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    Name: Serah Estiph

    Race: Bosmer

    Gender: Female

    Age: Young, for a mer - around her mid 20s

    Sexuality: Bisexual

    Class: Nightblade (or battle mage, depends on your defintion)

    Looks: Has recently been to the face sculptor in Riften and changed her appearance due to gaining a bit too much notoriety.
    She has long black hair, smoothed back so as not to get in her face during battle; honey brown eyes and slightly red lips. She has high cheekbones and an angular face which she manages to make look attractive, and so emphasizes this with crimson war paint that covers her eyes and has three red dots going across each cheekbone.
    Has a habit of wearing masks to cover her face however; she feels she will be hassled less by certain people if they are not sure what race she is, at least at first. Is usually clad in an enchanted mask or cowl of some kind and mage robes of varying types, with an Amulet of Talos and alternately Akatosh around her neck. She feels a personal connection with both. Wields an enchanted Ebony Mace of Magicka Damage to boost her magicka regneration even more (picked up as most of her weaponry is during one of her adventures; she's a terrible smith), and has become an Expert in Destruction and Conjuration magics, a Master of Illusion, Alteration, Alchemy and One Handed. Favors flame magic above all but will use whatever magic the situation calls for if needed - and beware, for she always has her mace poison-tipped. If a target is out of spell range, will expertly wield a bow with poison-tipped arrrows - Bound sometimes if the extra damage is needed but not always. She finds mastering new skills a challenge that she enjoys and has a certain preoccupation with magic especially, so she is a bit of a jack-of-all-trades.

    Personality: Quiet and withdrawn - but polite - around people until she gets to know them. Almost always has a friendly facade up until then. Once she knows someone, and sees that they can be trusted in some capacity, however, she is extremely loyal to them. Has a deep dislike and distrust of authority; this is partly why she hasn't joined either side in the war. Determined to carve a name out for herself and get by well in life; not afraid to use just about anything to do so - however she does try to do this in the least harmful way possible. A pacifist of sorts; will not hurt or kill someone unless she is either desperate, has no choice, or truly believes that they deserve it. Tends to take life very seriously but paradoxically has a great, albeit dry, sense of humor. Has a love of Apple Cabbage Stew, sweets, and Shein, the latter of which she rarely indulges in.

    Misc: Although she is for the most part a battle mage, she is also a rogue of sorts in that she tips her weapon(s) in poison at least half the time, has acted as an assassin when desperate for coin, and has stolen food and valuables when low on it. She is a member of The Thieves Guild, The Companions, a Nightingale and a member of The Dark Brotherhood. She is also a student at The College of Winterhold and usually resides in her room there or at various inns whilst out adventuring.
    She is capable in more than one form of combat as well. She can dual wield a number of different weapons (including conjured swords and axe), and like most Bosmer, is an excellent archer. She can also handle a two handed weapon well though you won't see her do this often - she hates the way they slow and weigh her down, and so only uses these when in a tough spot. Her preferred method to fight is with a poison-tipped blade or destruction staff in one hand and a Destruction (if using a blade) or a Conjuration (if using a staff) spell in another. She is a capable alchemist as well and is best at making poisons (as you can probably tell). While able to refine a weapon and disenchant one if she wishes to, enchanting and smithing is not her strong suit and so most of her belongings are either bought, earned somehow or were found during one of her adventures.

    A bit of her back story: She grew up in a tiny, backwoods tribe in Valenwood. She didn't know a lot about her tribes ways until she was older, about 20, when they decided that she was old enough to be let in on things. This is when she discovered that her tribe was one of the few that still practiced the Green Pact in its entirety - including the cannibalism clause. She was horrified and after taking some time to process it, she knew she couldn't go along with it and made up her mind to rebel against it. When rebelling wasn't taken well in her village - and the backlash started against her family members - she knew she would have to rebel in a different way. And so, Serah decided to carve a name out in Skyrim any way she could and prove to her fellow Bosmer how unnecessary the pact is in this day and age. As you can imagine this has made her fairly unpopular amongst her fellow Bosmer and so she gets by in whatever way possible, due to having zero support with her tribe and family back home (though she understands why her family does it, it doesn't make it any easier). She tries her best to do this in a way that hurts the least amount of people - at least ones that don't deserve it. After all, being against this sort of thing is why she left home.
    Since then she's made a bit of a name for herself as an adventurer as well as a powerful mage. Most of her income among other things comes from adventuring and bounties, so she is a mercenary of sorts, atleast when it suits her, though she will occasionally adventure out on her own. She's been through a lot since leaving her tribe and isn't sure she's proved the clause un-needed yet or if there even is a way to do so after meeting so many similar close minded people in Skyrim. But she still keeps going, because regardless of her original quest or reason for coming, she enjoys her lifestyle much more now.

    Sidenotes: This is my main character in game essentially and so a few details have been intentionally left out so as not to make her overpowered and to allow her to better fit into different RPs. Also, she has been both a Vampire Lord and a werewolf and depending on the RP can play as either one, with permission of course or if needed. If you have any questions about her, feel free to ask. Her story is constantly evolving so I know she can be a bit hard to understand sometimes. :)
     
    Last edited:

    Aden Komad

    Misfortunate Soul
    As you walk through the markets of Whiterun a few hours after a light rainfall, you see a rather strange looking figure; which says a great deal considering some of the people you have met in your adventures. He seems so out of place in so rugged a land. His clothing is seems to mark him as a noble but he lacks the haughty air and puffed up feelings of self-importance. On him, the clothes make him seem approachable and actually cause you to think he can't possibly be a noble. It just doesn't fit him for some reason. His smile is easy and his laugh infectious. He thanks the stall owner he was talking to and turns to leave the area. You stop staring at the strange man as he walks towards you...and then slips. As he falls to the ground you slip on the rocks and fall as well. Before you get up, he's there to offer a hand.
    f7b29a4a-7d68-4119-b5ce-8b7215dac97e_zps20569ff9.jpg

    "Are you alright friend? Though the rain has passed it's slippery vengeance still lingers on the stones." He chuckles as he helps you to your feet. He brushes some stray blonde hairs from his face and nods. "Well, you're standing so you must be well. Since you no longer require my aid I must take my leave. So little to do and so much time! Wait that doesn't sound right. Oh well, have a pleasant day at the market!"

    The stranger soon disappears and you head about your business. After looking around you go to pay and find that your coinpurse is gone! You frantically pat yourself down and think...the stranger. You both slipped at the same time, falling close to one another and he helped you up. But how? He had fallen and was up in an instant. I(f he was that clumsy could he really have such deft hands? Or had he fallen on purpose? But then...how did he know you would have fallen? Or did...did he somehow cause it? There had been no magic, it had felt like any natural fall...but it still seemed strange.

    "Figure it out?" A new figure, clad in armor was behind you. "I recognize the look on your face. Bewilderment with suspicion. That's one of his trademarks. You, my unfortunate soul, have been robbed by Aden Komad; the best worst thief in the world. He falls while running from the guard, but always escapes. He sneaks into a house and breaks something fragile loudly, but no one wakes. He is the worst gambler in Tamriel, but play with him and you will have even worst luck. Why? Because as much misfortune as he has, he can pass even more misfortune and bad luck onto others."

    The armored figured laughed with just a hint of bitterness. "I've come close to catching him, but...I fall or every coin falls out of my pocket in the middle of a crowd or someone happens to be tossing their chamberpot out at the same time I'm running past. He can't affect you all the time, but the time when he can't is when you will see how skilled he is. Unfortunantly for me he does have some skills when his bad luck doesn't affect you. So, go after him if you're feeling slighted. But I can guarantee it won't be easy! I gave up after the, um, incident with the naked wizard. Ugh. So much sagging flesh. Good luck! If you're going after him, you'll need it..."

    ________________________________________________________________________________​

    Name: Aden Masavii Komad - "Say my middle name and I'll cut you...maybe, you have muscles."
    Age: 25 - "I know, I know. The gods gave me too many good looks. Also I'm humble."
    Race: Breton - "I'm a troll of course. At least if you ask my four sisters and mother."
    Gender: Male - "Wow, that's sad. Or an insult."
    Sexuality: Hetero - "I know, I'm adorable, but please lads. I already carry too many swords."
    Height: 5'10 - "Why do I always feel so short?"
    Weight: 195pds - "Hmm? Gwaffa havagg mah fweud!"
    Religion: N/A - "Hahahahaha! Nonononono! It's not that I don't believe in them! I just hate them."

    Personality
    Aden? You want to know about that freak? If I had to pick one word to describe him? Chaotic. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to his actions. No direction to his motives. He takes on jobs but seems to put very little thought into which one. He acts one part hardened mercenary and one part folk hero. I've witnessed him cut down and unarmed man as easily as handing a child gold for food. To most he would seem an enigma, nearly impossible to understand. But I've tracked him for awhile. In my travels I have discovered a method to the apparent madness. He has a 'flowing' view of morality and his own personal code of ethics. I know many people could say the same, but his seems rigid yet flexible at the same time. He has completed a robbery by walking up to the home of the poor sap, announced his intent, and asked to discuss the matter with him. He managed to convince the man to give him what he had planned on stealing! I mean, what in Oblivion?

    He protects the innocent, yet exploits them as well. But at the same time his exploitations do not harm those involved unless they are direct enemies of his. He displays both kindness and cruelty. Passion and Apathy. Peace and Fury. He is like a broken mirror. Multiple reflections but neither show the truth reflected therein. If I had to guess some great cataclysm to his psyche happened at a young age that fractured his mind so. I'm not saying he's broken or has multiple personalities. No, he is unique with his conception of morals combined with a paradoxical way of looking at the universe. I am aware I have seemingly talked in circles and revealed little on his true personality but this is the best I can do. And I don't say such things lightly. The only way to delve further would be actual, extended interaction with the man. But we both know how that ends.

    History
    And as for his past? Don't bother. He's a ghost's shadow. He doesn't exist. Just like with his personality, if you want to know who he really is meet him. It's like his history is yet to be written and the past has been hidden, erased. Whether purposely or not remains to be seen.

    ___________________________________________________________________________​

    OOC: I prefer not to write too much on personality or history on characters until they actually have some. I like to 'discover' their personality through roleplay and allow others to unearth their past as well as help forge their future.

    Simple Template
    Name: Aden Masavii Komad

    Race: Breton

    Age: 25

    Birthplace: Evermor, High Rock

    Alliances or Affiliations: Himself, though he has contacts within the Thieves' Guild. Former Dark Brotherhood member.

    Occupation: Thief, Wanderer, Adventurer.

    Appearance: He posses the normal characteristics of his people. Appearing as a pale human, like most Bretons, he has a slight of build and while a bit more muscular than his people not nearly so as Nords or Redguards. His Elvish ancestry is more apparent than most with his sharp eyebrows, very slightly pointed ears, and his high cheekbones. His shaggy, blonde hair often frames his handsome visage and piercing azure eyes.

    Gear: He doesn't prefer armor. He simply wears his silken attire with leather straps and silver buckles. His boots are made from the skin of baby Horkers and are very comfortable, but also allow his footsteps to be muffled. He wears a signet ring made from an unknown bone.

    Personality: His personality is erratic. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to his actions. No direction to his motives. He takes on jobs but seems to put very little thought into which one. He acts one part hardened mercenary and one part folk hero. He has a 'flowing' view of morality and his own personal code of ethics. He protects the innocent, yet exploits them as well. But at the same time his exploitations do not harm those involved unless they are direct enemies of his. He displays both kindness and cruelty. Passion and Apathy. Peace and Fury. He is like a broken mirror. Multiple reflections but neither show the truth reflected therein.

    History: His past is shrouded in mystery. Whether he has hidden it, someone else has, or any other number of reasons the only way to learn about the strange man and his past would be from his own lips.

    Writing Sample: See above.
     

