Znowcicle
Chimera~
-The Thinkers-
-Cast-
Minstrel (Oh Majestic Thinking Leader!)
Znowcicle (The Humble Thinker Thinking Leader!)
Dunklunk
The_Deadliest_Troll
Melee
Buried within the ancient walls of Windhelm - in the heart of the Jarl's palace - lies the dungeons. Rat riddled and full of soiled bedding, the dungeons are truly an unpleasant place to live. The prisoners live there in solace, knowing what they did to put themselves there. It is a place the city would rather forget, and a place from which no one ever escapes. These dungeons are home to low lives, not master thieves and skilled assassins, but petty thieves, Skooma addicts, and spur of the moment murderers. You name it...they've got it... They've all been there at some point or another. The city has a bad enough reputation as it is, so once you're in these dungeons, you're in them for life.
You are one of these low lives, locked away for whatever unlawful act you have committed. You're not here for a holiday. You know you're not getting out...or so you think...
(Let it be noted that this RP has a full cast and are not in need of recruits, but we wouldn't mind some reader feedback!)
-Character Cards-
Atlanta-
Race: Nord
Age: 18
Appearance: Long blonde hair with darker blonde highlights, average hight and a slim healthy build wit bright blue eyes. While she is pretty she always wears her fringe across her right eye to cover a scar running from the bottom of her eye lid to her hair line.
Personality: Atlanta is a very quiet girl. She doesn't like to talk to anyone she doesn't know and still struggles to find the courage to speak to people she does. Her mental scars cause her lots of problems in every day life and she suffers from severe anxiety along with depression. Despite all of this she is clever though, and can read people very well. The fact that she doesn't speak often allows her to take in more of her surroundings an observe things far more closely. This has allowed her to avoid trouble on numerous occasion.
Skills: Atlanta had no skills of any kind due to her upbringing, and cannot even read.
Bio: Atlanta was born in a small shack, deep in the wilderness ofSkyrim. Her father was a drunk. Before Atlanta's birth he would beat her mother, but as soon as Atlanta could walk he would beat her too. When her father left the shack to go drinking in various taverns he would lock them inside and not let them out until he got back. For years the two of them worked on ways to escape him. Numerous times they had attempted to break the lock and escape and on a few occasions they succeeded... But they would always be caught by Atlanta's father.
When Atlanta was 15, she and her mother began to work on digging a hole to escape the shack. Every day the father left for an hour they would dig and then cover their hole with Atlanta's bed. For months they dug using kitchen utensils and whatever else they could find. When Atlanta reached 16 they had dug a long tunnel stretching far away from the shack. The packed as many supplies as they could gather, taking everything that was precious to them before beginning their escape. Just as they began to enter the tunnel however, Atlanta's father returned home.
Her mother immediately burst into tears, pleading for them to be let free, but the father would have none of it. He grabbed his sword and went to strike the mother. Atlanta jumped in front of the blade and it struck above her right eye. The Father then went for another strike, shouting at them all the while, but the mother suddenly grabbed his arm and began to shout at him. She began to curse him and tell him how much pain he had caused them. He became so angry that he struck her in the chest. Atlanta's mother's last words were 'I love you Atlanta. Run while you can. Make something of yourself.'
Atlanta ran to the end of the tunnel and managed to break free. She ran away and the screams of her mother have haunted her dreams ever since.
She finally made her way to Windhelm after 2 years of wondering the wilderness and sleeping at inns, quickly learning that life was tough. She survived by pickpocketing random strangers and sleeping rough. With no real skills however she was soon caught.
Age: 18
Appearance: Long blonde hair with darker blonde highlights, average hight and a slim healthy build wit bright blue eyes. While she is pretty she always wears her fringe across her right eye to cover a scar running from the bottom of her eye lid to her hair line.
Personality: Atlanta is a very quiet girl. She doesn't like to talk to anyone she doesn't know and still struggles to find the courage to speak to people she does. Her mental scars cause her lots of problems in every day life and she suffers from severe anxiety along with depression. Despite all of this she is clever though, and can read people very well. The fact that she doesn't speak often allows her to take in more of her surroundings an observe things far more closely. This has allowed her to avoid trouble on numerous occasion.
