Info Character Profiles

[Netherworld]

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 ​

 

[Farthlion]

Name: Faolin
Class: Archer/Tree-hugger
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Female
Age: 72
Height: 5'2''
Day of Birth: 2 of Morning Star
Birthplace: Falinesti, Valenwood
Marital Status: Single

Traits: Faolin is a natural born archer, she is quite good at sneaking when she has a forest to blend in with, but does not do so well in places with little to no vegetation. She can be quite talkative, and always has something to say.
Flaws: She is very opinionated, socially awkward, and takes the term "tree-hugger" to the extreme.

Alliances: Anything that you can call vegetation.

Weapons: Faolin carries a common bow found in Valenwood - one made of an animal bone rather than from wood. She also tends to carry a small dagger, the blade which is made from the tooth of a Sabre Cat.

Description: For the most part, Faolin has the appearance of the average Bosmer of Valenwood. She has long brown hair down to her shoulders, usually kept down, but occasionally up on a pony tail when in deep thought. She wears basic hide armor which shows years of living in forests. Her appearance does not show her physical age, as she appears to be in her 20s while she is really in her early 70s.

Personality: Like most of her kind, Faolin has a personal connection to plants and wildlife. Like most Bosmer, she traditionally holds the plants of Valenwood sacred, but her love for vegetation goes beyond her homeland's forests. Wherever she travels, she loves to seek out the plants. She is quite caring, but her kindness is mostly reserved for plants - whom she often talks to as if they were people. Towards others she can appear quite strange and socially awkward.

Background: Born to an average Bosmer family, Faolin was nothing special. Like most of her kind, she could raise and fire a bow with natural success at a very young age. In Valenwood, one is strictly a carnivore, and often put through the trial of hunting for their own food. Having spent 60+ years hunting on her own, she is a seasoned and skilled hunter as well as cook when it comes to meat.

Most of Faolin's youth was spent alone in the forests - except for the plants which she had come to talk to. Having poor social skills was a trait she could not help no matter how hard she tried, and eventually the young Bosmer came to accept this.

When she turned 20 she sought to leave Valenwood. There were certain customs of the Bosmer she did not agree with. Leaving was an easy decision in some ways - her bad history interacting with others left her few friends. However, she realized she would be leaving the forest she had grown to love as well as her parents. In the end, she left to Cyrodiil.

The Imperial province was quite different from Valenwood. When she arrived in her first city, Kvatch, it was like a complete and utter reality check. It was easy to see that the Imperials cut the trees away to build such a place, and that greatly angered the young Bosmer. Upon seeing a man picking flowers, Faolin snapped, strung her bow, and fired a deadly shot at his head. Where she came from, harming a plant like that was a strict offense - handled like killing another person.

Instead of finding peace from Valenwood's customs in a foreign land, she found herself growing with hate for the land's inhabitants. Over the next 50 years, much of Faolin's time was spent wandering from province to province, only occasionally speaking with others when she would wander into towns to find food when the lands did not offer any game.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

Name: Bjorn the Easterner

Birthdate: 2nd of Rain's Hand, 4E 145

Race: Nord

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Religion: Yoku pantheon, especially Sakatal

Appearance: Bjorn is 6'4" and of large and muscular build. He has slightly brown sandy blond hair, which is unkempt and flows down to the center of his back. He has a thick, scraggly beard and mustache which cover most of his lower face. He has green eyes which are set deep into his skull, below a stern brow. His face has a weary quality, and he often frowns out of habit. His skin is tan from years spent in the desert, and it is tight and brown like light tanned leather. A large portion of his left pectoral's skin is shiny and rough from a magical burn, and he has a deep scar running down his back from the war.

Personality: Bjorn is very hard and reserved. He is slow to trust and slower to respect, due to his time with the Dunedwellers, which made him look at civilization in the east of Tamriel as soft and shallow compared to the east. He does not speak often and sometimes just communicates by expressions.

Backstory: Bjorn was born in Cyrodiil to Jon and Karina Svenson, originally from Skyrim. Jon was a longshoreman at the Imperial City's Waterfront, and Karina was an apothecary. Bjorn spent his first 6 years of life in the Imperial City; when he turned 7, his parents had saved enough money to move out of the city, to a village in the eastern countryside of Cyrodiil, where Jon worked on a farm and Karina continued her apothecary business. Jon spent the next four years there, learning how to do both manual labor and alchemy, as well as practicing using a sword. It was his dream that if he was good enough, he could join the Legion. So he practiced, and he grew.

At age 11, Bjorn and his family moved to Skyrim, settling down in Dragon Bridge. Because the hamlet was along the road to Solitude, the boy was often in contact with Legionnaires, and he grew to admire them. As he grew into a young man, he grew closer to the Legion soldiers stationed in Solitude. They would let him train with them, and this experience shaped him into a strong young warrior. He signed up for the Legion on his 18th birthday, and went through training at an accelerated rate, after which he entered service with the 7th Skyrim Legion. The group was used throughout Skyrim to fight large bandit clans and to enforce the laws, and Bjorn excelled, getting himself promoted to Quaestor in a year, and then Praefect in three more.

In 4E 171, the Great War began, and Bjorn was sent to fight off the Thalmor in Hammerfell. When the Imperial forces were defeated by the invading elves, the 7th Skyrim Legion took a brutal beating, and was pushed back to the Alik'r Desert in the March of Thirst. Bjorn's unit had been separated from the other Legion forces and pursued by Thalmor mages, which meant that as they retreated into the unfamiliar desert, they did not have any idea of their bearings. When they escaped the Thalmor, Bjorn and his fellow soldiers were completely lost in the center of a vast foreign desert.