    Mikulas Black-Blade

    The Cave Bear
    Mikulas Black Blade
    Race: Nord

    Style:Hero

    Birthplace:Windhelm

    BIO:
    In his youth the Nord Hero grew up worshiping Ysmir(along with the other Nordic gods and of course, Shor, the patron of Nords) with his family in a small farm near the border of Eastmarch and the Rift. His, and his family's religious beliefs, were viewed as defiance to The Aldmeri Dominion's highly controversial White-Gold Concordant. In their rage The Thalmor razed his family home. The Dominion also had a personal score to settle with his father, who was a great warrior in The Great War, know to the Dominion only as "The Monster of the North". He and his father,Throthmund, fled to Morrowind. His mother was killed along with his brother in the fire. They were treated harshly in Morrowind, as all outsiders are, and we're looked on as lower, than the superior intellects of the Dunmer. When he came of age he sought to return to his homeland and heard of the Civil War. His ties were with Ulfric immediately because of his beliefs in Talos(or Ysmir in his pantheon), and that in his eyes the Empire died when they surrendered to The Aldmeri Dominion. He also holds a hatred for them because the Empire did nothing while his farm home was razed by their so called "enemies". While crossing the border he ran into the ambush at Darkwater Crossing. When he was to be beheaded by The Empire accompanied by The Dominion it only enforced his hatred for them, even though he was quite acceptant of his death and ready to embrace Sovngarde with open arms. although he may look like a lumbering brute, he is actually quite intellectual as well as a freethinker and an expert tactician who usually leads by his own ideals rather than follow the beliefs of other's if he deems it illogical. For a reason he can't quite explain himself, Bears are not hostile towards him, so he has grown a great affinity towards them, even studying them to learn more about them, this is one of the reasons he is called The Cave Bear. He feels no sympathy for The Dunmer of Windhelm as he believes that they are hypocritical in their slander of the Nords. He was, of course, met by the same disdain by their kin in Morrowind, and because he believes that they are unwilling to integrate into Nordic Society unlike the Dunmer of Riften, they get the cold shoulder of the local Nords (However this does not mean he thinks what the Nords are doing is right). He also believes that through hard work (like Belyn Hlaalu) they can gain the respect of even the more intolerant, stout-hearted, and big-headed of Nords. He doesn't hate them but he is unsympathetic to their "plight". He uses his voice with both the ferocity of a True Nord of Old, Focusing his power into his Thu'um on the battlefield, and in a persuasive and inspiring way. Much like that of Ulfric Stormcloak who he personally believes is The True High King of Skyrim for these very reasons. He strikes down any Imperial/Thalmor patrol in his path fueled by the Rage of Ysmir and the souls of his fallen Kinsmen, releasing and arming the prisoners of war held captive by these same patrols, However he is tolerant of other races believing that if they work hard and fight for their home then they are as much a Nord as anyone else and are held with high respects in his heart much like The Argonian dock workers. His name instills fear into the heart of even the strongest of his Foes. He is the Nord Hero and he is an unstoppable force to be reckoned with.

    Personality: Stubborn but not close minded, Mikulas never leads by what others tell him but rather goes off of his own ideals. Mikulas is quite openly friendly, and will offer his support if it his needed. He values honor and loves a challenge! He holds great pride in his race, but is not Intolerant of other races, thinking they are equal to him in their own way. He is an Improviser using his quick wits and reflexes to get him out of a pinch. He is quick to anger, like most Nords, trying, or succeeding, in harming his friends or family is ill advised He shares a deep love for both, Aela the Huntress and Mjoll the Lioness, although he finds out that they're completely okay with him having both of them(if you catch my drift ;)). He possesses that unique, rugged Nord charm that is just not found in any other races, exhibiting a strength and character, and friendliness to the prescience of Outsiders that is just usually not seen. A charismatic, Fierce, Intellectual Nord who loves using the Thu'um and getting it on with his two lovers. What's not to like?

    Lives: Heljarchen Hall

    Friends and Family: Roggi Knot-Beard (friend and Huscarl), Aela the Huntress ( Friend with Benefits), Mjoll the Lioness (Friend with Benefits) Lucia (Adopted Daughter) Sofie (Adopted Daughter) Meeko (Pet Dog), Random Rabbit befriended by Lucia (Dinner Pet), Bjørn the Cave Bear (Cave Bear Pet/Mount)

    Height/Build: 5'10" (Shorter than the average Nord but taller than the tallest Wood Elf) but large in muscle mass.

    Hair Color: Dirty Blonde with a Full Goatee and a single braid in his Hair

    Guild/Faction: Companions, Stormcloaks

    Armor: Helm of Yngol and Stormlord Armor

    Weapon: Bloodskal Blade coupled with a War Axe and a Shield

    Major Skills: Heavy Armor, Two-Handed, Block, Speechcraft

    Minor Skills: Restoration, One-Handed, Alchemy

    Other known Aliases: The Cave Bear, Stormblade, The Thalmor Hewer, and of course, Dovahkiin.

    Spirit Animal: Cave Bear

    Sign/Stone: Warrior

    Mods I used to create this character: Stormlord Armor, SkyRE, CCO (Character Creation Overhaul), Race Menu, One with Nature (for the friendly bear roleplay)
     

    Wolfie

    Active Member
    basic details

    Full Name: Idoma Avrecia Petirus.
    Gender: Female // feminine.
    Age in Years: (23) Twenty-three.
    Race: (Human) Imperial.
    Date of Birth: 6th of Frostfall, 4E 178.
    Birthsign: The Tower, which is the most prominent constellation during the month of Frostfall. Any powers gained from this birthsign (in this case, the ability to open a low-ranking locked container once a day) are hereby converted to inborn luck – meaning, it is no longer a power but instead a natural gift at unlocking items.

    personal details

    Aliases: Currently unavailable; resort to full given name unless referring to Idoma's alter-ego, Foxhide.
    Sexuality: Heterosexuality – limited attraction to the opposite sex.
    Religion: The Nine Divines – specifically Arkay, Kynareth, Dibella and Julianos. Although she does not believe in Tiber Septim as a divine, she does respect him as an ancient Tamrielic hero. Her father privately adored Talos; because of this, Idoma still pays her respects to Talos shrines, although she does not worship him.
    Current Residence: Balomew Lodge is set into an “L” shape. A bedset and kitchen sit on one end near the entrance; a writing desk, mannequin, weapon rack and a few bookcases are on the other end of the small abode. A fireplace is situated at the center of the house, with a chair and a table beyond it. The lodge was sold to Idoma when she arrived in Skyrim; it is located outside of the city gates – find it alongside the road, next to the bridge and across from Honningbrew Meadery.
    Afflictions: Idoma is not currently afflicted with vampirism or lycanthropy. She also does not initially suffer from any diseases unless otherwise noted. This is primarily vulnerable to change for roleplay purposes.
    Occupation: Idoma is a traveller or explorer of sorts, adventuring throughout the southern regions of Skyrim for her own amusement, and on her own time. However, her real occupation is completed by her alter-ego, Foxhide, in the dead of night; she complete's a province's bounty and delivers the bandit leader's head beyond the city gates before dawn.
    Affliction: Idoma is not connected, at all, to the Thieves Guild, Dark Brotherhood or the Companions. However, she does have a partnership with the College of Winterhold; she is not a true student there, but she is welcomed within the College, which is the only place that she studies Illusion and Alteration magics on her own time. You could say that she's being tutored there.
    Political Views: Still developing this, and I always will be. Look for references during roleplay sessions, as this is such a huge topic that it'd be horrendously dangerous to start pondering upon.


    physical details

    Idoma has short, flat, ear-length layered black hair and murky green eyes. As an Imperial, her skin is naturally more saturated and darker than that of a Nord. Her lips are a neutral pink. She's definitely not noticeably muscular or terribly athletic looking, except for her tall stature and lithe limbs. See the images in the visuals section for specifics.


    equipment

    Major Skills: Lockpicking, Light Armor, Illusion and One-handed.
    Minor Skills: Archery, Alchemy and Alteration.
    Expert Illusion Spells: Clairavoyance, Fury, Calm, Fear, Muffle and Invisibility.
    General Skills: Hunting and herbs, although both of these skills have diminished over time.
    Weapons: Two thin, curved steel daggers with plain black hilts; a balanced steel sword with a wooden grip, metal pommel and small, sturdy cross-guard; and a hunting bow with two dozen steel arrows fit into a stiff leather quiver.
    Apparel: In public, wears traveling gears reasonable for battle; it's flexibility and lack of layers makes it good for evasive maneuvers and traveling in temperate southern regions. As Foxhide, Idoma wears the True Thief Armor from the Skyrim Nexus. See the visuals section in the extra details category for more information.
    Items: A large, brown leather knapsack stores food, two water cannisters, a wooden mead horn (exterior), a bedroll (exterior), books, bounty letters, potions, poisons, salves, an iron hatchet and, if neccesary, more unnoted objects.


    biographical details

    Family: Kiran Petirus, Imperial, father, alive. Emmeline Petirus, Imperial, mother, dead. Rorik, Imperial, elder brother, dead.
    Personality: I'm not going to waste my time telling you about Idoma's personality when the truth is, I have no idea what she's really like, and changes are she's going to change a lot. So, I won't even bother – I'll spare you the pain and confusion. She's basically me, if I were her.


    history

    Idoma doesn't remember the two years she lived in the Imperial City, directly before her family moved to Chorrol during the Great War, and she doesn't miss the memories she did have during that time. There was great fear upon everyone's faces; it was no place for a child. During that time, Idoma's mother and elder brother were murdered. Unfortunately, what Idoma does recall of her childhood is also negative.

    She was a shy child that preferred books and privacy over civilization. She spent much time alone, convieving various fantasies in her mind. She was a dreamer and an idealist, prone to flights of fancy … and she listened to nobody but herself and her father.

    In her teenage years, this particular trait proved to have the most ugly effect. Her inborn responsibility and natural leadership broke any previous bonds with her father, who at the time owned the Wayward Prince Inn. She began to steal alcohol and other items from the tavern. This hobby molted into the theft of septims and precious materials from people's homes. Eventually, her father discovered this; from then on, he made a point to bring her along with him on hunting trips.

    These daddy-daughter times quickly calmed her restless pilfering. By the time she had reached adulthood and left her childhood education, Idoma had learned much about the environment. She had surprised her father by taking to alchemy, and he had surprised her even more by encouraging it.

    However, she still had an unforgettable urge to thieve. Although lockpicking came easy to her in the past, she was most obviously useless at pickpocketing, and she was a bad cast with sneaking. To make up for this, she attempted to dream up an honorable yet fortuitous career. She joined the Chorrol Mages Guild and began to study Illusion; she took lessons with the Fighter's Guild to gain some combat experience, which would be useful for the roads.

    Unfortunately, life took a bad turn for Idoma. She decided to test her newfound skills on a camp of bandits that had recently been harrassing the population of Chorrol. Without alarming her father or the city guard, Idoma headed off on her own to a crumbling mine, which held six bandits who were trying to get into Chorrol using the unreachable sewer system. She had spent a few years learning the basics of magic and steel, and she was ready for a more personal and fitting test of her newfound skills.

    This self-given mission ended badly for Idoma. She attempted to use an invisibility spell she can been practicing to sneak-attack the bandits. However, at the time, she did not know that interacting with the environment whilst invisible would break the spell. This resulted in an all-out fight, leaving Idoma overwhelmed in the ensuing melee fight. She would have been broken by the bandits had their ringleader not intervened and suggested to use her to get into the city.

    At the time, Idoma decided to agree to this. Stubborn, persistent and proud as she was, she found it ideal to wait until the right moment to strike. She was imprisoned, and aided them in planning. Idoma knew that her absence would be noticed after a while, but was unsure what anyone would – or could – do about it. She began to truly pity her situation.

    Fortunately for Idoma, two adventurers entered the cave. Their distraction allowed her to join in the ambush. The bandits were finally taken care of. Idoma convinced the dubious adventurers to take her back home, where she reunited with her father. She announced to him that she desired to adventure elsewhere. Her father was, unlike many parents, prepared to lt his child loose into the world, although he warned her to not go unprepared.

    So it was that Idoma, at the age of 21 in the 199th year of the Fourth Era, left home with her father's blessing and headed to Skyrim. She bore a rogue's armor and a warrior's sword, and yet she was neither. A nightblade, Idoma entered the homeland of the ancestral Nordic folk, uncertain what she was about to face in the next coming years.