Skills: Atlanta had no skills of any kind due to her upbringing, and cannot even read.
Bio: Atlanta was born in a small shack, deep in the wilderness ofSkyrim. Her father was a drunk. Before Atlanta's birth he would beat her mother, but as soon as Atlanta could walk he would beat her too. When her father left the shack to go drinking in various taverns he would lock them inside and not let them out until he got back. For years the two of them worked on ways to escape him. Numerous times they had attempted to break the lock and escape and on a few occasions they succeeded... But they would always be caught by Atlanta's father.
When Atlanta was 15, she and her mother began to work on digging a hole to escape the shack. Every day the father left for an hour they would dig and then cover their hole with Atlanta's bed. For months they dug using kitchen utensils and whatever else they could find. When Atlanta reached 16 they had dug a long tunnel stretching far away from the shack. The packed as many supplies as they could gather, taking everything that was precious to them before beginning their escape. Just as they began to enter the tunnel however, Atlanta's father returned home.
Her mother immediately burst into tears, pleading for them to be let free, but the father would have none of it. He grabbed his sword and went to strike the mother. Atlanta jumped in front of the blade and it struck above her right eye. The Father then went for another strike, shouting at them all the while, but the mother suddenly grabbed his arm and began to shout at him. She began to curse him and tell him how much pain he had caused them. He became so angry that he struck her in the chest. Atlanta's mother's last words were 'I love you Atlanta. Run while you can. Make something of yourself.'
Atlanta ran to the end of the tunnel and managed to break free. She ran away and the screams of her mother have haunted her dreams ever since.
She finally made her way to Windhelm after 2 years of wondering the wilderness and sleeping at inns, quickly learning that life was tough. She survived by pickpocketing random strangers and sleeping rough. With no real skills however she was soon caught.
Serezha (Sergei) Volchenkov-
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Appearance: Stands a lean 6'3", about 190 pounds. Wears his black hair short, as he is unlikely to look after it when he's getting high, which is usually every day. Dark brown eyes. Multiple small to medium scars on his face, from constantly picking and scratching at imaginary sores, also done while high. Usually doesn't care what he looks like. Cares more as to where his next fix will come from.
Personality: Outgoing and friendly, usually in order to serve his needs. It's always about the next fix. Distrustful of most, as he is positive no one could possibly trust him. Will do almost anything to get high. Almost. Anything. He has lied, cheated, scammed, stolen, among other things to get the coin that will ultimately pay for his next hit. Or the ingredients to mix his own sometimes lethal concoctions. But he has never killed for his habits. He swears he can catch glimpses of an afterlife when he's high, and these "visions" prevent him from taking a life. He believes even taking one life will jeopardize his "place" in this afterlife. Considered whoring to feed his need, but quickly discovered he didn't have the "taste" for it.
Very successful at pickpocketing. But all it takes is that one, single failed attempt. Was caught attempting to pickpocket an off-duty guard. And that's how he now finds himself in Windhelm's finest prison.
Skills: Perhaps not a real skill, but given the proper ingredients, he can mix some pretty potent batches of mind-altering drugs. His favorites are those that mellow him out, and those that cause him to hallucinate, usually about an afterlife that makes sense only to him.
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Appearance: Stands a lean 6'3", about 190 pounds. Wears his black hair short, as he is unlikely to look after it when he's getting high, which is usually every day. Dark brown eyes. Multiple small to medium scars on his face, from constantly picking and scratching at imaginary sores, also done while high. Usually doesn't care what he looks like. Cares more as to where his next fix will come from.