They spent the next two years wandering in the desert, suffering from thirst, hunger, heat, and near-insanity from being in the same endless sea of sand for years; gradually, the unit was whittled away at by all these afflictions, until only Bjorn remained. As the war raged on, he tried to escape the sands, but it was futile. It was only in 4E 174 that he received a glimmer of hope, in the form of a tribe of Dunedwellers. They saw that he was ragged and weary, but they did not speak a word of Tamrielic. Still, they did not run him off when he began traveling with them. Gradually, he picked up some Dune Yoku little by little, and he started to understand Dunedweller life and culture.

A year later, the Dunedwellers ventured to the western edge of the Alik'r, and Bjorn was finally back in civilization. He found out the best way to get back to Skyrim, and set out with the Dunedwellers to cross the desert once more. When the journey was done, he left the tribe, who were camped outside of the city from which he intended on returning to Skyrim; however, an hour in civilization caused Bjorn to leave the city and return to the Dunedwellers. He had entered an inn and found the place too claustrophobic, and he had been disgusted when he learned that the Empire had signed the White-Gold Concordat.

Bjorn spent the next 15 years in Hammerfell, traveling with the Dunedwellers and adopting much of their culture. He traded his battered Legion armor for a set made of the bones of desert beasts, as well as some thick cloth robes like the native Dunedwellers wore; he traded his Imperial sword for a short bladed staff with a bone blade; and he traded the worship of the Nine Divines for that of the Dunedweller gods. He also learned some of the Dunedwellers' conjuration, alteration, and destruction magic. He ceased shaving and grooming, with the exception of bathing, and grew used to the constant coating of sand which the Dunedwellers experienced.

By the time he left the Alik'r, Bjorn considered the tribe like his family, but he decided it was time to return home. So he said goodbye at the western edge of the desert, then set out on a trek across Hammerfell to Skyrim. When he returned to the province, he was horrified to find that the Thalmor had agents throughout Skyrim. He could not stand to be around the elves who had tried to kill him, or to be in civilization, so he went to the mountains, where he built a small and secluded cabin. He stayed there most of the time, but not content to turn on his adopted nomadic ways, he would occasionally embark on a journey from his house to somewhere on the other side of the province.

As the years went by, Bjorn gradually increased his social interaction, mostly with trips to nearby Riverwood for supplies and visits to other veterans of the Great War.

Apparel/Equipment: Bone armor crafted from desert beasts, red and blue cloth robes worn under armor and hooded shawl/cloak worn over armor, bone-plated boots, cloth gloves, short wooden staff with a bone blade like a short sword on the end

Skills: One-Handed, Light Armor, Destruction, Conjuration, Alteration, Alchemy

Combat Preferences: Bjorn uses his staff in his right hand and a spell in his left. He uses his Destruction magic to attack foes and his Conjuration to raise dead foes, and he casts magical armor with his Alteration. He heals himself with his expertly crafted potions and coats his weapon in his deadly poisons.

Theme Song :

 

[Celduin]

Name: Celduin

Gender: Male

Race: Imperial and Bosmer (see history v1)

Class: Warrior

Armor: A type of Heavy armor forged from ebony and the shadows of the night (see History v3) which allows the wearer to be completly unseen when in the shadows but other than that has no special effects. It looks like regular Ebony armor surrounded by a shimmering dark haze.

Weapons: Prefers to have a sword and a sheild bt often finds himself in senerios where only a one-handed sword is present. The sword is named Soulstrife and was a gift given to him from Clavicus Vile after the Oblvion Crisis, forged from the shadows of night, Ebony and from the shards of an iron sword given to Celduin from his father (see History v3). Looks exactly like a Daedric sword except it does not have any read and is surrounded by a dark shimmering haze. The blade has the unique ability of not only cutting a person physically, but cutting their soul as well, lessining an opponents will to live.

Physical Description: Tall, roughly 6'1" weighing around 195-200 lbs. Strong and yet skinny, buil for endurance and high speeds. Has the looks of a typical Impirial with black stragley neck-long hair and a small mustache as well as a small goatee. His eyes are that of a typical Bosmer, however and are startaling blue

Biography: See Histoy v1, v2, and v3

Personality: Very cynical with a sence of humor towards blood and war. Usually is very lively and active and enjoys the heat of battle, whether the battle was needed or not. He also enjoys sprinting long distances and prefers to travel on foot rather than on horse. Deeply despises sneaking around and stealing, veiwing them as acts of cowardice. He also is disposed to using a bow, seeing it as cowardly as well. Altough he disposed to it, he has no qualms with others using it.​

 

[Iveri Sarothil]

Edited Iveri due to game reinstall.

 

[SkyrimFreak]

Name: Silvi

Race: Bosmer

Class: Assassin/Thief

Gender: Female

Looks: The profile picture - 5'2 slim but not very strong, very agile (Will post picture soon)

Personality: A quick temper, even with her few friends, she is slower to get angry (or at least visibly angry) if she does not have much influence on the current situation. She prefers to not draw any attention to herself, seeing as most of her life has been lived in the shadows. She is incredibly cautious anywhere where there are many people in one place.

