covers his head in a classic 'bed head' manner. He almost always seems to be smirking at something. Rowan is a pretty average height, standing 5' 11" and weighs about 175lbs soaking wet. He has long legs and is in extremely good condition. He likes to work out in order to avoid becoming just another lazy librarian. He usually wears a long brown leather coat over forest green pants and a black sweater. He also wears a pair of tall leather boots and, when outside, a pair of leather gloves.
Personality: Rowan is a pretty damned easy going guy and can get along with most people but if for some reason you tick him off, he can be an exceptionally tough customer. He is somewhat cynical but he has a witty, sarcastic sense of humor that keeps him from becoming too down in the dumps while he broods on how annoyed he gets with people. He likes to enjoy himself and is always looking to have a little fun. When it comes to work he becomes much more serious. He is very knowledgeable about all manner of traps, mazes and puzzles, despite having never actually encountered one and considers himself to be a history buff.
Roleplaying Sample:
Here is a post from Reforging an Empire 2 that I wrote for my main character
Andre Marek strode up the path between Whiterun cities outer and inner gates with one hand on the hilt of his sword and his slate grey eyes boring holes into every guard he met. It was a clear message. Do not bother me. Whiterun was perhaps his least favorite city in all of Skyrim. With its bitter, windswept streets and uninvitingly cold atmosphere, it was pretty near the bottom of his list of vacation retreats. And for some reason, which Marek had been so far unable to identify, they made the most god awful coffee in all the province. The only reason he now found himself there was business, plain and simple. On his last visit to Riften, one of his contacts there had informed him of a potential long term employment opportunity, one that had the potential to become a rather lucrative one as well.
"This had better be worth my time or Keeran will be paying for my troubles himself," Marek muttered to himself as he arrived at the cities main gate. Neither of the two guards gave him any trouble as he strode through the short tunnel and into Whiterun itself. Now, he thought,where did he say this meeting was taking place? Marek stopped for a moment and simply stood in the street as he thought about what his acquaintance had said. Not one of the men on watch seemed too interested in trying their hand at moving the menacing, armed, and armored mercenary standing in the middle of the street, even at this ungodly hour. Wracking his brain, Marek pulled the conversation to the forefront of his mind. Hall of the dead, down in the crypts if I'm not mistaken, he thought as he turned and started up the steps into the aptly named Wind District.
Although it had been a while since he had last been in the city, it still didn't take him long to find Whiteruns burial crypts. Pushing open the aged wooden door guarding the entrance he found himself in a small antechamber with a couple of doors leading off in different directions. Directly in front of him were a pair of large double doors, which undoubtedly led further into the crypts beneath the city, and standing on either side of them was a Stormcloak soldier.
"Hold there! What's yur business here sir?" Both men immediately stood straighter and pulled their swords part way out of their sheaths.
Marek stopped and raised an eyebrow as he evaluated the pair. Definitely the right place, he thought. "My business is whatever I say it is." He cracked his knuckles ominously and paused for a moment, "Although, in this case I'm willing to bet that our purposes are, if not identical, somewhat similar. I'm here for the meeting."
The two men eyed him suspiciously and exchanged a look before the one to his left said, "...Right, if that be the case then go on inside. Take a left, then a right then continue straight past two halls and its the last door on the left." With that both men stood aside, allowing Marek to push his way into the bowels of the crypts.
Following the guards directions he arrived at an unremarkable door through which he could hear the sounds of conversation. Sighing heavily he pushed the door open, grimacing as the hinges squeaked loudly, to reveal a rather large room set as though for a banquet. Around the perimeter of the room stood several people, all of whom were standing in small groups talking quietly amongst themselves. After a quick look at the faces of those in attendance, Marek spotted the man who was apparently in charge of the whole operation; General Simus Psyrakon of the prestigious Stormcloak army stood at the head of the long trestle table talking with an older man and a very young looking woman.
Marek slowly walked down the steps as he looked about the room. Directly in front of him was a man garbed in blue and gold armor and carrying the trademark tools of the ranger. It seemed he had only arrived just moments ago, as he had yet to address anyone in the room. Keeping the man in his peripheral, Marek sidestepped so that his back was against the wall and then preceded to look over everyone in the room.