Personality: Outgoing and friendly, usually in order to serve his needs. It's always about the next fix. Distrustful of most, as he is positive no one could possibly trust him. Will do almost anything to get high. Almost. Anything. He has lied, cheated, scammed, stolen, among other things to get the coin that will ultimately pay for his next hit. Or the ingredients to mix his own sometimes lethal concoctions. But he has never killed for his habits. He swears he can catch glimpses of an afterlife when he's high, and these "visions" prevent him from taking a life. He believes even taking one life will jeopardize his "place" in this afterlife. Considered whoring to feed his need, but quickly discovered he didn't have the "taste" for it.
Very successful at pickpocketing. But all it takes is that one, single failed attempt. Was caught attempting to pickpocket an off-duty guard. And that's how he now finds himself in Windhelm's finest prison.
Skills: Perhaps not a real skill, but given the proper ingredients, he can mix some pretty potent batches of mind-altering drugs. His favorites are those that mellow him out, and those that cause him to hallucinate, usually about an afterlife that makes sense only to him.
Veloca-
Race: Redguard
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Appearance: Short, about 5'5" with the typical sun-tanned Redguard complexion, Veloca has piercing blue eyes and short, wiry hair with bangs that always seem to fall in her face. In addition to being short, she's very slender and slim, almost scrawny. A series of scars run from just below her right eye across her cheek.
She wears leather armor/clothing, and a thin black scarf hangs loosely around her neck when she isn't fighting.
Bio/History: Veloca has always lived in Riften. Born into a family full of violent and reckless older brothers, she was forced from a young age to fend for herself, whether that meant running and hiding or trying to fight her way out of situations. The fact that her parents only exacerbated the situation at home (her father was an abusive drunkard and her mother was busy "working" outside of the house all day) fueled the anger that was building up in Veloca.
When she was 19, her father came at her after an unusually long drinking bout, chasing her around the house with a dagger and broken bottle. While she was able to avoid the dagger, the bottle caught her on the face, leaving her with a series of small gashes bleeding profusely down her face (these would later form into scars that almost reached her eye). Veloca could no longer contain her anger, and, using the skills she had learned from living with her brothers and the Adrenaline Rush common to her people, was able to take his dagger and plunge it into his heart.
After that, Veloca fled from her home and sought refuge in Windhelm, away from the Riften guards who would turn a blind eye to large, politically driven crime, but not a daughter acting in self defense. Shortly after her arrival she was arrested for starting a fight in the main marketplace, where the guards immediately recognized her from wanted posters and threw her into the dungeons.
Personality: Due to her upbringing, Veloca's nature and personality are very violent and unpredictable. Rather than causing her to be quiet and withdrawn, she is instead loud and abrasive. She's stubborn, harsh, and unafraid to say whatever is on her mind. She hardly shows affection, even when she considers herself friends with someone, and will never back down from a fight.
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Appearance: Short, about 5'5" with the typical sun-tanned Redguard complexion, Veloca has piercing blue eyes and short, wiry hair with bangs that always seem to fall in her face. In addition to being short, she's very slender and slim, almost scrawny. A series of scars run from just below her right eye across her cheek.
She wears leather armor/clothing, and a thin black scarf hangs loosely around her neck when she isn't fighting.
Bio/History: Veloca has always lived in Riften. Born into a family full of violent and reckless older brothers, she was forced from a young age to fend for herself, whether that meant running and hiding or trying to fight her way out of situations. The fact that her parents only exacerbated the situation at home (her father was an abusive drunkard and her mother was busy "working" outside of the house all day) fueled the anger that was building up in Veloca.
When she was 19, her father came at her after an unusually long drinking bout, chasing her around the house with a dagger and broken bottle. While she was able to avoid the dagger, the bottle caught her on the face, leaving her with a series of small gashes bleeding profusely down her face (these would later form into scars that almost reached her eye). Veloca could no longer contain her anger, and, using the skills she had learned from living with her brothers and the Adrenaline Rush common to her people, was able to take his dagger and plunge it into his heart.
After that, Veloca fled from her home and sought refuge in Windhelm, away from the Riften guards who would turn a blind eye to large, politically driven crime, but not a daughter acting in self defense. Shortly after her arrival she was arrested for starting a fight in the main marketplace, where the guards immediately recognized her from wanted posters and threw her into the dungeons.