Misc: Silvi uses an elven bow with a shock enchant on it, and uses mostly steel arrows (elven if possible). If forced into close combat, she uses two ebony daggers, one with an absorb health enchant, one with a soul trap enchantment.


Name: Aryni

Race: Dunmer/Vampire (Dark Elf)

Class: Blacksmith/Warrior

Gender: Female

Looks: Kind of like my profile picture but less... pointy? 5'7 thin but surprisingly strong (Will post picture once I save up enough for Dragonborn)

Personality: She has a very short temper and is not afraid to get into fights, pretty much the opposite of Silvi when it comes to this.

Misc: Uses a dual wield of an ebony sword in the right hand and an ebony dagger in the left, both sharpened to a razor sharp point. She carries around a hunting bow and some iron arrows purely for hunting, she never was much of an archer. She wears chitin plate armor that she modified to have a special hidden sheathe for her dagger when not fighting, just in case.


Name: Yvara

Race: Imperial

Class: Alchemist/Healer (She does use poisons to kill, but not enough to be considered an Assassin to me)

Gender: Female

Looks: (Will post picture soon)

Personality: She is mild but when she's angry she can be rather intimidating. This does rather backfire on her if she gets into a fight though, she is not a fighter at all. If she sees someone hurt her immediate impulse is to help them in any way she can.

Misc: She has a small shack near Falkreath, her favorite poison to use is a rather simple one that knocks out her opponent giving her enough time to escape, uses a Dragonbone dagger she got from her mother before an unfortunate accident when skeevers invaded their family home. Expert in Restoration, she isn't good at teaching, she is rather instinctive.



Name: Mirabelle

Race: Breton

Class: Mage/Assassin (More like a not-sneaky assassin)

Gender: Female

Looks: (Will post all these pictures when I find out how to enlarge a small image without making it blurry)

Personality: Cruel and sarcastic, she prefers not to get into fights yet enjoys it at the same time. She loves to torture people close to breaking point of their minds just before she kills them.

Misc: She doesn't use one school of magic in particular, but mainly uses Alteration, Destruction, and Illusion. (this is unfinished for now)

 

[awesome_guy]

Name: Neloren
Race: Dunmer
Class: Mage/Warlock
Gender: Male
Looks:

Personality: Altough he is a Dunmer, his was raised Bosmer. He was left in Valenwood by his unknown parents. Like Brand-Shei, he was from the Great House Telvanni, and so, he grow up mastering the Arcane Arts. He left Valenwood to adventure the word, and eventually discovered the Winterhold College, thus, becoming the Arch-Mage.
Misc: He's very skilled with Destruction spells, and have a deep understanding of Alteration spells, not as much as Destruction though. Although he is the Arch-Mage of the College, he only have vast understanding of Destruction Spells, knowing little of the other schools, like Illusion, Conjuration and Restoration. But, of course, in time, he will master these Schools, becoming even more powerful.

 

[Dorian-Dunmer]

Name: Llok
Race: Bosmer
Class: Warrior
Weapons: Daedric Sword and War Axe
Armor: full daedric
BIO:
Llok is a weird name for a Bosmer but his name is given to him by daedric lord molag bal along with the weapons and Armour he uses. Llok has no memory of his past before he met the power that is molag bal and seaches for answers day in and day out. Llok is a warrior he joind the imperial legion allmos a year ago not to fight ulfric but to be on the front lines.

 

[Rextoret]

Saliith​

» NAME Saliith
» ALIAS 'Croc'
» AGE 34
» BIRTH DATE Last Seed 26, 4E (Variable to fit a RPs timeline.)
» BIRTH PLACE Blackrose, Black Marsh
» BIRTH SIGN The Warrior
» RACE Saxhleel (Argonian)
» CLASS Were-Alligator|Warrior
» GENDER Male
» HEIGHT 6'4"
» WEIGHT 195 lbs
» LATERALITY Right-handed
» SEXUALITY Heterosexual
» MARTIAL STATUS Single
» PROPERTIES None
» HEALTH Fine
» AFFLICTION Lycanthropy|Insomnia|Flat Affect
» RELIGION None (Atheist)
» PATRON DEITIES N/A

PERSONALITY​

» POSITIVE TRAITS Patient and Smart
» NEGATIVE TRAITS Silent and Calculating
» LIKES Rationality
» DISLIKES Irrationality and monsters
» FEARS Death
» MORALITY Saliith's mind is very simple. He doesn't think of morals, he only thinks of himself and his own safety and well-being. That being said, he has no morality. He is completely amoral. He is also completely rational.
» EMOTIONS Seeing as he is afflicted with Flat Affect, he has no emotions. Or, at least very suppressed emotions.

APPEARANCE​

» SCALE COLORS Black and Gray
» WAR PAINT Yellow
» EYE COLOR Light Blue
» SKIN COLOR Black
» BUILD Heavy
» SCARS Many, one on his forehead and a large one on his chest. Dozens everywhere else.

COMBAT​

» SKILLS

Expert (A lot of experience.)
» One-Handed
» Smithing
» Light Armor

Adept (Much experience.)
» Enchanting
» Restoration

Apprentice (Some experience.)
» Alchemy
» Heavy Armor

Novice (Little to no experience.)
» Two-Handed
» Archery
» Block
» Alteration
» Conjuration
» Descruction
» Illusion
» Lockpicking
» Pickpocketing
» Sneak
» Speech

GEAR
» Leather Armor
» Steel Sword
» Various soul gems, ingredients and smithing items.

