Netherworld
H. P. Lovecraft is my bitch.
Basics:
Name: Eliytres Meether Tiernan
Nickname: Tremor
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Age: 247 winters
Birthplace: Summerset Isles; Silverwood
Class: High priest/Emissary
Religion: The Eight Divines
Affiliation: The Thalmor
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Health: Normal
Afflictions: None
Character:
Looks: Eliytres is the type of Altmer over whom many a woman swoons, be she of Mer or any lesser races. His face is made up of perfectly chiseled features, high cheekbones and slightly slated almond eyes whose dark gaze stares right into your soul. His aristocratic nose rests above a set of thin, slightly red lips that attract even the eye of the driest old crone. He wears his silken black hair slicked back against his skull and woven into a long braid in times of battle. And yet despite his irresistible face, he is rarely seen out of his robes or even his armor.
He has a good reason, too; his face may very well be perfection embodied, but the rest of him is strewn with battle scars, keepsakes of a kind, memoirs even, after a fashion. There is everything: from almost invisible lines and small punctures to clods of scar tissue marring his pale skin all over. There is even a brand mark left from the days of his captivity at imperial hands, long before the White-Gold Concordat had been signed. Older, even, than the Oblivion crisis.
Personality: He is a man of many qualities, but, alas, most of those are carefully tucked under an impeccable façade of a faithful, dutiful priest. Most of the time, Eliytres is quiet and serious, never batting an eyebrow in the face of the worst insults. Years have tempered him, as has war, and so he walks among the hateful masses without feeling the need to respond to their provocations. He despises them, of course, but he thinks himself so much higher above them that they have become just the stones that pave his path to greatness. A Mer that might've known him in the days of his long gone youth would look at him with utter surprise and befuddlement; after all, the Mer had changed into a completely different person! While it may seem so on the outside, in his heart of hearts, Eliytres knows what he is like, and it isn't even remotely similar to what he seems to be.
He just won't tell you. Or show you, for that matter.
Bio: The Mer worth of every sin was born one misty morning in the sleepy village called Silverwood at the shores of the Summerset Isles. History recounts that day as the fourth of Sun's Height, 3E 387. From then on, life had its ups and downs, but that's just it; it was life, and Eliytres was happy with it. Summerset Isles were completely intolerant towards other races, so the Mer grew up surrounded by bigotry against people he hardly knew existed. His life was confined to the beautiful isles where he'd been born, and he was content.
His father was always away training elven soldiers while his stern mother taught him vigorously at home; yet he took it all in and learned to the best of his abilities. Today he is as good as he is not because of some mysterious talent, but from the two and a half centuries of practice the Mer's had. His first grand venture outside the safe borders of the isles was when he was still scarcely more than an adolescent, at the age of nascent 44 years. He set out for the main continent with the purpose to further his knowledge and expand his horizons by studying the lesser races. He eventually reached the Imperial City and studied at the Mages Guild until the Oblivion Crisis, where he joined forces with the fighters of Cyrodiil; not so much out of his nonexistent altruistic nature, mind you, but because he wanted to see the Oblivion plane for himself. His wish did come true, as he fought many a time alongside the hero who had in the end successfully closed all of the gates.
Even though Cyrodiil was in ruins and without a real governing body, the Mer stayed on, furthering his studies by travelling to other provinces of Tamriel, even the remote and abominably cold Skyrim with the thick-headed Nords coated with bear furs who were barely literate. You can imagine that the proud elf, whose body was much more accustomed to the warmth of the south, had wanted nothing to do with the cold regions and soon after this last visit departed again for his homeland.
He returned just in time to join the Thalmor in their usurpation of power in the Summerset Isles, renaming them to Alinor. Soon after followed the overthrowing of the Valenwood government, in which Eliytres participated with all his might, though perhaps not with all his heart. Then there was almost a century of slow, but persistent expansion of the Aldmeri Dominion, finally culminating in the sneaky conquering of Elswyr. While surviving all the surfeit of combat and battle was a reward enough for the Mer, it just so happened that his feats were becoming more and more recognized within the Thalmor.
All the slow working of the officials in high places and some well-placed wooing did pay out in the end, as Eliytres Meether Tiernan was, with a big smile on his face, sent to Cyrodiil with a war cry on his lips. The Great War, for all its fancy name, didn't last very long – at least from a Mer's point of view – and in the blink of an eye, he found himself situated as one of the higher ambassadors who report directly to the first emissary Elenwen.