    She grew a love of strong, flavorful mead and seasoned meats. She could hunt if she needed to, but seeing as taverns provided her meals for coin, her archery abilities quickly waned over two years. She took up bounties – but her way of delivering the news of a bandit gang's demise was frighteningly unusual. To show the city that they were now currently safe from brigands, Idoma would deliver the bandit leader's head in a sack to the interior of the front gates.

    This was not reviewed – strangely, in Idoma's opinion – by the citizens with positive feedback. She was scorned in Falkreath and driven off. Unwilling to repeal of her ways, Idoma began to deliver the heads under cover of night, and in dark garb. In the southern provinces, stories of an unaccountable and mysterious “heroic” mercenary began to circle about. Her alter-ego – for her form and voice was feminine – was Foxhide, adequately titled due to her dyed leather armor and stealthy approaches.

    visuals

    Idoma:
    http://imgur.com/ovNhOyG

    Travel Garb:
    http://imgur.com/2sty6rR

    Foxhide Armor:
    http://imgur.com/UmQCdS1
    http://imgur.com/1RLiPRq
    http://imgur.com/JFZTWJU
    http://imgur.com/9tU6BmI
    http://imgur.com/eqNjAhI
    http://imgur.com/r7LqulB
    http://imgur.com/wWNKkpx
    http://imgur.com/RNShIvi
    http://imgur.com/kXbw6ao
    http://imgur.com/PH4fBLH
    http://imgur.com/GGRyoxt
    http://imgur.com/KsFm4MI
     

    Mikulas Black-Blade

    The Cave Bear
    Mikulas Black Blade
    Race: Nord

    Style:Hero

    Birthplace:Windhelm

    BIO:
    In his youth the Nord Hero grew up worshiping Ysmir/Talos (along with the other Nordic gods and of course, Shor, the patron of Nords) with his family in a small farm near the border of Eastmarch and the Rift. His, and his family's religious beliefs, were viewed as defiance to The Aldmeri Dominion's highly controversial White-Gold Concordant. In their rage The Thalmor razed his family home. The Dominion also had a personal score to settle with his father, who was a great warrior in The Great War, known to the Dominion only as "The Monster from the North" and "The Elf Hewer".
    He and his father, Throthmund, fled to Morrowind, The Thalmor following him and his father, watching and waiting for a time to strike. His mother was killed along with his brother in the fire, and the Thalmor prefer to kill all remnants of the family so no one can relive the legacy. They were treated harshly in Morrowind, as all outsiders are, and we're looked on as lower, than the superior intellects of the Dunmer.
    One day while hunting in the northern woods of the Velothi Mountains, his father was tracked down by a Thalmor assassin, shot with a poison arrow and left to die. When Mikulas happened upon his dying father his last wish was for Mikulas to return to their homeland and join the fight with Ulfric so as to rid Skyrim of the Empire and Tamriel of the Thalmor. He was give. The family ring and he immediately left for the border.
    When Mikulas himself had heard of the Stormcloak Rebellion his ties were with Ulfric immediately because of his beliefs that Talos worship should be restored, and because in his eyes the Empire died when they surrendered to The Aldmeri Dominion. He also holds a hatred for them because the Empire did nothing while his farm home was razed by their so called "enemies".
    While crossing the border he ran into the ambush at Darkwater Crossing. When he was to be beheaded by The Empire accompanied by The Dominion it only enforced his hatred for them, even though he was quite acceptant of his death and ready to embrace Sovngarde with open arms.
    Although he may look like a lumbering brute, he is actually quite intellectual as well as a freethinker and an expert improviser who usually leads by his own ideals rather than follow the beliefs of others, if he deems it illogical.
    For a reason he can't quite explain himself, Bears are not hostile towards him, so he has grown a great affinity towards them, even studying them to learn more about them. This is one of the reasons he is called "The Cave Bear". The other reason being his fighting style, which is a quick overwhelming tactic using brute strength and quick reflexes to block blows from his enemies.
    When Mikulas finds out that he is the Dragonborn, stunned and fascinated with his legendary Nordic power, he postponed his involvement in the Stormcloak rebellion, pursued it until he learned all three words in the Unrelenting Force shout. After that he continued his involvement until the capture of Markarth and then continued his involvement as The Dragonborn
    He feels no sympathy for The Dunmer of Windhelm as he believes that they are hypocritical in their hatred of the Nords. He was, of course, met by the same disdain by their kin in Morrowind, and because he believes that they are unwilling to integrate into Nordic Society, unlike the Dunmer of Riften, they get the cold shoulder from the local Nords (However this does not mean he thinks what the Nords are doing is right). He also believes that through hard work (like Belyn Hlaalu) they can gain the respect of even the most intolerant, stout-hearted, and big-headed of Nords. He doesn't hate them but he is unsympathetic to their "plight".
    He uses his voice with both the ferocity of a True Nord of Old, Focusing his power into his Thu'um on the battlefield, and in a persuasive and inspiring way, Much like that of Ulfric Stormcloak, who he personally believes is The True High King of Skyrim for these very reasons. He strikes down any Imperial/Thalmor patrol in his path fueled by the Rage of Ysmir and the souls of his fallen Kinsmen, releasing and arming the prisoners of war held captive by these same patrols. His name instills fear into the heart of even the strongest of his Foes. He is the Nord Hero and he is an unstoppable force to be reckoned with.


    Personality: Stubborn but not close minded, Mikulas never leads by what others tell him but rather goes off of his own ideals. Mikulas is quite openly friendly, and will offer his support if it his needed. He values honor and loves a challenge! He holds great pride in his race, but is not Intolerant of other races, thinking they are equal to him in their own way and is really just ambiguous on the subject. He is an Improviser using his quick wits and reflexes to get him out of a pinch. He is quick to anger, like most Nords, trying, or succeeding, in harming his friends or family is ill advised. He shares a deep love for both, Aela the Huntress and Mjoll the Lioness, although settles on Mjoll as she is admittedly more like him (and y'know because of the whole Werewolf thing). He possesses that unique, rugged Nord charm that is just not found in any other races, exhibiting a strength and character, and friendliness to the prescience of Outsiders that is just usually not seen. A charismatic, fierce, witty Nord who loves using the Thu'um and eventually settles in the Pale frontier with his family. What's not to like?

    Lives: Heljarchen Hall

    Friends and Family: Roggi Knot-Beard (friend and Huscarl), Aela the Huntress ( Friend ), Mjoll the Lioness (Wife) Aerin (Friend), Lucia (Adopted Daughter), Sofie (Adopted Daughter), Meeko (Pet Dog), Random Rabbit befriended by Lucia (Dinner Pet), Bjørn the Cave Bear (Cave Bear Pet/Mount)

    Height/Build: 5'10" (Shorter than the average Nord but taller than the tallest Wood Elf) but large in muscle mass.

    Hair Color: Dirty Blonde with a Full Goatee and a single braid in his Hair

    Guild/Faction: Companions, Stormcloaks

    Armor: Helm of Yngol and Stormlord Armor

    Weapon: Bloodskal Blade coupled with a War Axe and a Shield

    Major Skills: Heavy Armor, Two-Handed, Block, Speechcraft

    Minor Skills: Restoration, One-Handed, Alchemy

    Other known Aliases: The Cave Bear, Stormblade, The Thalmor Hewer, and of course, Dovahkiin.

    Spirit Animal: Cave Bear

    Sign/Stone: Warrior

    Mods I used to create this character: Stormlord Armor, SkyRE, CCO (Character Creation Overhaul), Race Menu, One with Nature (for the friendly bear roleplay)
     
    Last edited:

    Wolfie

    Active Member
    I thought it ideal to update and repost Idoma's CC. The only things that have been altered within the form are the images within the Visuals category. This will most likely not be changed again. No promises, though!

    basic details

    Full Name: Idoma Avrecia Petirus.
    Gender: Female // feminine.
    Age in Years: (23) Twenty-three.
    Race: (Human) Imperial.
    Date of Birth: 6th of Frostfall, 4E 178.
    Birthsign: The Tower, which is the most prominent constellation during the month of Frostfall. Any powers gained from this birthsign (in this case, the ability to open a low-ranking locked container once a day) are hereby converted to inborn luck – meaning, it is no longer a power but instead a natural gift at unlocking items.

    personal details

    Aliases: Currently unavailable; resort to full given name unless referring to Idoma's alter-ego, Foxhide.
    Sexuality: Heterosexuality – limited attraction to the opposite sex.
    Religion: The Nine Divines – specifically Arkay, Kynareth, Dibella and Julianos. Although she does not believe in Tiber Septim as a divine, she does respect him as an ancient Tamrielic hero. Her father privately adored Talos; because of this, Idoma still pays her respects to Talos shrines, although she does not worship him.
    Current Residence: Balomew Lodge is set into an “L” shape. A bedset and kitchen sit on one end near the entrance; a writing desk, mannequin, weapon rack and a few bookcases are on the other end of the small abode. A fireplace is situated at the center of the house, with a chair and a table beyond it. The lodge was sold to Idoma when she arrived in Skyrim; it is located outside of the city gates – find it alongside the road, next to the bridge and across from Honningbrew Meadery.
    Afflictions: Idoma is not currently afflicted with vampirism or lycanthropy. She also does not initially suffer from any diseases unless otherwise noted. This is primarily vulnerable to change for roleplay purposes.
    Occupation: Idoma is a traveller or explorer of sorts, adventuring throughout the southern regions of Skyrim for her own amusement, and on her own time. However, her real occupation is completed by her alter-ego, Foxhide, in the dead of night; she complete's a province's bounty and delivers the bandit leader's head beyond the city gates before dawn.
    Affliction: Idoma is not connected, at all, to the Thieves Guild, Dark Brotherhood or the Companions. However, she does have a partnership with the College of Winterhold; she is not a true student there, but she is welcomed within the College, which is the only place that she studies Illusion and Alteration magics on her own time. You could say that she's being tutored there.
    Political Views: Still developing this, and I always will be. Look for references during roleplay sessions, as this is such a huge topic that it'd be horrendously dangerous to start pondering upon.


    physical details

    Idoma has braided, breast-length black hair and murky green eyes. As an Imperial, her skin is naturally more saturated and darker than that of a Nord. Her lips are a dark, dull pink. She's definitely not noticeably muscular or terribly athletic looking, except for her tall stature and lithe limbs. See the images in the visuals section for specifics.


    equipment

    Major Skills: Lockpicking, Light Armor, Illusion and One-handed.
    Minor Skills: Archery, Alchemy and Alteration.
    Expert Illusion Spells: Clairavoyance, Fury, Calm, Fear, Muffle and Invisibility.
    General Skills: Hunting and herbs, although both of these skills have diminished over time.
    Weapons: Two thin, curved steel daggers with plain black hilts; a balanced steel sword with a wooden grip, metal pommel and small, sturdy cross-guard; and a hunting bow with two dozen steel arrows fit into a stiff leather quiver.
    Apparel: In public, wears traveling gears reasonable for battle; it's flexibility and lack of layers makes it good for evasive maneuvers and traveling in temperate southern regions. As Foxhide, Idoma wears the Drow Armor from the Skyrim Nexus. See the visuals section in the extra details category for more information.
    Items: A large, brown leather knapsack stores food, two water cannisters, a wooden mead horn (exterior), a bedroll (exterior), books, bounty letters, potions, poisons, salves, an iron hatchet and, if neccesary, more unnoted objects.


    biographical details

    Family: Kiran Petirus, Imperial, father, alive. Emmeline Petirus, Imperial, mother, dead. Rorik, Imperial, elder brother, dead.
    Personality: I'm not going to waste my time telling you about Idoma's personality when the truth is, I have no idea what she's really like, and changes are she's going to change a lot. So, I won't even bother – I'll spare you the pain and confusion. She's basically me, if I were her.


    history

    Idoma doesn't remember the two years she lived in the Imperial City, directly before her family moved to Chorrol during the Great War, and she doesn't miss the memories she did have during that time. There was great fear upon everyone's faces; it was no place for a child. During that time, Idoma's mother and elder brother were murdered. Unfortunately, what Idoma does recall of her childhood is also negative.

    She was a shy child that preferred books and privacy over civilization. She spent much time alone, convieving various fantasies in her mind. She was a dreamer and an idealist, prone to flights of fancy … and she listened to nobody but herself and her father.