HISTORY​

» CHILDHOOD Saliith was born in Blackrose, a town near toMurkwood. He lived a pampered life in a rich family, never doing a day's work. He had 2 sisters and a brother. His demeanor was always happy, never questioning something that felt wrong. However, as in many Black Marsh towns, the alleys were darker than most. Thieves made up far more than half the populace. The guards seemed to have both eyes closed at all times. In comparison, Riften is simply a playground compared to Blackrose. Saliith's family's fortune was made up of rightly earned money, up until his father was approached with a job to export hist sap. Saliith's father was always greedy, so he took this job. However, he was killed by bandits when crossing the border to Elsweyr. The employers were furious at their loss, and they came back toBlackrose. They brutally slaughtered Saliith's family, as well as other things. After they were done, they spotted Saliith and his younger brother hiding behind a curtain. They cut Saliith between the eyes, leaving a deep scar on his forehead. To make Saliith suffer even more, seeing he was the eldest, they cut off his younger brother's tail, hands and tongue. When they were done with this, they tossed Saliith and his brother into Murkwood- the dark forest that never moves.

» TEENAGE YEARS The drug-sellers took Saliith and his brother deep into the forest-swamp of Murkwood. With his brother now lacking a tail, a tongue and hands, Saliith had to look after him at every turn. But monsters filled Murkwood, and Saliith was nothing but a spoiled rich city boy. They spent years there, unable to escape the ever dark forest-swamp of Murkwood. They were forced to eat off the local berries and animals. During this time, Saliith learned how to take ingredients and flora from the swamp, and make them into potent potions and posions. Saliith fashioned make-shift armor from anything he could find, for himself and his brother. After years Saliith had stopped talking all together, seeing as it was impossible for his brother to answer. All these years were spent fighting monsters, learning how to become a warrior. These years hardened Saliith, although he was left with many scars to show for it. They continued their life in Murkwood, until one day. While Saliith and his brother were sleeping in their make-shift tee-pee, a necromancer approached through the gloomy woods. He took Saliith and his brother while they were sleeping and put them on a boat. Knowing Saliith's brother lacked a tail, he planned a sinsiter event. When they woke, his brother was dangling from ropes upside down, over sea. Saliith attempted to grab his brother, but the ropes were cut, and his brother fell into the water. There were metal balls tied to his brother's feet and even though Argonians can breath underwater, water is not food. Saliith attempted to break free of his bonds and jump in to save his brother, but was held back. The boat drifted away, with Saliith on it as well as the necromancer.

» ADULTHOOD Saliith was now nothing more than a broken shell of a man. The necromancer took advantage of this, further augmenting Saliith's mind in horrid ways. When he was done, Saliith was emotionless and completely logical. The only thing that remained of Saliith before, was the memory of his brother and a hate for monsters. Now that Saliith was no more than a doll, the necromancer taught him enchanting and restoration. He desperately tried to teach Saliith conjuration, but he never seemed to learn it. Frustrated, he cast Saliith down into the dungeons of the ship, below the deck. Also below deck was the forge. The jailkeeper was a kind man who knew smithing well, and offered to teach it to Saliith for a price. The price was that Saliith had to kill the necromancer after they were done. Saliith accepted knowing that learning smithing was completely logical and useful to him. Years were spent like this, with the jailkeep teaching him heavy armor and smithing. Once they were done, Saliith went up to the deck, and entered the captain's room- the necromancer's. The necromancer saw Saliith's sword come out of it's sheath, and he charged him. Pinning Saliith against the wall, he forced him to drink a bottle- filled with the blood of a werewolf. Saliith had become the very thing he hated. Pushing the necromancer back, he shoved his sword clean through him. With the sword still in him, the necromancer asked Saliith a question. "Why kill me? After all I have taught you!" Saliith stared into the man's eyes calmly. "Letting you live would endanger me. And there is no reason to let you live. This outcome is the most logical." Yanking his sword out the man's stomach, who then proceeded to bleed out on the floor, Saliith walked away. Standing on the deck, his mind cracked for a moment, after all was done. He screamed loudly into the air and, in that moment, transformed into a were-crocodile. He leaped into the sea, and swam away from the place of his second imprisonment. When he was done swimming to shore, he found himself in Skyrim. He scoured the land for a logical place to live, away from the eyes of strangers who feared him.

 

[totaldestruction]

Name: James Blackshadow
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male
Class: Ranger/Thief
Looks: 5'11 and always where's a hood so no one can see his face
Preferences: custom blades (so he can trust them), Leather armor
Background: Used to live in Cyrodil and was the son of the king when his father was murdered he ran. No one recongized him and he was an outcast in Skyrim. Then he began to steal.
Personality: A leader, a friendly guy unless you get on his bad side

 

[MagicBlade]

Ok
Name: Jag Razor-Claw
Alias : ShadowBroker
Race: Khajiit
Likes: Shadows, Moons, Nightime, Great kills, Exploring, Spears/Throwing spears.
Dislikes: Any form of authority or government, Water, Nords, vegetables
Looks: An assortment of scars, usually wears a Alik'r hood to keep the cold out and part of his tribes legacy, Tall, Lean, Brown fur with Black warpaint, Prefers light clothing like tunics or leather armour
Personality: Has a weird sense of humour, very smart and witty, fieldcraft skills are off the chart. Has a odd combat style and practises the Whispering-Fang Style
Backstory: used to be a guard with the Khajiit trade caravans but a nord had come a murdered the people he was guarding, now he travels skyrim exacting his vengeance on any Nord who would even give him a look the wrong way. He doesn't back down to guards and will usually enjoy bloodshed and killing nords.