Personality: Due to her upbringing, Veloca's nature and personality are very violent and unpredictable. Rather than causing her to be quiet and withdrawn, she is instead loud and abrasive. She's stubborn, harsh, and unafraid to say whatever is on her mind. She hardly shows affection, even when she considers herself friends with someone, and will never back down from a fight.
Bifur the Oaf-
Race: Nord
Age: 31
Appearance: Towering over even most of his fellow Nords at over seven feet tall, Bifur is certainly a sight to behold. His wide sholders and thick neck start a path for his naturally muscular body that leads all the way down to every single one of his large, hairy toes. Across his pale, leathery face is usually a blank look or a genuine smile. His think, messy, dirty-blonde hair is never kept. He wears an old (and a bit to small) set of tavern clothes; his thick forearms nearly tearing the sleaves. Bifur does not wear shoes because he can't find a pair to fit his gigantic feet.
Personality: Bifur has a warm heart, but no idea what to do with it. In reality and in mental development, he is a giant child. He finds himself laughing heartily or smiling or clapping vigorously for the silliest reasons. Bifur likes to stop and smell flowers or enjoy birds singing in the trees. He is quick (almost too quick at times) to trust others, although others generally tend to dislike him for his oafish nature.
Skills: He is strong; even stronger than he is able to comprehend. It gets him in trouble sometimes.
Bio: Born and raised in Windhelm, Bifur has been misunderstood since his birth. His mother's pregnancy with him was the result of a brutal rape, and consequencially, he never knew his father and was always resented by his mother. As a child, Bifur was neglected and always made to play in the streets by himself. The other children in Windhelm didn't want anything to do with him because he wasdifferent. He was never a smart lad, and found himself learning to do things much slower than the other Nord children. Even to this day, his speech is quite impeaded and he has trouble comprehending much.
When he turned 18, his mother found him a job working at the Candlehearth Inn. Of course, the owner of the establishment could not bear to have a gigantic, bumbling oaf walking around and interacting with her customers. So, he was made to work in the cellar of the inn; lifting and storing huge barrels of mead and wine and cleaning the place and keeping it skeever-free. He was made to live and sleep in this dark, cold cellar.
Sometimes, Bifur would sneak out after most of the city had gone to sleep and walk the streets of the Grey Quarter. He would wonder if the Dark Elves there ever felt like him. He wondered if they felt like outcasts, hated by everyone in Windhelm. They probably were. Then, it hit him. Well, not it... more like she hit him. A young Dunmer woman with passionate eyes ran flat into his chest with her face and then hit the ground. "Ouch, watch where you're walking, you oaf!" Oaf? thought Bifur. He wondered what that word meant. Then, she looked up at him amazed by his size. He didn't say anything. Afterall, if he had she probably would have thought he was half troll.
Her name was Ilya, and she was fascinated by him. She wanted to walk with him at night and get to know him. Then, she wanted to hold his hand and kiss his cheek. Bifur wasn't sure what the word "love" meant, but he thought he loved her. Then, one night as the two of them were laying in a pile of hay out in Windhelm's stables as the horses slept, Ilya wanted more. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him deeply. Bifur didn't know what was happening. He felt scared; or something like that. He was never taught how to express feeling. Then, as she went to undo his pants, he screamed. He didn't know what to do. In fright, he grabbed a stone from the ground and struck the crown of her head with it.
There she was; head resting on his lap, bleeding. She didn't move or speak again, and her eyes had lost thier passion. Bifur sat there and cried until morning when the city guards found him there; a murderer. Ever since that day, he has been locked up in Windhelm's prison. He is labeled a "danger to society." He cries almost every night for Ilya.
Age: 31
Appearance: Towering over even most of his fellow Nords at over seven feet tall, Bifur is certainly a sight to behold. His wide sholders and thick neck start a path for his naturally muscular body that leads all the way down to every single one of his large, hairy toes. Across his pale, leathery face is usually a blank look or a genuine smile. His think, messy, dirty-blonde hair is never kept. He wears an old (and a bit to small) set of tavern clothes; his thick forearms nearly tearing the sleaves. Bifur does not wear shoes because he can't find a pair to fit his gigantic feet.