    In her teenage years, this particular trait proved to have the most ugly effect. Her inborn responsibility and natural leadership broke any previous bonds with her father, who at the time owned the Wayward Prince Inn. She began to steal alcohol and other items from the tavern. This hobby molted into the theft of septims and precious materials from people's homes. Eventually, her father discovered this; from then on, he made a point to bring her along with him on hunting trips.

    These daddy-daughter times quickly calmed her restless pilfering. By the time she had reached adulthood and left her childhood education, Idoma had learned much about the environment. She had surprised her father by taking to alchemy, and he had surprised her even more by encouraging it.

    However, she still had an unforgettable urge to thieve. Although lockpicking came easy to her in the past, she was most obviously useless at pickpocketing, and she was a bad cast with sneaking. To make up for this, she attempted to dream up an honorable yet fortuitous career. She joined the Chorrol Mages Guild and began to study Illusion; she took lessons with the Fighter's Guild to gain some combat experience, which would be useful for the roads.

    Unfortunately, life took a bad turn for Idoma. She decided to test her newfound skills on a camp of bandits that had recently been harrassing the population of Chorrol. Without alarming her father or the city guard, Idoma headed off on her own to a crumbling mine, which held six bandits who were trying to get into Chorrol using the unreachable sewer system. She had spent a few years learning the basics of magic and steel, and she was ready for a more personal and fitting test of her newfound skills.

    This self-given mission ended badly for Idoma. She attempted to use an invisibility spell she can been practicing to sneak-attack the bandits. However, at the time, she did not know that interacting with the environment whilst invisible would break the spell. This resulted in an all-out fight, leaving Idoma overwhelmed in the ensuing melee fight. She would have been broken by the bandits had their ringleader not intervened and suggested to use her to get into the city.

    At the time, Idoma decided to agree to this. Stubborn, persistent and proud as she was, she found it ideal to wait until the right moment to strike. She was imprisoned, and aided them in planning. Idoma knew that her absence would be noticed after a while, but was unsure what anyone would – or could – do about it. She began to truly pity her situation.

    Fortunately for Idoma, two adventurers entered the cave. Their distraction allowed her to join in the ambush. The bandits were finally taken care of. Idoma convinced the dubious adventurers to take her back home, where she reunited with her father. She announced to him that she desired to adventure elsewhere. Her father was, unlike many parents, prepared to lt his child loose into the world, although he warned her to not go unprepared.

    So it was that Idoma, at the age of 21 in the 199th year of the Fourth Era, left home with her father's blessing and headed to Skyrim. She bore a rogue's armor and a warrior's sword, and yet she was neither. A nightblade, Idoma entered the homeland of the ancestral Nordic folk, uncertain what she was about to face in the next coming years.

    She grew a love of strong, flavorful mead and seasoned meats. She could hunt if she needed to, but seeing as taverns provided her meals for coin, her archery abilities quickly waned over two years. She took up bounties – but her way of delivering the news of a bandit gang's demise was frighteningly unusual. To show the city that they were now currently safe from brigands, Idoma would deliver the bandit leader's head in a sack to the interior of the front gates.

    This was not reviewed – strangely, in Idoma's opinion – by the citizens with positive feedback. She was scorned in Falkreath and driven off. Unwilling to repeal of her ways, Idoma began to deliver the heads under cover of night, and in dark garb. In the southern provinces, stories of an unaccountable and mysterious “heroic” mercenary began to circle about. Her alter-ego – for her form and voice was feminine – was Foxhide, adequately titled due to her dyed leather armor and stealthy approaches.

    visuals

    Idoma:
    http://i.imgur.com/gV8eOCv.jpg

    http://i.imgur.com/Yt4Ie8J.jpg
    Travel Garb:
    http://i.imgur.com/q8MFl0W.jpg
    http://i.imgur.com/XXyIwu1.jpg
    Foxhide Armor:
    http://i.imgur.com/fVhvE0K.jpg
    http://i.imgur.com/7qOqPry.jpg
     

    Sanguine.

    Member
    Name: Elimia ''Sanguine'' Dereace
    Age: Twenty-Five years of age
    Gender: Female
    Race: Altmer/High Elf
    Sexuality: Bi-sexual
    Birth Sign: (To be added at a later date, forgive me I'm tired)

    Birth Place: Cyrodiil/ Imperial City.
    Faith: Being a keen follower of the nine divines, since childhood she's always tried to mould her life based upon their teachings, she even views Talos within their almighty and calming light, although she doesn't admit it due to current 'issues'.
    Side(s): Elimia hasn't really taken any side during the current conflict in Skyrim nor has she taken a side with any of the factions present in Skyrim, such as the college of winterhold, in her view if she taken a side it'd hurt her ability to heal and help others.
    Personality: Elimia's personality is that of a caring mother, she'll happily help others without asking for anything in return, although it has left her coin purse empty more times than not.

    Appearance: Elimia stands at 6''3 sharing the height of her people as well as their fair golden skin and large amber eyes, her body is pretty thin due to the times she has slept and awoken with an empty stomach (More and hopefully pictures will be added once I'm not as tired, haha forgive me!)
    Apparel: She wears a modified priestess hooded robe, dyed blood red her favourite colour, with steel plates strapped around her chest, arms and legs, fur boots and gauntlets with an aged necklace that once had all nine divines symbols hanging from it but the symbol of Talos looks as if it was forcefully torn from its place.
    Major Skills: Restoration, Alchemy, Alteration and Enchanting.
    Minor Skills: Destruction, Conjuration, Speech.

    Bio: (As stated before I'll update this once I'm not as tired, once again I hope you can forgive me!! DX)
     

    RespectForMer

    New Member
    Full Name- Codus Qintin

    Sex-Male

    Age- 22

    Race- Imperial

    DoB- 17th of Last Seed, 4E 179

    Class- Archer

    Religion- The Eight Divines

    Residence- He lives in an unnamed house in Riften.

    Codus wants to stay neutral in the war

    Codus is a tall man with short, reddish-brown hair. He has stubble on his chin. He is fairly muscular, and has a scar on his cheek from a fight with a bear.

    Codus wears no armor, as he prefers speed and agility over protection and strength. He carries a hunting bow and a quiver of steel arrows, along with an iron war axe and iron dagger. He also has a knapsack to keep basic items like food and drink.



    Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
     

    RespectForMer

    New Member
    Full name- Holger

    Sex- Male

    Age- 19

    Race- Nord

    DoB- 1st of Frostfall, 4E 176

    Class- Mage

    Residence- None. Holger travels Skyrim sleeping outdoors or inside inns.

    Holger sides with the Imperial Legion, mainly because he believes that they aren't causing any real trouble, and that things were fine before the Stormcloaks began to rebel.

    Holger is relatively short for a Nord, standing at 5 feet 6 inches. He is clean shaven, and has short blonde hair. He is of average muscular build.

    Holger prefers not to wear armor, as he is perfectly capable of defending himself with magic. He wears typical hooded mage robes. He carries a frost enchanted steel sword named "Frost Thorn", and a keeps his supplies (Food, gloves, etc) in his satchel.

    Holger is very open minded and polite, but you don't want to make him angry. He may look harmless, but is a ferocious fighter when he has Frost Thorn in one hand and a frost spell in the other.

    Holger enjoys mead and slaughterfish, and normally has an apple or two for breakfast.


    Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk
     

    Electrolupis

    Cries-In-French
    Name: Alachel "Ala" Rosegrove
    Race: Bosmer/Altmer raised Bosmer
    Class: Archer
    Gender: Female
    Looks: A young elf with average facial features and short blonde hair. Generally dresses in light armor and tends to gravitate towards clothing with the color red on it. Her only truly defining feature is the special quiver that she made herself, its a medium sized leather quiver with red ribbons hanging off of it.
    Misc: Shes a rather outgoing person but gets bored with mundane things and loses her patience quickly.
    Backstory: Shes not especially different or better than most. Has hunted animals and has killed the occasional bandit. She generally made profit buy hunting for the various shop owners and caravans throughout Skyrim
     

    JadeLegion

    Savior of the Dunmer
    Methuselah, Savior of the Dunmer

    Race: Dunmer

    Status: Leader of the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim, and lone survivor of the Morrowind branch.

    Religion: Currently worships three Daedra: Sithis, Nocturnal, and Azura

    Magic: Destruction, specializing in electricity.

    Weapon Class: One-handed, usually wields the Blades Sword

    Characteristics: Really, really, REALLY hates the Thalmor, but hates orcs even more. He is very bitter towards the Stormcloaks, due to the treatment of Dunmer in Windhelm. Has a very deep fascination with the Dwemer and Chimer, his ancestors. He's kind of an alcoholic, but will kill Skooma dealers wherever he finds them. His birthplace is on the slopes of the Red Mountain, but is proud to call Riverwood his home. He acts as a guardian of it, and will avenge it if he has to.
     

    Specter of Death

    Omnipresent Moderator
    Staff member
    [NOTE: NONE OF THE ART IN THIS CC BELONG TO OR ARE CREATED BY ME. ALL CREDIT TO THE ART CREATORS.]
    5469764_orig.jpg

    Lyron Silvano Allunare
    The Moon’s Lonely Glow, is my Only Company

    Basic Information
    Name: Lyron Silvano Allunare
    Alias: The Undying
    Age: 229
    Apparent Age: 27
    Birth Date: 6th of Morning Star. 3E 375
    Birth Place: Northern Valenwood Forest
    Birth Sign: The Steed
    Origin/Race: Bosmer + Altmer
    Class: Ranger | Assassin
    Gender: Male
    Laterality: Right Handed
    Sexuality: Straight
    Marital Status: Single
    Alignment: Chaotic, Unpredictable
    Afflictions: Intense Sleep Apnea and Insomnia, Slight Paranoia, Lycanthropy
    Religion: Atheist
    Patron Deity: N/A
    Habits: Tends to worry over loved ones, over-analyzes situations,
    Hobbies: Writing, Archery, Parkour + Climbing, Martial Arts
    Family: Thalion and Lyethal Aunare – Parents, Deceased; Amallae Tezarae – Lover, Deceased

    Personality

    After the incident regarding his family, his pack, and his loved ones, as well as the events that followed; Lyron has become a shell of who he once was. He is very dark and short tempered. His choices usually reflect how he feels about the world now, due to what has happened to him. He lacks sympathy and loyalty, and instead has distaste for allies and hatred towards love. When he gets glimpses of something that has previously affected him negatively, he lashes out violently, though this is rare. Some can view him as Angry and hateful, but the truth is that he is hurt, and protective of who he once was, as it is all that he has left of his past. And just as rare as his violent impulses, you may get a glimpse of who he was. He may be loyal and compassionate if his true self decides to show.
    Positive Traits: Strategic, Observant, Protective, Calculated(More Traits will show up over time)
    Negative Traits: Short Tempered, Distrusting, Impatient
    Likes: Rain, The Forest, Being Alone
    Dislikes: Liars, People, Racists, Crowds, Snow
    Fears: He has lost all sense of Fear
    Aspirations: His only motivation is vengeance
    Quirks: He can stare, and carry a very suspicious aura around him
    Philosophy: I am the Predator that lurks within the shadow. I am all those who have been wronged, and wish to see you dead. And I will follow through with that wish.

    2310014_orig.jpg


    Appearance

    Height: 5’ 11”
    Weight: 145 lbs
    Build: Lean, Muscular, Flexible
    Hair Length: Long Wavy, Held in a loose Ponytail
    Hair Color: Ebony, Dark Brown
    Facial Hair: Medium Thick Stubble
    Eye Color: Dark Teal
    Skin Color: Tan (Italian, Native American)
    Scars: Large vertical scar through his lips, Countless Lashing/Whip Scars on his back, Burns on his palms
    Face: Strong, Imperial Like Structure
    Unique Features: His eyes change shades based on mood and time of day, though his eyes are almost always in a shade of pained sadness, or teal. (Night – Darker, Day – Lighter; Anger – Red, Sadness – Blue etc.)
    Tattoos: He has a single Tally Mark on his wrist, but with every person he kills for revenge he will add one. By the end of it all, he should have 10.