 

[Coregamer4]

Name: Ballkul Kyrrden

Race: Orc

Age: 34

Height: 6'4

Weight: 140 lb

Appearance: Tall and bulky. Slightly stronger jaw than most Orsimer, which is saying something. Hair shaved everywhere but the top, and tied back in a short ponytail. Slightly scarred. Purple warpaint strechting under his eyes and up and down his nose.

Personality: More intelligent than he looks. Relatively trusting, but if betrayed he won't hesitate to whack you over the head. Witty, which sounds rather odd with his deep orcish voice.

Apparrel: Steel plate armor, along with a steel shield, an amulet of Talos, that he found on the body of Roggvir, who was executed at Solitude. A leather travel cloak, good for traveling in the southern areas of
Skyrim.

Weapons: Steel mace, banded iron shield, often uses a torch, escpecially when fighting undead.

Dislikes: Idiots, people with an unreasonable distaste to magic, spiders, vampires.

Skills: One-handed, smithing, block, heavy armor, enchanting.

Sign: The Warrior

Birthplace: Orsinium

Current Residence: Homeless, sleeping at the inn when not out camping.

Bio: Born in Orsinium as a rather stock Orc, tough, skilled smith, etc. But he also took a liking to the city mage, and though his magic ability was limited, he learnt a good deal about enchanting. This gained him quite a bit of ridicule, enough to make him leave for Skyrim, where his combat skills ans survivability would most likely pay off.

Notes: Member of the Companions.

 

[The OP3RaT0R]

Name: Arana
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Female
Age: 27

Personality: Arana is tactfully quiet; she is comfortable speaking and being around people, but she chooses not to interact much beyond what's necessary. She can be sarcastic, but generally just with friends. She holds herself with much poise and grace, but she has a mischievous side as well.

Appearance: Arana has light bluish-gray skin common to Dunmer, light blue eyes, and jet black hair down to the middle of her back. Her face is made up of elegant, delicate features, and her body is well-endowed where many men often look first on a woman.

Backstory: Arana grew up as an orphan in a village near Morrowind's border with Skyrim. From a young age she was the object of admiration of the village's boys, and it was apparent that she was destined to grow up to be a looker. Which made it surprising she had a knack for fighting.

She first discovered her skill when she was 14 and a farm boy gave her a smack on the rear in the village market. While he stood snickering, Arana turned and punched him in the face, knocking the boy to the ground. Almost instinctively, she kicked him in the stomach and threw herself down atop the boy, proceeding to punch his face repeatedly until it was bloody and bruised, and she was pulled away. This relegated Arana to a lonely teen life, being gawked at but avoided at all costs. She coped by training to fight better, driving others further away. At age 18, she finally left the village to see the world.

She made her way all over Tamriel, looking for trouble and picking fights. She rarely lost, and she had great fun teasing men into making advances, only to beat them senseless. This entertained Arana for a while, but when it began to grow old, she had the luck of meeting Tacitus in Kragenmoor, where she had rented a small home. She put her regular routine on, catching the Imperial's eye; but when he approached, she found that she was attracted to him. Rather than beat him up, she let him buy her a drink, and one thing led to another, eventually leading to them entering a relationship.

Apparel: Arana wears fine Morrowind-style clothing, leather boots, and leather gloves.

Equipment: Arana keeps an Elven dagger for emergencies.

Combat style: Arana is skilled with using her body to fight, and has over the years honed her skills to where she can kill, if necessary.

 

[Timelord_Daelin]

Ok, so I'm gonna make another CC for my character, Daelin. Hope you guys like it!
NAME: Daelin

RACE: Nord

AGE: 23

HEIGHT: 5’8”

WEIGHT: 130

CLASS: warrior, werewolf

APPEARANCE: Daelin is tall and thin. She has straight brown hair that falls to the middle of her back and wide, amber eyes. She has a scar going from her right cheek to her right eye from an accident (that "accident" meaning that she picked a fight with an Orc at the age of ten). She's rather attractive. She usually has a swirly, purple warpaint design on her left cheek.

PERSONALITY: kind, shy, adventurous, wise, caring, ignorant, friendly

MARITAL STATUS: single

ARMOR/APPAREL: set of steel armor, steel shield, Amulet of Hircine (OOC: just made that up)

WEAPONS: enchanted steel one-handed sword, magic spells (flames, lightning, frost, etc.)

DISLIKES: vampires, dishonest people, thieves, assassins, Falmer, elves

SKILLS: one handed, heavy armor, block, destruction magic

SIGN: the Lover

BIRTHPLACE: Whiterun, Skyrim

CURRENT RESIDENCE: ?

BIO: Daelin was born to Aela the Huntress and Skjor in Jorrvaskr. She was raised as a Companion, learning sword fighting, blocking, and all of the good stuff. She used to go on hunting trips with Aela, but wasn't good at archery. She loved to swing a sword around with Farkas and Vilkas and learned how to shoot spells from the court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire. When Daelin was a kid, she hung out with the boys in Whiterun, playing games about how they were going to be famous heroes someday. Daelin and her best friend, Jon, climbed trees and houses (yes, houses) and were always doing dangerous stuff.