Combat & Equipment
Equipment: Two-handed sword, a set of throwing daggers, Ebony armor, Thalmor robes
Skills: Two-Handed, Heavy armor, Conjuration, Destruction, Speech, Enchanting
Spells: Soul trap, Storm Thrall, Flame thrall, Fire rune, Chain lightning, Lighting cloak, Lightning storm, Close wounds, Greater ward
Perk tree
Name: Eliytres Meether Tiernan
Nickname: Tremor
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Age: 247 winters
Birthplace: Summerset Isles; Silverwood
Class: High priest/Emissary
Religion: The Eight Divines
Affiliation: The Thalmor
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Health: Normal
Afflictions: None
Character:
Looks: Eliytres is the type of Altmer over whom many a woman swoons, be she of Mer or any lesser races. His face is made up of perfectly chiseled features, high cheekbones and slightly slated almond eyes whose dark gaze stares right into your soul. His aristocratic nose rests above a set of thin, slightly red lips that attract even the eye of the driest old crone. He wears his silken black hair slicked back against his skull and woven into a long braid in times of battle. And yet despite his irresistible face, he is rarely seen out of his robes or even his armor.
He has a good reason, too; his face may very well be perfection embodied, but the rest of him is strewn with battle scars, keepsakes of a kind, memoirs even, after a fashion. There is everything: from almost invisible lines and small punctures to clods of scar tissue marring his pale skin all over. There is even a brand mark left from the days of his captivity at imperial hands, long before the White-Gold Concordat had been signed. Older, even, than the Oblivion crisis.
Personality: He is a man of many qualities, but, alas, most of those are carefully tucked under an impeccable façade of a faithful, dutiful priest. Most of the time, Eliytres is quiet and serious, never batting an eyebrow in the face of the worst insults. Years have tempered him, as has war, and so he walks among the hateful masses without feeling the need to respond to their provocations. He despises them, of course, but he thinks himself so much higher above them that they have become just the stones that pave his path to greatness. A Mer that might've known him in the days of his long gone youth would look at him with utter surprise and befuddlement; after all, the Mer had changed into a completely different person! While it may seem so on the outside, in his heart of hearts, Eliytres knows what he is like, and it isn't even remotely similar to what he seems to be.
He just won't tell you. Or show you, for that matter.
Bio: The Mer worth of every sin was born one misty morning in the sleepy village called Silverwood at the shores of the Summerset Isles. History recounts that day as the fourth of Sun's Height, 3E 387. From then on, life had its ups and downs, but that's just it; it was life, and Eliytres was happy with it. Summerset Isles were completely intolerant towards other races, so the Mer grew up surrounded by bigotry against people he hardly knew existed. His life was confined to the beautiful isles where he'd been born, and he was content.
His father was always away training elven soldiers while his stern mother taught him vigorously at home; yet he took it all in and learned to the best of his abilities. Today he is as good as he is not because of some mysterious talent, but from the two and a half centuries of practice the Mer's had. His first grand venture outside the safe borders of the isles was when he was still scarcely more than an adolescent, at the age of nascent 44 years. He set out for the main continent with the purpose to further his knowledge and expand his horizons by studying the lesser races. He eventually reached the Imperial City and studied at the Mages Guild until the Oblivion Crisis, where he joined forces with the fighters of Cyrodiil; not so much out of his nonexistent altruistic nature, mind you, but because he wanted to see the Oblivion plane for himself. His wish did come true, as he fought many a time alongside the hero who had in the end successfully closed all of the gates.
Even though Cyrodiil was in ruins and without a real governing body, the Mer stayed on, furthering his studies by travelling to other provinces of Tamriel, even the remote and abominably cold Skyrim with the thick-headed Nords coated with bear furs who were barely literate. You can imagine that the proud elf, whose body was much more accustomed to the warmth of the south, had wanted nothing to do with the cold regions and soon after this last visit departed again for his homeland.
He returned just in time to join the Thalmor in their usurpation of power in the Summerset Isles, renaming them to Alinor. Soon after followed the overthrowing of the Valenwood government, in which Eliytres participated with all his might, though perhaps not with all his heart. Then there was almost a century of slow, but persistent expansion of the Aldmeri Dominion, finally culminating in the sneaky conquering of Elswyr. While surviving all the surfeit of combat and battle was a reward enough for the Mer, it just so happened that his feats were becoming more and more recognized within the Thalmor.
All the slow working of the officials in high places and some well-placed wooing did pay out in the end, as Eliytres Meether Tiernan was, with a big smile on his face, sent to Cyrodiil with a war cry on his lips. The Great War, for all its fancy name, didn't last very long – at least from a Mer's point of view – and in the blink of an eye, he found himself situated as one of the higher ambassadors who report directly to the first emissary Elenwen.
Combat & Equipment
Equipment: Two-handed sword, a set of throwing daggers, Ebony armor, Thalmor robes
Skills: Two-Handed, Heavy armor, Conjuration, Destruction, Speech, Enchanting
Spells: Soul trap, Storm Thrall, Flame thrall, Fire rune, Chain lightning, Lighting cloak, Lightning storm, Close wounds, Greater ward
Perk tree