    5703913_orig.jpg


    Gear

    Armor: He wears a set of custom leather armor, that his father crafted when he was a young Bosmer. This armor lasted Lyron’s Father his entire life, and it will last Lyron longer. This Leather set comes with a matching set of boots and bracers. He wears this over a thin set of dark teal robes. On his back, Lyron has a belt quiver, and his dark teal cloak, that he wears over his head and torso almost always. To help him hide his identity, he wears a red piece of cloth that resembles a scarf as well. He has a belt with a single sheath for his blade, then a dozen pouches that he keeps medicines and other misc. items. Around his finger, he has a charred ring, that once represented his marriage.

    Weapons: The main weapon in his skilled arsenal of weaponry is his handmade bow. Vain is the fastest, and strongest weapon that Lyron knows how to use. He broke the green pact to create the bow, following the advise of a wandering spectral. He also carries dual swords, that he calls the Forest’s Whispers. The original Red Blades belonged to his father, and their original enchantment was to carry the souls of those who wronged the forest. But over time, Lyron’s corrupt mind tainted the blade black, and it carries any soul that it devours, strengthening it. He also carries 2 sets of Sheng Biao, or Rope Darts, which he has become proficient at using. In case he ever runs out of arrows with Vain, he carries a set of 12 Kunai on his person at all times as well. Then as a last resort, he carries a single short blade, which parallels Forest Whisper’s appearance, but not it’s enchantment.

    Misc: Lyron suffer’s very vivid visions, flashbacks and blackouts, that sometimes affect his ability to think rationally. He can sometimes lash out violently out of fear or sadness. And other times he will isolate himself from any other civilization for hours, or even weeks if extreme. These visions, flashbacks and blackouts occur at points of familiarity, or at random. These points of familiarity can be anything from a song or smell, to an item or name.

    3512442_orig.jpg


    History/Biography
    (Very Un-detailed and Vague to keep RPing Interesting)

    Childhood: Lyron was born within a small cluster of Isolated Bosmer Tribes. His father immediately started vigorous training in order to prepare Lyron for the life that was demanded from him within the clan. His family was lower class; Hunters, Gatherers and Guards. Due to their isolation, these elves didn't follow the strict Green Pact, but stuck to a respectful lifestyle towards nature.

    Teenager: Lyron grew into a very powerful hunter. His father couldn't teach him much more than what he had already learned, so Lyron started his own self taught martial arts, for hunting and defense. He gained the knowledge of ancient tribal weapons such as the Sheng Biao and Kunai. With all of his growing skills, he became a very well known hunter throughout his tribe, and was noticed by many.

    The person who got closest through hunting was a girl called Amallae, she was forbidden to familiarize herself to the lower class, as well as hunt, because of her status within the tribe. She was the daughter of the Tribe Chief. Despite this, the two of them grew a very strong bond as they hunted together in the northern Valenwood Forest. However, as Lyron grew up, he realized the danger that she faced being friends with him, so he pushed her away to keep her safe. This wasn't easy however, because he felt something special for her.

    As his skills honed more and more, Lyron started to recognize his need for gear. His father decided to give him his old set of armor, that protected him when he was a guard. Along with this armor, his father gave him his old blade, called Forest Whisper, that would help Lyron defend the forest and the Tribe. Lyron wasn't very good with a blade, but took it with honor. He then turned his attention to crafting the weapons that he was skilled with. He used a mysterious Bosmerian ingot, that was stronger than Dwemer metal, but lighter fur. He crafted a set of Sheng Biao and Kunai, as well as a dagger. All that was left was his bow, which he crafted from the root of the largest, tallest tree that he could find, as it would be the strongest.

    Shortly after crafting his gear, he was visited by the ghost of what seemed to be a large wolf. The wolf guided him to the burning bodies and ash of his home and parents. Out of fear and terror, Lyron underwent his first transformation. He became a wolf, and out of pure instinct, was brought to the tribe where Amallae was. The two of them fled, and ran for as long as they could dodging the men that had burned their tribes

    Lyron reacted the worst. Amallae tried to keep him controlled, but Lyron was violent and angry at the people who had done this to them, and to his family. Lyron couldn't help but transform once again, and he took off, into the forest. Amallae followed with fear of loosing Lyron, and being found by the men who hunted them. But this was in vein. The both of them were caught by the men, and were tortured to the brink of death, until they were saved. By a pack of werewolves. They quickly helped Amallae and Lyron escape the clutches of these cruel men.

    This pack offered to let them into their ranks, and they both gratefully accepted. Lyron joined in order to hone his skills as a wolf further, but Amallae joined to stay with Lyron. Over time, Lyron became better, less grieved by his tribe’s destruction. Amallae became a werewolf as well, and she stayed with Lyron. They married, and were very evident members in the pack before long.

    However, their actions in the pack were out of defense of the Bosmeri people. They attacked the attackers that threatened them, to the point where the pack was hunted themselves. Then everything fell apart for Lyron, and his life. One mission changed everything. He was out trailing a group of men who were close to the territory of the pack. Before long, Lyron realized the trap that he had sprung, and was captured in order to let the others escape. He was beaten to the brink of death, then left in the middle of the forest.

    When Lyron returned to the camp of his pack, nothing was left but ashes, and the bodies of his people. In the center were 3 men, and in their arms was his wife. He ran at them in aggression, but he was grabbed by 2 more men. He then watched the masked men torture his wife, with fire magicka, and then ended her. He laid there screaming in pain and suffering, as the blood of his dead lover puddled around him.

    Adult: Lyron awoke to a feeling he had never felt. An emptiness, a meaninglessness. Burns on his skin, and scars on his back. His gear scattered in the blood of his wife. The smoldering ashes of his people and his home around him. He had nothing.

    Now he wanders in search of answers, and vengeance. On the trail of his wrongdoers. Searching for their bodies, so that he can rip their souls from Nirn.​
     

    Orien Terrik

    "Arik tree'ac te kek."
    Basic Information

    Name:
    Orien Terrik

    Alias:
    Legate, Champion (Maybe he will earn a few new ones in his time RPing here.)

    Age: 26-27 (Depending on the time frame of the RP. He was born almost right after the sack of the Imperial City.)

    Birth Date:
    24th of Mid Year, 4E 174

    Birth Place: Imperial Legion Camp

    Birth Sign: The Warrior

    Origin/Race:
    Nord/Imperial

    Class: Imperial Heavy Soldier/Officer

    Gender: Male

    Laterality:
    Right Handed

    Sexuality:
    Straight

    Marital Status:
    Single

    Alignment:
    The Empire

    Afflictions: None that he knows of.

    Height: 6'8

    Weight: 250 Ibs

    Build: Extremely muscular. He is a warrior, born and bred into that life. His size comes from His mothers side of the Family, which were Nords.

    Hair Length: He keeps his hair close cropped to his head, in a general military fashion.

    Hair Color: Brown

    Facial Hair: He has stubble, but he shaves when possible.

    Eye Color: Golden

    Skin Color: Very tan. A few shades lighter than the skin of a Red Guard.

    Scars: One on the side of his cheek where a blade found a gap in his helmet, one from an arrow on his right Pectoral, where an arrow penetrated, although not to deeply due to his armor. He also has a few other Random arrow scars.

    Face: Strong, Nordic structure, with hints of Imperial here and there.

    Unique Features: His Golden eyes, something highly unusual in all the races of Men. He was also unusually dark for a Nord, but this could be due to the fact that he was half Imperial as well. He has a burn mark on his left hand.

    Tattoos: None

    Religion: The Nine Divines. (While Talos worship is "Banned, he still practices it, although, in secret.)

    Patron Deity: Talos, Stendarr


    Hobbies: Likes to hunt, fish, and spend time with his soldiers, who he considers his brothers and sisters, no matter their race. He doesn't have very many friends outside of the Legion, if any at all. He is friends with the black smith of Solitude, Beirand, as well as Beirand's wife.

    Family: Mother: Kirsta Terrik - Nord (Deceased), Father: Adrian Herecius Terrik- Imperial (Deceased), Uncle and Aunt: Lilleth and Skjorn Terrik - both Nord (Deceased at the time of the Civil War.), His brothers and sisters: His Fellow Legionnaires, no matter their race.

    Personality: Orien is a staunch supporter of the Empire. He is a humble man, not bragging much at all about any of his accomplishments. He tends to be quiet, but if you get some drink in him, and he happens to be around his fellow legionnaires, he can become an interesting fellow for sure. He is a very caring person when it comes to anyone, except the Aldmeri Dominion, and to a lesser extent, the Stormcloaks.

    Positive Traits: He is very caring, and tries his best to make sure the legionnaires under his command feel appreciated and wanted. He is very skilled in battle, having been practically raised in the legion. He is also a Tactical Genius when it comes to planning and executing battle maneuvers and assaults. He prefers to lead by example. He is rarely, if ever, seen leading his soldiers from anywhere but the front lines. He isn't racist at all, although, he tends to be on edge when around the species that are considered to be part of the Aldmeri Dominion (Unless they are Legionnaires). Also, many know of his Reputation as an excellent Commander. This has led him to become somewhat famous in Skyrim.

    Negative Traits: His carrying for his soldiers can cause some issues. His biggest issue is his blood thirstiness when it comes to the Aldmeri Dominion. He has told General Tulias repeatedly that when the war with the Dominion starts up again, he wished to be on the front lines. He also is suspicious of any Thalmor Agent. He can't stand them, and will most of the time go out of his way to make life as miserable as he can for them without stepping out of line. This has caused a few issues before, but nothing to serious.

    Dislikes:
    Liars, Racists, Thalmor, The Aldmeri Dominion, Ulfric Stormcloak.

    Fears: He fears just about anything a normal Warrior or person would fear. Orien trick, however, is he has learned to harness his fear, and turn it into a weapon unto itself, keeping him on edge in battle.

    Aspirations: He hopes to one day Marry, and have children. He also wants the Empire to be able to return to its former glory.

    Quirks: He fletches his own arrows. He also doesn't polish his weapons and armor to give them a nice shine like most other Legionnaires do. He prefers the look of his armor to seem battle worn, as it could pose as a possible fear factor.

    Philosophy: "Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor... and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. I shall protect my Empire from any threat that presents itself, to my dying breath, if need be. Long live the Emperor! Long live the brave Legionnaires! Long live the Empire!"



    Gear

    Armor: Orien currently wears a heavily modified set of Imperial Champion Heavy Armor, which was the same design put up in a museum to honor his Father, for it had been granted after death to him by the Emperor himself. It is an Imperial Heroic Armor set, with the main color actually being Gold in color instead of the normal steel coloration. It has trims of Red in it as well. On top of the helmet was a crest, made of black Wolf fur, arranged onto a metal crest (Think of the Imperial Full Faced helmet variant, but in a gold Coloration). He has a small, blue cape on the back of his left shoulder with a black Imperial Dragon symbol on it. He uses a modified Imperial Heavy Shield due to his size. There in an increased amount of steel implemented in the design of the shield. The shield is black in color due to the wood used, with the steel coloration from where the steel plates are.

    imperial-salute.jpg


    Weapons: Orien's main weapon is a flanged Ebony Mace. It has blades built around the head, like small swords, so that if the opponent was wearing light armor, or if he had beat the armor enough, the blades would sink into flesh, much like a sword. Its is increased in length due to him being larger than normal people.

    Ebonymace.png


    He also carries and Imperial Sword in a scabbard on his back (I hope you know what an Imperial sword looks like :p). While his shield is considered armor, he has been known to use it in combat as a weapon, bashing people around.

    Misc: A small Nordic knife for hunting (Skinning animals and such), Imperial Bow and steel arrows occasionally (He prefers to be close up in battle though, he feels like it is more honorable).