By the time Daelin was 16, she was allowed to go on contracts with her father and mother. She traveled across Skyrim, earning her fame doing heroic acts. One day, while Daelin's family and Jon were out clearing a ruin, a group of vampires ambushed them, killing Aela and Skjor. Daelin was furious. She transformed into a werewolf (a power she had no idea she had) and slaughtered every vampire in the ruin. The next day she woke up in a tent outside of the ruin. There was a not next to her from Jon, saying that he was ashamed and disgusted by the fact that his best friend was a secret werewolf. He also threatened her that if she went back to Whiterun, he would arrest her for "murdering" her parents. Daelin was devastated and broken. She had nowhere to turn to, so she headed towards Windhelm. She became a mercenary and traveled across Skyrim, keeping the fact that she was a werewolf a secret.

 

[LordNaskill]

Name: Ignar

Race: Nord

Gender: Male

Class: Barbarian

Age: 40

Looks:

Birth Place: Skyrim,Eastmarch

Birth Date: 4E 160

Specialization: Combat

Attributes: Speed,Strength

Major Skills:
*Heavy Armour
*Two Handed
*One Handed
*Archery
*Block

Minor Skills:
*Smithing
*Light Armour
*Alchemy
*Lockpicking
* Stealth

Personality: Proud, savage, brutal and direct, lacking civilized graces, but glory in heroic feats, and excel in fierce, frenzied single combat.Ignar is a half civilized barbarian,he relies on himself,but will be acceptable of new faces.

BIO:
Young Life:
Born and raised wild,given a different look upon civilised people,he was slightly smarter then most in his small tribe,the way he was treated by most drove him away from his family his tribe, Ignar soon realized that it would be better for him to leave what he loved and open his barbaric mind,so he did leaving a tribe who just let him leave without asking.

Mid-Life:
Ignar soon left his tribe with a short sword and some food, he quickly had to find a safe place for him to set up a camp,once he found a suitable place he set off to scavenge and hunt for things he needed, At the age of 16 Ignar was still alive gaining strength and skill in what he did but he was not alone,after he turned 20 he was taken by local guards to whiterun and was to be trained in a civilized manner, once he was tought how to be civilized he once again left to the wild where he used the civilized skills to build a large hut along-side a river.

Aging-Life
Once at the age of 30 he was the master of the woods of Eastmarch using the snow to his advantage, Ignar was using his skill to survive in the harsh lands of the snow blizzards blazing and cold hearths destroying land,
but Ignar was strong and made it though all of it and has become not only a person on skill but he is a civilized barbarian that shows his true self

 

[MagicBlade]

Name: Erondir
Race : Altmer
Appearance: Tall, lean, odd yellow eyes, Powerful Expert Robes with Konariik mask. Never shows face in public
Skills : Destruction, Conjuration, Alteration
Lower Skills: One-Handed, Illusion, Heavy Armour
Personality: Shadowy, Thalmor Agent, Is renowned in the Aldmeri Dominion as the Bravest and Smartest Wizard.
Early Life: Grew up in a small house in the forest in Summerset Isles, Practiced magic until was able to kill a deer with a single spell, after that, which was when he was 8, he moved to the city.
Teen years: Enlisted as a Conjurer/Destruction mage in the Thalmor. Showed his skil, and was instantly sent to Valenwood to overthrow the government. along with other Thalmor. Then grew up , and got higher ranked in the Thalmor.
Current life: Lives as a nomad, prefers to stay outside the walls of the cities, and any nord who he sees with a talos amulet, is instantly torn apart by Storm Atronachs.

Jag Razor Claw
Khajiit
Tall, muscular, Black fur with white complexion,
One Handed, Archery, Sneak
Lockpicking, Alchemy, Light Armour
Personality; Brave, merciless, ruthless, dark, smart, cunning
Early- Life ; Lived as a nomad with a foster mother in the desert of Elsweyr, his "mother" taught how to use the Sword, the bow, and use poisons. He grew to love killing, and ended up leaving his mother, with a sum of gold from his killings. He then came to skyrim, with news of the Dark Brotherhood. Now does contacts for Nazir and Astrid, and hates Cicero.

 

[Zander Feredon]

Name: H'sikar
Race: Argonian
Class: Shaman
Appearance: 6'0 ft, 180 lbs, Appears to be 19 but is far older, Eyes are a Whitish yellow, like lightning, No Hair Only two rows of horns down the center of his head, Black Scales, Yellow/Golden War pain going down from each eye, His eyes hold the wisdom of ages long since past.

