Enthuz22
Member
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Merry meet! I am a veteran of Skyrim Forums, having gone under the name Wolfie once upon a time. I felt it was time to shed that old skin. I've had other roleplay experience on other sites. It's been a successful endeavor, but it lies in the past nonetheless.
In this thread, I begin with a new character; Kishan's bio can be found in my signature. We begin at, as you can see by the title, the Windpeak Inn in Morthal. Please preview Kishan's bio before posting, as it explains why we're here! Thank you.
If you're interested, check out this D&D RPG Personality Quiz! It's very long, but it gives a very satisfying result that is unique to everyone who tries it! That's where I got my information about Rangers and True-Neutrals from:
I would also like to thank Call of Time for unsuspectingly giving me the base bio format for Kishan; if I make any new characters, I will use that format. I highly recommend that others consider using it or my simplified format. Thank you!
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Morthal was always this tense and dreary. It was raining outside, temporarily driving off the unquenchable fog that hangs over Morthal day after day. Walking with a tense and drifting stride, a man made his way down the cobblestone road of Morthal; he seemed to have grown from the trees gathered in the murk surrounding Morthal, as if the trees had borne him; and as such, the trees themselves seemed to peer outside with a sleepy coldness that buried itself into the hard earth of the open land lying clutched before it. Paranoia kissed the faces of the citizens of Morthal like the snow hugged the limp spruce trees, rising ethereally high, their branches wide and needles sparse.
His face was lowered, and in the noonday sun hidden behind layers of clouds, a bleary and semi-constant reminder of the dreary aura of Morthal, his hood sheltered his face from ranged view. As he approached the town tavern, the Windpeak Inn - that served more often as a patron's rest than a place for travelers to rest their feet and ease their burning throats and twisting stomachs - he lifted his head. His beard, tracing his jaw and circling around his mouth, was thicker than it ought to be, a light scruff for the rogue man that bore it. Nothing else could be told about him other than that his nose was thin and strong, and his skin was light and was brushed pale red by the queasy chill he strode in. His eyes were a light, almost transparent green, with a hint of chestnut gloom flecking the irises, glancing off in the light as if dancing and pretending they were golden, whilst in the darkness they seemed dark enough to be a diamond-shaped portal into limbo.
He paused before the door, eager to quit from the the stiff air of the town of Morthal, whereast the forests, no matter how eerie they seemed to be to strangers who tempted it's curiosity, seemed open and brisk to him. He opened the door and stepped into the Inn, closing the door after him after a pause, as if the outside air could clear the hostile aura of the Inn. The hostile feeling itself was not new to Morthal, although it was to the Inn. It meant danger. It meant strangers.
For the man who had just let himself into the Inn, it meant a change that he would embrace without a second glance behind him, for what danger could come of a traveler? Not all knew of the paranoia and hastiness of the citizens of Morthal, who took slowly to new faces, waiting even years before their wary glances at such newcomers passed; and then, they spared not even a glance. But this man was the Ranger, and that meant mystery, and mystery meant fear.
This was Kishan. He had arrived nearly a year ago to Morthal, and had kept to the forest, where he sunk further into the shadows and mysteries of the woods, for no folk took refuge there, not even for a breath of air. There was no breath of air in Morthal, no sanctity from the thoughts of the people. He took in bounty contracts, fulfilled them, and otherwise kept to himself, visiting the town about every week. About. And sometimes he didn't return for a few weeks.
It had been nearly a year since he had come to Morthal, and Kishan had been disappointed but not surprised to find not many, if any, strangers in Morthal; what few strangers that came quickly got to business, and then they left. Much unlike Dawnstar, before the plague of nightmares gripped the boat-trade town, and before Kishan left Qagmir struggling to keep the family business on it's feet. Part of Kishan wanted to aid his brother, somehow, in this endeavor; and part of him wanted to keep his past in the past, and refuse to face it again, eager for repeated 'fresh starts'.
It had been only a year.
He felt the numb yet stinging air of a stranger in the midst of Morthal, unwanted here, perhaps without business or knowledge of the hostility this town has to offer to newcomers, unless their business is strictly business with the town, and would be quickly done and passed, leaving the citizens to return to their daily routines freely once again, as if they had been detained by the presence of a stranger and were weary of any new presence. As if they detested the very idea of it, although Kishan himself, perhaps still a 'stranger' here in literal and metaphorical terms, took to strangers with relief.
He had changed, though. Criminals of other towns now kept routinely from Morthal, for they heard that instead of ducking from the sabretooth's claws, they were instead dancing straight into it's maw.
He lowered his hood and raised his head, and Kishan's eyes glimmered as he searched for the source of this silent hostility.
(More than one would be alright. Others may be encountered upon the road. Feel free to advertise this thread! The more the merrier, and I say that with knowledge, for it has proven so to me numerous times, and it has not yet proven false.)
I accidentally noted Morthal's Inn as the Windpeak Inn - but that's Dawnstar's Inn, not Morthal's, which is the Moorside. I can't change the title, so please just ignore all references to the Windpeak Inn and mentally replace them with the "Moorside Inn" instead. Thank you!