    History/Biography

    Before Childhood (As told by Archivists.): Orien's parents were both Legionnaires, his Father a General, and leader of the Eighth Legion. His mother was a Legate in General Jonna's forces, and was considered to be her second in command. Kirsta and Adrian had met up while Kirsta was temporarily posted in the Imperial city for a time before she joined General Jonna. The two fell in love, and Adrian asked Kirsta to marry him. She accepted on the condition that Adrian add her last name to his, and he agreed. They got married, made love the night before Krista was scheduled to return to Skyrim. Kirsta left the next morning after, and hooked up with General Jonna and her forces. The following year, as Krista was pregnant with a child, the Imperial City was sacked. Word reached the camp Krista was currently at the the Eighth Legion had stayed behind to fight a rearguard for the remaining Legions to pull back from the city. Word had it they had all perished. Kirsta was struck with grief. Handing the child over to the care of her brother and his wife, Krista marched back with the rest of General Jonna's forces, to rally with the remaining Legions under the Emperors command. As the Legions moved to take back solitude, the Nord legions set up a perimeter around the city, so that no Elf could escape. As the Dominion forces tried to retreat, they ran smack dab into the shield wall where Krista was stationed. The Nords fought ferociously, but their numbers began to thin. Krista sent two messengers to ask for reinforcements to her position. As the messengers were off gathering the needed forces, the Nord numbers continued to thin as the bulk of the Dominion tried to escape the city to retreat. However, Krista and her remaining soldiers stood firm. Krista got struck with an arrow that found a chink in her armor on her sword arm, but she ignored the pain, and kept on fighting. Another arrow found a chink missing in her stomach, and sunk in. Krista fell to one knee, and three of the remaining soldiers began to move towards her, but she stood back up as a High Elf approached to strike her down, and rammed her blade into his face. She stood back up with two arrows in her, and kept fighting. As the reinforcements finally arrived, they saw 100 remaining legionnaires fighting for their lives, Krista in the lead. They ran to help, but arrived just late, as a final arrow found its marked, and pierced throw the neck armor of Krista. She swung her blade once more, taking one more Elf with her, before she fell to the ground, dead. Kirsta and her soldiers actions lead to the Dominion forces staying bottled up in the city, and being slaughtered. The White-Gold Concord got signed, and both Orien's father and mother were commemorated as Champions of the Empire. Orien would have a reputation to live up to. The Great war had ended, but a whole new set of troubles were just beginning.

    Childhood: Orien was raised by his Aunt and Uncle in a small house in Solitude, part of the Haafingar hold. They owned a little shop to sell goods. Orien was fascinated with the city. He would always bother his Uncle with questions about the Legion, and the great war (His uncle fought in some of the first battles of the Great War, but his arm was blasted off by an unknown elven magic, and so he was honorably discharged, and sent home). For the most part, his uncle would be happy to answer. One day, when Orien asked about his parents, his uncle told him they had been soldiers, too, but had passed to Sovngarde during the Great War. Orien never really asked about his parents again after that. As he grew up in the city, he wasn't very social, and avoided most of the other children, but he got along well with the guards and soldiers there. He was unusually small for his age, and was sometimes picked on. His uncle gave him an Iron dagger at age 8 that he would practice with on the dummies his Uncle had made for him.

    Teenager:
    As he reached his teenage years, he hit a sudden growth spurt, and sky rocketed up. He became huge, a tall, strong looking teenager. At the age of 15 he was already as tall as his uncle. AT age 16, he signed up for the Legion at Castle Dour, and was sent to Cyrodiil for training. He emerged as a member of the Fourth Legion, and was kept under close watch by General Tullius, for Tullius and Orien's father had served together, and Tullius knew who Orien was. Orien proved to excel in hand to hand combat, as well as one-hand weapons, along with a shield. Due to his continuing growth spurts, both height and muscle wise, his armor had to be constantly tailored for him. During this time, he also learned more about his parents, and decided he was proud to come from such good stock. He also visited the museum where his father and mother had dedicated sections too.

    Adult:

    As he reached the age of 22, Orien was a fine young Legionnaire. He had advanced to the rank of a Praefect. During his time spent in Cyrodiil, there was an issue with an organized bandit crime Syndicate. The Bandits, made up of Dominion races, and lead by an Altmer, where causing trouble that local forces weren't able to handle. The Legion was called in, and so began Orien first taste of true combat. The Organization of the Bandits seemed almost military like. The following years were spent eradicating these Bandits, and attempting to track down their leader, and main base of operations. Finally, after three years of searching, they finally found him. A full scale assault was mounted on the Fort that they were holed up in. The Tribune in charge of the force was struck with an arrow, and went down. Orien ran up to him, and checked for signs of life, but he found none. Instantly taking over command, he urged his remaining forces forward. He charged straight through the front gate, wielding a mace and his shield. He felt a slight pinch in his left shoulder. He looked down and saw an arrow in his shoulder. He broke the haft with his mace, and kept on pushing forward. He fought his way into the depths of the Fort, searching for the Altmer leader, his soldiers backing him up. Orien stumbled upon the Altmer in the Fort's battle room. As Imperial troops entered behind him, he waved them off, as the Altmer looked up at him. "Man has no place on this world." was all he said. The Altmer picked up a sword, and lunged with incredible spped at Orien. Orien moved as quick as he could, but the blade found a small mark as it slipped in between his helmet and his check, cutting it. As the Altmer pulled the sword up and away, Orien's helmet came off. Orien, who had been hunched over due to the fighting, and exhaustion, stood to his full height, towering over the small Altmer. There seemd to be a bit of shock at Orien's size, and in that hesitant moment, Orien lashed out with his shield, and caught the Altmer square in the face. The blow crack something in the elf's neck, but Orien wasn't done yet, as he followed the bash with a swing from his mace. The blow from the mace hit the Altmer, who wasn't wearing a helmet, in the side of his head. There was a cracking noise, and the mace blades dug into the skull. As Orien pulled the mace back, the Altmer fell to the floor in a heap, dead. Orien retrieved his helmet, and took the sword of the Fallen leader. The Legionnaires created a path as he walked out of the Fort. A cheer went up. Orien Reported back to Tullius, and presented the sword as a gift, and as proof, that the deed was done. Orien was then promoted to Tribune. Not long after the Bandits had been dealt with, word came that there was trouble brewing in Skyrim. Thats when the grave news came as well. Torygg had been killed by a Rebellious Jarl named Ulfric Stormcloak, and that he had started a rebellion against the Empire. The Fourth Legion was deployed to Skyrim, and Orien went with them, returning to the land where he was raised. Being Stationed in Solitude at first, he learned that his Aunt and Uncle had been taken killed Thalmor Justicars when Orien's Uncle wouldn't give in to interrogation on the matter of Talos Worship. This angered Orien greatly, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it for now. He concentrated his efforts on fighting the rebellion. He began to hate ulfric more and more as the war progressed. 'Did he not realize he was weakening the Empire? He was making the Legion waste resources and troops on his rebellion instead of the true enemy. How could he be that selfish. Skyrim needed the Empire to fight the Dominion.' He would think to himself constantly. Very Early in the Civil War, Orien became the Hero of Fort Newborne, were he fought back a Stormcloak assault almost single handed, portecting the Imperial Fort. Due to this, and the stunning brilliance of his plan and execution of the capturing of Fort Neugrad, as well as the release of Captured Legionnaires, Orien was transfered back to solitude, and promoted to Legate. Before heading back out to join the fight, the Emperor's cousin, Vittoria Vici, was stuck in a tower outside of Solitude. A Dragon was Attacking! The Guards poured out, trying to kill the beast, but to no avail. The Dragon landed, and Orien, not thinking, charged at it. It shouted fire at him, and he raised his shield. The heat from the fire heated up his handle grip for the shield, burning his hand (He would later implement leather on the grip). However, he continued forward slowly. The Dragon got distracted by a few guards, and Orien ran forward. The Monster of a man threw himself onto the Dragon, and grabbed onto a horn on its head with his burned hand, and started batting at its head with his mace, yelling. He must have done something right, because the Dragon went limp, and collapsed. He tugged on the mace, and pulled it out of the dragon's eye socket. 'I must have been swinging harder than I thought.' He thought to himself. Later that night, after getting his hand treated, he reported to General Tullius, who called him a Imbecile for just charging in like that. Orien slouched. "I saw people in need, so I just sort of felt compelled to help." He said with a sigh. Tullius chuckled, and said, "What you did was brave, even if it was foolish. There is someone here I want you to meet. He is here for his Cousin's wedding." Tullius finished. The Emperor walked forward. Orien was stunned. He bowed instantly is respect. Titus Mede II chuckled. "You have proven yourself to be a very capable Legionnaire, and Commander. You may not have known it, but when you killed the Dragon, you saved my Cousin. General Tullius has proposed something to me. You are to be named a Champion of the Empire. With this title, you shall receive new armor. I believe it is the same that was granted to your parents, although they never got the chance to wear it." The Emperor motioned to a chest inside a room to the right of the war table. "Your armor is in there, go try it on." He finished. Orien stood stunned for a second, but then complied. He shut the door, and after stripping out of his civilian clothes, donned the armor. It was golden colored, with red tinges here and there. A blue cloth was folded up on the bottom. He lifted it up out of the box, and it turned out it wasn't a cloth, but a small, blue cape. He attached the cape to his armor, and then opened the door, exiting. "How does the Armor fit?" Tullius asked?
    "Its a little tight." Orien replied in a joking manner. Tullius chuckled, and Titus Mede II just noded. "Very well. I must be off. Congratulations, Champion." And just like that, the Emperor was gone. And so, Orien is now a Legate, ready to take the fight to the Stormcloaks, and the true enemy, the Aldmeri Dominion, when the time comes. His name has spread throught Skyrim, and the other lands as the Imperial Champion.
     
    Last edited:

    Wolfbane

    Why change the past when you can own this day?
    Unabanner.png


    Name: Una Springthorn
    Race: Bosmer/Nord (mother Bosmer, father Nord)
    Age: Looks to be about 18
    Sexuality: likes men
    Class: Archer, ranger, scout, hunter
    Home town: Born in Falinesti, the Great Tree city, but later taken to Skyrim by her Nord father to flee the Aldmeri Genocide of the Bosmer people
    Deity: Y’ffre the Storyteller, Spirit of the Now.
    Afflictions: ages quicker than most elves, due to being half Nord
    Affiliations: Will help anyone who calls for the end of the Aldmeri Dominion.
    Skills: Archery, one-handed, tracking/hunting, sneak
    Likes: Being in the forest, hunting, her bow, sleeping in the trees, killing Thalmor, being around men, Khajiit traders, the rain
    Hates: Being in closed-in spaces, not being able to see the sky, Thalmor, hot dry places,

    Appearance: Tall, slim build with very long dark blonde hair. She has tanned skin from being outdoors a lot. Being half nord she doesn’t have the harsh features of an elf, the only thing distinguishable is her pointed ears. She also has lighter brown eyes rather than the Bosmer red and likes to wear black Kohl makeup around them. Una has no visible scars but she has calluses on her hands from a lifetime of having a bow in her hands. You would not even know that she was half elf unless you really looked.

    Dress: Una will wear simple clothing, or when hunting or travelling she will wear fur armour. She prefers to travel light as she is quick and nimble and can climb extremely well. The only visible weapons you will see on her is her bow and a dagger, but she has others concealed on her person. Usually one in her right boot and a small push blade concealed on her back. She wears a long hooded brown cloak when travelling and upon entering a city to conceal her ears ,thus not giving away her Bosmer heritage.

    Weapons and tactics: Una is very fond of her bow, a gift from her Bosmer grandfather. She is naturally skilled in archery and is lethal working in the shadows or from a vantage point up in a tree. She can fight with a single or dual wield dagger. She is surprisingly strong and uses that to her advantage when in a close melee fight. But her real strength lies in her deadly accuracy with her bow.

    Bio: Una was born in the capital city of Falinesti, the Great Tree city of Valenwood. Immediately after her birth, her parents took her into hiding from the elder council, who had, reluctantly allowed the marriage to take place but declared that any child born under their union was to be exterminated. So Una’s Nord father took her and her mother away in secret, helped by her father, Una’s grandfather. They lived peacefully, far away from the capital in a small village hidden deep in the forest where Una learned the ways of the wood craft which included archery, hunting and tracking.

    Una grew into an inquisitive and independent child, often spending days out in the forest alone, as was the norm for a Bosmer youngling. Sadly their peaceful life came to an end when Una was a teenager. The Aldmeri Dominion was once again threatening the lives of the Bosmer people, wiping out whole villages as they swept over Valenwood. Una’s father, now a man well into his twilight years, fled with his wife and daughter but during their escape, sadly, Una’s mother was killed. Racked with grief Una and her father made it into Cyrodiil and began travelling north, back towards her father’s home land of Skyrim. The journey took months as they had to stop and earn money to support their travels, and in the end, just before they reached the boarder of Skyrim Una’s father succumbed to a lung illness. Una was left to make the journey alone.