Skills: Destruction,Conjuration,Alteration,Light Armor
Personality:Cold And Calculating, Very Silent, Only speaks when he thinks something is worth the use of his words, Feels that skyrim's current turmoil is due to the lack of control imposed upon the people, Believes Discipline is the back bone to any strong empire, Usually travels alone.
early years: Born In Blackmarsh during a solar eclipse, he began to show an extreme fascination with the arcane arts at an early age, upon his 10th birthday he was struck by a single bolt of lightning, and was unconscious for 4 moon cycles, upon waking up he found that he had the ability to conduct electricity through his very blood.
Teen Years: by his 16th birthday he was appointed to the position of village elder, having defending his entire village from an onslaught of Naga, and emerging completely unscathed while all that remained of his enemies was a pile of ash, by now he has learned to use the electricity in his blood as a weapon and a shield, enveloping himself in a shroud of electricity for defense and charging large lightning bolts within himself and releasing them through his very own hands as a weapon, His appointment to elder was partially due to the respect he had earned within the village...and partially due to the fact that his very own people feared him, and he knew it...
Events leading up to present:Upon his 19th birthday, he was one of them most respected leaders in all of blackmarsh, and he was the elder of not only his village but of 2 other villages on the outskirts of his land, and he sought to unite all of blackmarsh under his rule, he believed that with his power ,everyone would be safer if they followed his rule, he could defend them from any evil that would attempt to harm his people, little did he realize that he was this very evil, His downfall was when he tried to take the village of ShadowScale, they were prepared for his attack and had planned an appropriate defense, as his forces entered the town they were led and entrapped in a large stone structure resembeling a temple, in his effort to free his forces H'sikar was blind to the Obvious trap ,and 4 Shadowscale Shamans Drained him of his arcane energy, through a ritual, praying to the very Eclipse that he was Born Under, He Was trapped, In what some would call Oblivion, others call it limbo, he was nothing more than a spirit, riding the currents of time, watching empires rise and fall learning, biding his time, plotting until, one faithful day, under a solar eclipse not unlike the one he was born under, a forsworn Shaman, and a witch known as a hagraven, performed a ritual, to wake the dead, to serve their purpose, and unknowingly, they released H'sikar upon the world once again, only this time, in skyrim, no one truly knows how long he was imprisoned in the flow of time, but one thing is for sure, though his mind aged, his body did not.

 

[Osiris]

Name: Ozindyl
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Age: 170 years old; born in the first era
Class: Spellsword
Orientation: Bisexual
Religion: Believes in the Divines and Daedra, but worships none.

Appearance:

Here is Ozindyl clad in Iron Armor, his Armor of Choice is Elven or if he needs more protection, Ebony.

Personality: Ozindyl is an honorable and clever Altmer, he holds no prejudices against any races, himself being an Elf in Human lands (High Rock). He is usually straight-forward, but has a good sense of humor and loves the feeling of victory. Ozindyl speaks like a typical High Elf, so he is rather educated for a Housecarl, studying in Daggerfall during his 30's.

Story: Ozindyl was young when the Bretons and Nords drove out the Elves in High Rock. His father was a Sorcerer killed in the fighting, and he never knew his mother. The King of Wayrest took Ozindyl under his wing and raised him like his own son, the young Altmer serving as the King's housecarl. When the King died, Prince Salomon became the new ruler of Wayrest, and Ozindyl continued to serve under him as housecarl. The threat of a dragon looms over his home, and he believes it is his fate to slay this monster and bring glory and peace to the place he has sworn to protect. Ozindyl has traveled on diplomatic ventures as a bodyguard to King Theodyn of Wayrest, and later to his son, Salomon. These travels have brought him to Hammerfell, Skyrim, Cyrodiil, and Elsweyr.

 

[Zander Feredon]

Name:Ki'Rahlah
Race:khajiit-Dagi
Class-Vigilant Of Stendarr/Master of the Sacred Fang Style (unarmed)
Homelandelletine-Elsweyr
Gender:female
Age:17
Marital status:single
Religious viewsevout Worshipper of Stendarr
Appearance:5'4 ft , 120 lbs , Light Cream colored fur, long whitish blonde Hair, Usually kept pulled into a ponytail,Peircing Blue eyes with no pupil, Her eyes reflect a knowledge that most of her age lack,Lean Muscled.
Personality:Easy going and not quic to anger at all, she gets along with almost everyone she meets, she has a high understanding of the problems in life and seeks to give advice to those in need, always there for her friends should they need her,she has a very kind heart, though do not let this fool you, she can defend herself if needed.

Apparel: Adorning the classic Stendarr type robes,they are blue with tannish white trim, and she wears a hood of the matching color, using gauntlets made of refined moonstone, they were given to her at the monastery and are so named ''Hand of Stendarr'' (similar to appearance of the elven gauntlets only white) they are enchanted with the fortify unarmed enchantment. she wears boots made of the same moonstone material as her gauntlets called ''Moonstriders of Stendarr'' and she adorns the Amulet of stendarr aswell, her boots give her the Shock and frost supression ability but only up to 25%. and her hood has fortify magicka + 50.

Combat Preference: Unarmed, Using the Sacred Fang Style she was taught in her monastery, although she is also a master at restoration magick, and can use expert level spells.

Biography: At a young age of 8 her parents were brutally murdered by a group of Argonian Bandits during a raid in one of the popular port towns of elsweyr, they hid Ki'Rahlah in a safe behind a book case in their shop, and she hear them being brutally slaughtered for refusing to give up their valuables, soon after the raid she stowed away on a ship destined for skyrim but was found during the voyage, to pay for her voyage she was made to do tedious chores around the ship such as cleaning and tended to the sick and wounded, when the ship docked in riften she was sent away to a monestary where she later mastered the Sacred Fang Style of unarmed combat,She later joined the Vigilants of Stendarr, at the age of 14, she was trained in the ways of Stendarr and taught to hate all things undead, and daedric alike, She traveled with the Vigilants doing work throughout skyrim until the faithful day when the Vigilant who Mentored her was killed by a vampire named Movarth while looking into a rumor in morthal, since then she has been mercilessly hunting vampires and has recieved many invitations to join the dawnguard but declines them because she finds their means barbaric and doesnt approve of the use of swords or other bladed weapons, her favorite saying is '' If you cant kill it with your own two hands, then you shouldnt be hunting it at all''