Personality: Bifur has a warm heart, but no idea what to do with it. In reality and in mental development, he is a giant child. He finds himself laughing heartily or smiling or clapping vigorously for the silliest reasons. Bifur likes to stop and smell flowers or enjoy birds singing in the trees. He is quick (almost too quick at times) to trust others, although others generally tend to dislike him for his oafish nature.
Skills: He is strong; even stronger than he is able to comprehend. It gets him in trouble sometimes.
Bio: Born and raised in Windhelm, Bifur has been misunderstood since his birth. His mother's pregnancy with him was the result of a brutal rape, and consequencially, he never knew his father and was always resented by his mother. As a child, Bifur was neglected and always made to play in the streets by himself. The other children in Windhelm didn't want anything to do with him because he wasdifferent. He was never a smart lad, and found himself learning to do things much slower than the other Nord children. Even to this day, his speech is quite impeaded and he has trouble comprehending much.
When he turned 18, his mother found him a job working at the Candlehearth Inn. Of course, the owner of the establishment could not bear to have a gigantic, bumbling oaf walking around and interacting with her customers. So, he was made to work in the cellar of the inn; lifting and storing huge barrels of mead and wine and cleaning the place and keeping it skeever-free. He was made to live and sleep in this dark, cold cellar.
Sometimes, Bifur would sneak out after most of the city had gone to sleep and walk the streets of the Grey Quarter. He would wonder if the Dark Elves there ever felt like him. He wondered if they felt like outcasts, hated by everyone in Windhelm. They probably were. Then, it hit him. Well, not it... more like she hit him. A young Dunmer woman with passionate eyes ran flat into his chest with her face and then hit the ground. "Ouch, watch where you're walking, you oaf!" Oaf? thought Bifur. He wondered what that word meant. Then, she looked up at him amazed by his size. He didn't say anything. Afterall, if he had she probably would have thought he was half troll.
Her name was Ilya, and she was fascinated by him. She wanted to walk with him at night and get to know him. Then, she wanted to hold his hand and kiss his cheek. Bifur wasn't sure what the word "love" meant, but he thought he loved her. Then, one night as the two of them were laying in a pile of hay out in Windhelm's stables as the horses slept, Ilya wanted more. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him deeply. Bifur didn't know what was happening. He felt scared; or something like that. He was never taught how to express feeling. Then, as she went to undo his pants, he screamed. He didn't know what to do. In fright, he grabbed a stone from the ground and struck the crown of her head with it.
There she was; head resting on his lap, bleeding. She didn't move or speak again, and her eyes had lost thier passion. Bifur sat there and cried until morning when the city guards found him there; a murderer. Ever since that day, he has been locked up in Windhelm's prison. He is labeled a "danger to society." He cries almost every night for Ilya.
Azaelia-
Gender: Female
Race: Nord
Age: 23
Personality: I never share personalities; I just show it through my posts.
Description: She has very fair blonde hair, and her eyes are a sparkling blue that have depths of sapphire more towards her pupils. Towards the outer most region of her iris the blue of is a silvery color. Most will never see her face because she always wears a helmet when she's interacting with others. Or, at least, she did when she was a free woman. She has pale skin, like most Nords, and is on the taller side rather than the shorter one. Regular type build, but she has more meat where it counts. That's all I'm saying about her for now.
Race: Nord
Age: 23
Personality: I never share personalities; I just show it through my posts.
Description: She has very fair blonde hair, and her eyes are a sparkling blue that have depths of sapphire more towards her pupils. Towards the outer most region of her iris the blue of is a silvery color. Most will never see her face because she always wears a helmet when she's interacting with others. Or, at least, she did when she was a free woman. She has pale skin, like most Nords, and is on the taller side rather than the shorter one. Regular type build, but she has more meat where it counts.
That's all I'm saying about her for now.