    Personality: Una is a very independent young woman who thrives best in the forest, communing with Y’ffre and being alone. She is quiet spoken and kind, but she also has a dark side to her. If she is threatened she will retaliate swiftly and savagely and she hates seeing innocents being mistreated. She loves hunting and also likes the company of men. Sometimes, she craves human contact and will venture into a city. She has some magical abilities and while inquisitive about it, hasn’t really got any ambitions for improving her skills. She is a huntress, an archer a true daughter of the forest.

    Traits: Good – Inquisitive, kind, independent, sensual, humble, charitable, observant

    Bad – Stubborn, savage, vain, naive, moody

    Why am I just seeing this character? Bosmer is one of my favorite races, especially for females! Ardin has crushes on most your women :p
     
    OK so,

    Name: Viola

    Race:
    Bosmer

    Class: Theif

    Weapons: For her long range, it would be the ebony bow, or nightingale bow, depending on level and how much the damage matters. The arrows can either be steal or ebony. Anything but iron. Mele is dual wielding ebony war axes. Before I got up to level, it was steal, anything that matches. She isn't much for magic, but the school that she would specialize in would be restoration, and she has little training in it.

    Skills: Main: Sneak, Archery, Light Armor, Lock Picking, and One Handed. Minor: Restoration, Speech, Pickpocket, and Alchemy.

    Gender: Female

    Age: Around 25, showed up at Helgen at 25, is near 28 now, maybe older.

    Looks: She looks her age, mid twenties. Blond hair, dirty blondish. Her eyes are blackish red. She is thin, but not too thin, near medium for skyrim. She's pretty, very pretty, but she doesn't know it and covers up her eyes and nose with sweeping face paint, and keeps dirt there. In her hair she always has braids going down the sides and it is always somewhat tangled up. Her skin is very fair and light under the dirt and paint, Surprising for a bosmer, it is not a greenish or brownish tint. She looks slightly Nordic, because of her being 25% nord.

    Bio: Viola was born in Valenwood, but soon moved to the woods of falkreath in skyrim with her parents, when the Aldmeri Dominion had kicked them out, due to her grandmother marrying a Nord. She lived in Falkreath until she was 4, when both of her parents died in a spriggian attack, when they were trying to defend Viola and her sister. Her sister, who was 12 at the time, finished off the nearly dead spriggian and they left the woods soon after to keep away from the other dangers. They ended up in the Riften orphanage. For two years they lived there, knowing they would never get adopted, when Viola's sister met a young Dunmer mage, who needed an apprentice. She had always been talented in restoration and agreed to train with him. She gave what little money she had to Viola, and left with him to morrowind a year after the apprenticeship began. Viola lived in the orphanage until she was 10, then ran away to the woods near the stream next to Ivorstead. There she used the money to buy a bow, and hunted. She trained with the guards at Nilheim on occasion, and would use what her sister taught her to help heal them and herself. When she ran out of money, she went to Ivorstead and took from people little at a time. She would smuggle some vegetables when she was helping the harvest, and charmed food out of caravans and taverns.
    When she was 12, a family of nords came to ivorstead, wanting to sell what they had gotten in their time in Valenwood. There was a mother and a father, and the daughter Reya. When they were trading in Ivorstead, Reya and Viola became friends and soon the parents learned of her background, and they took her in. The family was living in Valenwood, unapproved by the Aldmeri Dominion, but not afraid of being caught, because of the hard to travel roads and the constant moving around. Viola lived with them in Valenwood for years, until she was 22. Reya and her became best friends, working together. Reya was fearless and beautiful, making her excellent at both charm, and fighting. They traded secrets about using the bow, and the axe. When Reya got married, Viola saw no reason to go seek out her own adventures, and begged her adopted parents to let her go. When they wouldn't , she ran away, and traveled tamriel, writing to Reya along the way so they knew she was ok. One day when she was looking back to skyrim, she got mixed up in a small battle, and decided to help the apparently wrong side, and got sent to Helgen. After that came the obvious, learning she was dragonborn, and joining her different factions, to become part of her third family.
    She is a part of the thieves guild, as her favorite thing to do is sneaking, stealing. After awhile she became the nightingale, to then be the Guild master. It is basically her entire life. Her house is in Riften, and she knows the townspeople well. They all consider her a friend, although she is part of the guild. She is good to everyone she meets. She is the listener of the dark brotherhood, but she does not love it. Killing is not something she enjoys unless someone deserves it and she knows it. She is a werewolf, and fights for the companions. They are her family outside of the thieves guild. In her travels, she met Erik, who would later be known as Erik the Slayer, and fell in love with him. She did not want to get married until finishing with everything the world had her needed for, but eventually did. She would give her life for the stormcloak rebellion, because she knows the power of the Aldmeri Dominion, and knows how it is to get kicked out of your own home.

    Personality: She is charismatic, as are most Bosmer. People like her. She likes to spend her time at taverns, and although has a house in both whiterun and riften, she prefers to stay at the Bee and Barb and the Bannared Mare. If she is surrounded with good music and friends, it is worth every septim. Her charm gets her places. She can befriend anyone. She however likes the simple things. She loves nilheim. It is her favorite spot across Tamriel. Things like that take her breath away. There are little things that few people have noticed about her. She hates death. Everyone she kills, she tries to honor. Her best friends (Erik, Reya, Aela, Ria, Farkas, Rune, Ralof) know everything. She is hard to figure out, but if asked, she would open up. Her toughness is both an act and her true self.

    Misc: She never wears any head gear. No hoods, or helmets, on occasion a circlet, but it's rare. Her favorite drink is Honningbrew Mead, or Argonian Bloodwine. Her favorite food is saloman steak. She loves the mountain part of skyrim but the rift will forever be her favorite. She chooses to keep the dark brotherhood side of her life behind her because of the hatred of killing people for no reason. At first when becoming a werewolf, she didn't want to be one after Farkas and Vilkas didn't want to be one anymore, but when visiting Solsthiem, she ran into a group of werewolves that welcomed her, and she decide that it was a gift. She plays lute, but cannot play flute or drums to save her life. In sovengaurd, when she saw Kodlak, she decided to clear her soul to go there instead of any of the daedric princes planes. She hates Birds.
     

    Zoop

    New Member
    Good greetings, all. I'm new to the whole roleplaying shebang, so I figure this is as good a place to start as any, with, well, a character.

    name: Laroh (of clan Tesaadi, if you want to get technical)
    race: Redguard
    age: 24
    class: (inasmuch as Skyrim even HAS classes...) Actually, I'm not sure I know a snappy name for it. Not that she's the first one to do this, but she wears light armour, likes ambushes and seeks to end her fights quickly and decisively. She forgoes a shield and magic in favour of holding a war axe and hacking the guy half to death before he, she or it knows what's hit 'em.
    gender: female
    appearance: Laroh has the trademark coffee-coloured skin and dark brown hair of her race. She's got quite the short and stocky build, relatively broad-shouldered at about 5'7", with a noticeable athletic musculature to her. Her jaw is somewhat square and her chin is rounded, and her cheeks aren't gaunt. Her nose is quite flat and on the wide side. Her hair is a bit above shoulder-length, straight and unkempt. She's often dusty at best, given how much time she spends on streets and highways, but she won't lose any sleep over not getting up to the Cloud District very often (and neither will you).
    personality: Good-natured, light-hearted, facetious and not even slightly serious, Laroh is a person who enjoys a good time. She knows that most of the time she'll just be "passing through", so she seeks to make people remember her brief visitations fondly - she makes jokes and godawful puns, delivers punches both playful and knockout, and gets drunk regularly at the drop of the proverbial hat. The way she sees it, she's had plenty of bad times, so rather than drink herself to death in a mire of self-pity and dwelling, she feels she can leave those times behind and open a new chapter in her life. That being said, she is very good at hiding things. And a consummate liar has to be good at lying to herself. She keeps a few things very close to her heart - her estranged family, especially her big brother; her faith, which she practices furtively in Skyrim, among people who can't even agree on whether to worship Talos or not; and every time she comes across something that really wounds her, she stubbornly buries it in the pit of boiling emotions just beneath the surface.
    So, she's goofy and fun; crafty, perceptive and good at thinking on her feet; and more often wary than angry. However, when she does get angry, it is savage, animal anger that hasn't been released for years. It's a weakness which people capable of reading her can and will exploit.
    equipment/style: "Trained" as she was as a street brawler, she makes up for her relative lack of weight and reach with agility, respectable strength and a pretty good knowledge of how to combine the two to hit harder (she's no gymnast, but she's got a mean roundhouse kick and dodges pretty well). Inclined towards travelling light, she wears studded armour, leather boots and bracers in her combat gear, with a mundane-but-trusty honed steel war axe as her primary weapon, and a steel dagger as an absolute last resort. She also carries a hunting bow and a few iron arrows, not that she's much good with it by her own admission.

    bio/history, I guess:
    Laroh was born as the middle child of an all-Redguard family in Taneth, one of Hammerfell's more obscure cities. It seems that everyone has some reason to hate the Aldmeri Dominion these days, but for the Tesaadi family, it seemed as though they just woke up one morning to find that they were part of the territory ceded to the Thalmor come the end of the war in Hammerfell. Not that it really mattered to them, because they were dirt poor anyway, and had to learn how to stand on their own two feet or be trampled by the city life.
    Laroh and her two brothers are city kids, born and bred. Years of their subsistence existence gave them an innate sense of direction, balance and an aptitude for repairing things, lest they had to buy ruinously expensive new materials and items. Constant run-ins with the rest of the Taneth underclasses - and their patrician crime lords - lent them skill in brawling, fighting and removed any aversion to bloodshed they had - though outright murder was and remains a rare thing among the siblings, and they want to keep it that way.
    There came a day, however, when their staunchly nationalist parents could take their Thalmor "benefactors'" meddling no longer. They had both, from an early age, taught their children the value of the old ways - the fierce Redguard warrior, most dreaded soldiers in all Tamriel; protected by the watchful eyes of the old Yokudan gods; rightful lords of the Hammerfell deserts. And once again, there came a day when the Thalmor tracked down the parents' tacit support of resistance groups and concealed shrines and rites.
    Remarkably, nobody in Laroh's family died that day, some eight years prior. Rather, the parents woke their children in the night to take off into the plains. They survived, together, wandering as nomads in a vaguely north-eastern direction, for ten months; then they went their separate ways, making up their own feverish justifications to themselves as they went. As far as Laroh knows, her parents headed into High Rock; her brothers Kedai and Alkhyn into Skyrim; while she just wandered into Cyrodiil to find that being a lone nomad is a lot harder than it sounds. She scraped by on a meagre existence, much like many in post-war Cyrodiil, and every few months she'd find herself in a new city, trying to see if it was like the old days.
    She doesn't dwell on those days anymore, however. She ended up in Skyrim after coming to Chorrol on account of a terse letter, allegedly from Kedai. What she found in Chorrol was slave-traders and a long line of questions which has her more confused than ever. On the run from them, and in search of a supposed contact in Markarth, she crossed the Jerall mountains... and ran right into an Imperial patrol.
    Now she's just looking to get her bearings on what she's doing, newly freed in southern and central Skyrim.

    misc:
    Well, she hates awkward silences, and has a thing for the flute. She wears a simple wooden talisman of Tu'whacca, Yokudan god of souls, around her neck. (Yeah, check me out, I looked at the wiki.)

    (Well, hope that wasn't too excruciating for a first attempt.)
     

    Lady_Corvain

    Duchess Of Three Streams
    Sybianelle Yvisly
    nxiFm6D.jpg

    "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."
    Full Name: Lady Sybianelle Yvisly
    Race: 3 Quarters Nord And Half Breton

    Age: 27

    Gender: Female

    Class: Bard
    Bards are loremasters and storytellers. They crave adventure for the wisdom and insight to be gained, and must depend on sword, shield, spell and enchantment to preserve them from the perils of their educational experiences.A Bard is the proverbial "Jack of all Trades". They are able to perform many tasks, including but not limited to critical strikes, weapons skill, picking locks/pockets, and magic. They are a very versatile class, able to take up slack in almost any situation. Bards receive an amount equal to their Intelligence in spell points. A Bard's critical strike capability is useful when cornered by stronger opponents, though their chance to score is not as great as Thieves and the others in this subclass.