 

[Zander Feredon]

Name: Destrik MoorHaven
Race:Breton
Age:691 (appears to be 46)
Afflictions: Vampirism
Class: Bodyguard/Forgemaster
Appearance-
Height:5'9
Weight:220
Hair: long unkept, 2 small braids down each side, and a neatly trimmed beard/Mustache combo
Hair Color: Ashen Grey
Eyes: Solid black,gives the appearance of staring into 2 bottomless pits of despair
Body Type: Muscular Build,Scarred from many battles with foes who's names he cannot even remember.
Apparel: See's no need for headgear, wears a full ebony plate of armor engraved with the insignia of Volkihar.
His weapon is a bound battle axe conjured from Molag Bal's plane of oblivion, He christened it with the name ''Anima Reddat'' or Soul Render in the language of the nords.


Personality: Sadistic, enjoys torturing his enemies before simply granting them the death they beg for.Quiet, and calculating, see's no need to waste words on meaningless conversations or arguments, only speaks when he deems it necessary. To him, actions will always speak louder than words.

Likes: Sex,Blood,Torture, Punishment, giving foes false hope and crushing it only to watch their eyes as they realize all is lost, and mead.

Dislikes:Cowards, Stendarr,Fire,Love,And Hope.

Bio: Born and raised in castle Volkihar as cattle for the nobles, he spent his life in a cell, knowing only what his mother taught him, being raised around constant death turned him into a sadist at an early age, by the time he was 14 he had already murdered 4 of his other cellmates and made a habit of torturing and robbing all of the ''lesser beings'' in his cell, The only person he ever truly cared for was his mother, Cynthia MoorHaven. At the Age of 20 he was being fed on regularly, to the point of near death, and made a habit of attempting to fight off his ''captors'' every time they came to feed, by age 32 he was separated into his own cell and kept away from all other living people, this segregation did not do anything to help his already sadistic disposition, within the first 2 years of his segregation he had already killed 12 Vampires who came to feed upon him and made a habit of removing their teeth as trophies. From the age of 32-45 he tirelessly worked on his physical stature and combat skills, as much as he possibly could within the confines of a cage, using the Vampires who desired to feed, as unwilling sparring partners, On a day much like any other, a group of hungry vampires came to feed upon him after a run in with the dawnguard, but the only thing that made this day notable compared to any other, is the fact that the vampire lord, known as Harkon, Had arrived with the soldiers to feed, As 2 of the soldiers entered his cell, Destrik Made his move, ready to kill the vampire lord and escape, he pounced on the nearest of the two, and snapped his neck between his hands like it were made of glass, the second vampire advanced upon Destrik, in hopes to remove him from his comrade, and Destrik rounds on his would be attacker, and slams him to the floor,immediately he begins to slam his bare knuckles into the vampires face, entering into a frenzied rage, he failed to notice the other 2 who were standing outside the cage with Lord Harkon, And they lifted him from the ground and pinned him to the wall, Lord Harkon then approached and addressed him directly, ''You have much fight in you boy, why let such talent go to waste, you've dispatched 2 of my personal guard in mere minutes, and they were two of the best to ever enter my service, Now i have need to replace them, So, i give you a choice, Join me, and i shall grant you an eternity filled with bloodshed,violence,and destruction''
Destrik responded by spitting at the Lords feet.
''I admire your resolve, but shall we see how strong your conviction truly is, what would it take to have you join me, shall i slaughter every man,woman,and child in this place, and make you watch''
Destrik, still unswayed, looks the Lord in the face and replies ''Feel free, Ive been needing more space to stretch my legs, and that would free up an awful lot of space, now wouldn't it?''
Destrik glances at his mother for only a fraction of a second, but that fraction of a second was all Harkon needed to call his bluff.
''Well boy, you are truly cold, i see there is no way to convince you otherwise, You two, drag him into the center of the holding chambers,i shall return shortly''
The two vampire soldiers did as they were told and Lord Harkon returns shortly afterwards holding a short woman by the hair.
''Cynthia MoorHaven, My,My, Dont you look just good enough to eat? What say you men, shall we take turns draining this one until her heart no longer beats?'' Asked the Vampire Lord.

Destrik Struggles against his captors, and breaks free, drawing the sword from the first guards belt and decapitating them both in one swift movement, he turns to advance on Harkon only to realize his teeth are mere inches from his mothers throat, he stops dead.

''One more chance boy, Join me or she will die tonight''
Destrik drops the blade and bends a knee to Lord Harkon, '' I Will Serve'' he says through gritted teeth.
Harkon drags Cynthia to her cell and slams it shut, ''I am fair boy, if you prove useful then i promise, one day soon, i shall..shall we say...set her free,now come with me, i have a gift to give you,unlike any other you've received.
Destrik failed to notice the tone and way Lord Harkon worded his promise, and he will not entirely understand until many years later.
Ten years After that exchange, Destrik learns a horrible truth about the bargain he struck with the vampire lord, Instead of actually releasing his mother like Harkon promised, Harkon had her brutally slain,only a year after Destrik entered into his service. Once Destrik found out this harsh truth, he went into a frenzy, brutally dismembering 13 vampires in castle Volkihar, and making his escape into the night. Ever since those event took place, destrik has been wondering the lands of skyrim, as a bodyguard for hire, he has slain so many men, that he cannot even remember their names,or faces, they are merely a blur in his mind, and he has never, felt any remorse for his actions.​