    Advantages:
    • The Bard can cast spells, engage in both melee and ranged combat, pick locks, and steal items.
    Disadvantages:
    • Though Bards can do everything, other classes can usually do any one of those things better. Warriors will out-fight them, Mages will out-fry them, and Thieves will out-critical them.

    Birthplace: Skyrim, Hjaalmarch Farmhouse South Of Morthal
    SR-symbol-Hjaalmarch.png


    Birthdate: The 12th Of Hearthfire At Dawn exactly 6:04 AM

    Father/Mother: Father Was a Nord named Jorgreen And her Mother was a Breton named Isly

    Birth-Sign: The Lady
    Affiliations: Member Of The Bards Collage, Being Taught Under Pantea Ateia.
    Weapon Arm: Right Arm

    Primary Weapon: Glass Sword
    75px-Glass_sword.png


    Secondary Weapon: Destruction Magic And Restoration magic

    Armor(In Combat):
    absorbing_the_soul_by_amoebae-d5p01kf.png


    Armor (In Town):
    thief_by_amoebae-d5uw2h7.png

    Personality:
    Psychology and perception:Serious
    Self-discipline:Motivated
    Lifestyle:Organised, Successful
    Social attitude:Extroverted. Playful
    Honesty and honour:Dependable
    Emotional capacity:Generous and Caring


    Height: 5'6

    Weight: 80kgs

    Hair Colour: Brown

    Eye Colour: Hazel/Blue

    Skin Colour: Dark tan
    Occupation: Bard

    Current Residence: Solitude Bards Collage
    Religious Views: Accepting Of Daedra and a devout follower of Dibella

    "Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love"

    (Backstories and stories are in blogs as well as any extra bit of info)
     

    Cadagan

    New Member
    The Second Rise of Torban Valund


    Wisened old hands rested on the stone. Eyes closed, the Atmoran bent his weary back to place his lips on the dusty crypt, and whispered.

    Stepping down, he took one last look at the tomb of his ancestors, at the resting place of his wife and firstborn.
    He still held the pain of their taking, but it was an old pain, like all the others.

    That morning, the young warriors of the hold had come to him.
    "Torban, there's been another kidnapping." wheezed Erald.
    Torban eased his gaze on the man, and those pouring into his house behind him.
    "No knock boy? Ahhh... Yes, and more graves dug up in the night. Necromancers for sure, bet it's those damn Elves too, this isn't good at all."
    "But what can we do?" asked... a boy, maybe Mojar's son.
    The group had all looked like young men do when they aim to prove their worth, scared but oh-so eager.
    Now, tempered by the presence and knowledge of the "Old Wise Man", their eagerness was slowly fading, letting their fear press against them.
    "They're taking the bodies, they have to be keeping them somewhere. Maybe one of the caves in the hills."
    "...but... what do we do, Torban?" someone asked.
    Some other idiot lad, probably not even taught how to read but thinks he's ready to fight.
    “Well we can't let this continue, can we?” Torban felt their mood change. “Yes lads, we'll fight. But not yet. Erald, go fetch Gromm, bring him here. The rest of you, go back to your homes, you're not leaving 'till tomorrow”
    “Tomorrow!? But--”
    Torban raised his eyes at the boy, and gave him a look he hadn't used in years. The boy went white.
    “...Go”


    Coming out of his family tomb, he headed for the caves. Finding one that smelled just a bit too much of death, he stopped at the entrance, and stared into the darkness within.
    ... So, how far have I come?
    Torban hadn't tried to become the village hero, he hadn't boasted of his battles, he hadn't proclaimed each victory in the tavern. He had aimed for balance. He sharpened his mind as much as he strengthened his arm. He was no sorceror, but what spells he had were as from a fairy tale to all around him. He was a Warrior, true enough. Yet he was more than that, he was...
    What was it that one elf called me?... Arcane Warrior.
    He fought smart, and hard. He fought because it was right, because it was good. He carved his way to what he felt was inner peace, to perfect harmony between the mind, body and soul. The village couldn't help but listen to him, because he was the strongest and the smartest of them. And when he grew old, when no amount of training and fighting could keep his body going as it used to, he stopped being the veteran warrior, and became the village elder.
    But soon I'll be naught but a babbling babe.

    He let his legs carry him down.
    A young warrior walks into danger looking all around, and seeing everything he can, and some things that aren't there. An experienced warrior walks looking forward, seeing everything he needs to.

    The tired warrior walked with his head tilted down, his eyes glazed over. He had a smile on his face, the first in years.
    At last, I can die like I was meant to, and join my family, in Sovngarde.

    A shadow shifted ahead of him, a few more quiet steps revealed candles, an altar a pit, and robes.
    He didn't need to think. He was among them without his even knowing, his old instincts strong as they used to be, even if his arms weren't. Caught by surprise the robed figures staggered and tripped and fell as the old man cut them down one by one. Yet even as the rest of the coven was in chaos, the silhouette standing near an altar just watched.

    Torban dropped to his knees, breathing hard but not done yet. His axe rested in the skull of a kindly looking young elf.
    I thought this'd be harder.
    His eyes flitted to the face of the elf, who's eyes were too far apart.
    Probably due to the axe in his skull...Shame to see such young ones turned to this kind of evil.
    Torban stood and turned, pulling out his axe, as well as something that fell with a *plop*.
    He eyed the still shadow standing over him.
    “Stay calm all you want boy, you've been dipping too deep in things that shouldn't be touched, and so you'll die, frightened or not.”
    Torban's half taunt didn't have much effect, not that he expected it to.
    The slick calm of the voice wasn't forced.
    “I'm not as young as you think. But lets not play here. We both know how this goes, let's not stall like children.”
    Ahh, Vile though he may be, at least I'll die with honour at his hand.
    Torban leaped forward.


    The blackness of the ceiling was starting to glow. He could breathe easy, even with his lungs filling with blood. He could see fine, even with his eyes burnt.
    It's over.
    The glow turned into a light, the light turned blinding, and Torban knew.
    “Sovn..garde.....”
    Finally, he could join his wife and child, finally he c--
    “Sovngarde?” The harsh, cruel voice knocked Torban out of his reverie.
    The now unhooded, thing, came into view, blocking Torban's view of the fading glow.
    “No, no, no, you distrupted my ritual. You killed them too soon, they weren't finished.”
    The half-corpse knelt down and wrapped skin-covered bones softly around the wheezing neck below him.
    “I can't use you, but I won't let you go. Sovngarde? Heh. No.” the emotionless cruelty cut deep into Torban's thoughts.
    Another bony hand lifted up, holding a cruel glow.
    “You're not going anywhere”


    An Age or three later...

    Revan Turik was a strange Dark elf. Even compared to other Dunmer, Revan was never sociable. He prefered to study, and think. He'd tried magic, but had never had any affinity for it. He'd tried stealth, but was too clumsy to step lightly. He'd tried fighting, but couldn't hold onto the sword.
    He just wanted to know things.
    “Know what?” people would ask him
    “Who knows...” he'd reply, half to himself.


    He wasn't happy, he knew that. He just didn't care.
    There were more interesting things out there than happiness. He was good with Alchemy, and he loved history and philosophy. He had been planning to leave since adolescence, to go exploring and see the world he was so fascinated by, but there was always more books to read, and it was always too dangerous.
    Yet the day finally came, when he knew every word of every book he could find. He couldn't lie to himself anymore. He had to go.
    No-one will care anyway.
    His latest interest had been in the rituals of Nords, so he headed north, the the land of Warriors, to Skyrim.


    “Snow Veiled Sanctum”
    Revan said the words to himself, reading from“The Honoured Dead”, a book documenting the many crypts and tombs scattered across skyrim.
    He sat on his bed, in a Tavern surrounded by a snowstorm.
    The nords didn't like his poking around their ruins. But he'd done it so many times before.
    Surely another won't matter? Besides, the mercenaries have already cleared it out. The draugr are already gone, no more damage to do.
    He'd found many treasures in his frenzy of Crypt diving, he was hooked. Not gold or weapons or magic, but Architecture, Language, History. He found the resting place of Ysgramor, the ancient leader of the companions. He was smart enough to leave that one alone, atleast. He'd found a forgotten hero, Feralda Wolfbane, who became a warrior of great renown after she slaughtered the werewolf den that killed her daughter. He'd written all his travels in his book, and when he was done with his adventures, he'd let others know of his findings. But until then, there was so much more to explore! Snow Veiled Sanctum was next.


    It was supposed to be a simple crypt, but this one seemed much older, and, while not lavish, was clearly built with the utmost reverance. The walls seemed to bow in worship of the central chamber, the light made the three sarcophagi glow. The crypt was small, yet it was full of so much respect.
    Revan had been in there since dawn, and by his estimate it was already night.
    I've never seen a crypt so... personal. This clearly wasn't built for a king or a Jarl, but whoever was buried here clearly earned their place in Sovngarde.
    He was excited to uncover the legend of this place, but he was hungry and tired.
    Too dark to get back to the tavern... this place seems warm enough for tonight anyway, it won't harm me.
    If Revan had had any magic in him at all, he'd have known different.


    He had felt the presence immediately, the first since they had locked Him way.

    letmeoutletmeoutletmeout
    He wasn't thinking, He couldn't think anymore, he just felt. He felt the years, decades, centuries pass.He felt his sanity slipping, but didn't feel that he cared.
    He wanted out, he needed to be free, to... to go were he was meant to be. To get the freedom that was his, and his alone.

    LET ME OUT

    His screaming hadn't stopped. Since the first moments of solitude he had raged at the emptiness around him.
    But now he had a target, and he had a way out.


    Revan startled awake, flailing at his assailant. His arms found nothing, but he felt the crushing presence squeezing against him. He could barely breathe under the pressure, barely see the floor he strained to push against.
    What is it? What is this? What's happening?
    He tried to run, but he was in It's grasp, he could only crawl.
    The elf tried to fight back, tried to scream for help, but nothing worked. He was doomed.
    I can't breathe, I can't....


    His breathe was the first thing to come to Him, the familiar sensation a soothing balm.
    Him.... me... Me....T-Torban
    Feeling alive seemed to calm his mind. He could think again.
    Where... have I been?
    Days later, Torban Valund walked out of his tomb, alone, his new unholy crime weighing on his chest, but only a little.He wasn't mad anymore, he knew that,
    I think,
    but he also knew that he wasn't the same. In his old life, he'd never harmed anyone who didn't deserve it.
    I tore that boy apart. He isn't dead, he's gone.
    Some part of him cared, but that part hadn't spoken in years, and didn't have the voice it used to. The old man still yearned for sovngarde, he needed it. But this new crime might interfere with his entry.
    I... I have to live. I have to right what I've done. I've earned my place but I'll earn It again. I deserve it.
    He glanced down at his hands.
    And so does Revan.

    Build:
    Combat:Two handed, Destruction.
    Def: Heavy Armor, Alteration
    Misc: Blacksmithing

    Age:
    Revan was 32 when he died, Torban was 71.


    Birthsign:
    Revan: Unknown, Torban: Lord


    Race: Dark Elf
    War Alignment, Empire
    Though originally Torban would have sided with the Stormcloaks, he reflects on his own discrimination of elves, and knows it was wrong.


    Height: 6'
    Build: “Scrawny”, But Torban will soon fix that.
    Sexuality: Straight but chaste, for various reasons (I'm sure you can understand)



    Gear:
    Enjoys wearing old nordic gear, as it resembles his Atmoran armor.
    Wields a Two Handed Axe or Sword


    Note: This was written more for the story than the build, the story was originally just a bit of fun for a character I was planning to make, but I really enjoyed the background and A couple of hours made this. Also The names were made up, and the crypt I chose was chosen at random so, if I messed up the lore a bit, sorry :p
    Also my first short story, thank you very much for reading.
     
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