Introductions

[thewolffshaman]

Vagrant wonders to himself, "It's awfully quiet for a tavern." His boots make a loud dusty clonk as he sits down alone near the front. "Ehem...a shot of whiskey."

The deformed mans sits alone, hardly approachable, mumbling in a low harsh voice to himself "how the hell did I end up here in the first place". There is a time for all that he supposes, first he needs his whiskey.

[MidasMagicDude]

Name: Alterio

Race: Altmer (High Elf)

Class: Researcher/Mage

Social Status: Wealthy Archivist

Proficiency: Ayleid Magic and Specialized Magic (Equivalent to Oblivion's Scripted Spells)

Bio: Alterio aims to collect, catalog, and record all artifacts of powerful magical nature. He also is making quite a lot of progress in discovering Ayleid history and magic. He has expensive tastes, but is not pompous and isn't afraid of "roughing it" (Because his studies usually bring him all over the world). He is never seen without his staff Aba-Agea, which means forbidden lore in Ayleid. He also frequently wears an amulet named Sunna Magicka meaning blessed magic. Alterio has written several books, all of which surround Ayleid Magic (except his catalogs, which he keeps to himself). He is one of the few that knows the art of Welkynd and Varla creation.

 

Alterio looked about the bar in undisguised distaste. It wasn't the bar itself, the tavern wasn't nearly as bad as others he'd been to. It was just that he been to at least six others just like this, and they all had horrible lice problems. He quickly resumed an impassive face, hoping he hadn't offended anyone. Alterio sat down at a nearby table and pulled out a small skin of wine he'd brought from Skingrad and looked about, hoping to see someone adventurous who might be able to help him on his next excursion. Many lounged about the room, but his immaculate white elven robes didn't allow him to fit in well here, so he wasn't about to approach anyone. After several moments of reflection on this he finally got up the courage to walk to the center of the room and say

 

"Excuse me, may I have everyones attention?" *Several people glare at him angrily*

 

"Errrm, well I was wondering if anyone here might assist me in a little adventure to.... Vivec. I pay well, so if you would like to take advantage of this lucrative opportunity, I will be in room 4 upstairs. Thank you"

 

Alterio walked to his room and, after making a futile attempt to brush the lice from the bed, instead decided to just sit in the chair in the corner of the room. Alterio pulls out a reference text on Ayleids and begins to read.

[IxionInc]

Name: Khale Stormstrike

Race: Human; Subrace: Ixionian

Class: Gambit/Archer

Profession: Bowcrafter, part-time Swindler

Weapons: Deck of explosive cards, Steambow, Shaving blades.

Circle Skills:

Magic: 1

Science: 5

Willpower: 0

Phsycic: 0

Kinetic: 10

 

Background/Description: Being raised in Thunderflint Harbor, Khale Stormstrike had learned three things, Trust no one, Never take more than your worth, and Karma's a female dog.. As well as being an exile from Thunderflint, he is also a Gambit, a fast and agile master of luck, deception, and accuracy. His parents were motley folk, who performed in the Harbor Square, performing petty tricks. That is until a far more jealous performer decided to end their performance forever, by "accidentaly" killing them with throwing knives...

Ever since, Khale lived on the rooftops, thieving and tricking the people of Thunderflint Harbor. Till the day he reached the age of 21, he had lived the rich life of a thief, until a High Priest caught him stealing a bowl full of offerings to the Gods, and cast him into exile.

Then Khale took up the profession of bowcrafting, finding the accuracy of a steam-propelled arrow far more efficient than a dagger. Now he wanders along the world, or worlds, seeking fame and adventure...

 

 

As Khale walked into the large tavern, with his Steambow in hand, drenching wet from the rain, the entire pub got quiet..

"What? Never seen someone walk in from a storm before?" he exclaims, and the tavern stares at him. "You all best turn around and begin conversing again, or we might have a fire on our hands.." Khale says, as he pulls out an exploding card, a ten of clubs.

When he pulls it out, it bursts into flames, and he throws it at a nearby dart board. The board catches fire, and the whole tavern breaks out into a horrible cacophony of screams as the fire spreads. Then, Khale sits down at the bar, and watches..

[missoh]

Name: Orivia *click for pic

Race: Imperial

Class: Templar

Occupation: Wandering Force of Enraged Holy Wrath, occasional Vampire Hunter (gotta pay the bills)

Weapons: Huge Sword of Smashing

Info: Born in the Imperial City to a family of religious and influential family, Orivia grew up to learn exactly what was Right and what was Wrong. Following in the path of her grandfather, who had been captain of the guard for a time, she joined the city watch and set out to cleanse the city of evil. Unfortunatly, her overenthusiasm, blind faith, and above all lack of empathy for others soon caused more problems than it solved. After an unfortunate incident involving her chasing a young man (who she claimed had been stealing fruit) three blocks and then messily removing his left arm in a fit of holy wrath, she was quietly but firmly removed from active service. Faced with the choice of sitting at home and embroidering underwear untill her family married her off, she 'borrowed' some gold and her grandfather's sword and set out into the night.

A few years of living on the roads have toughened her up and honed her agressive personality into a fine point. Still as zealous as ever, she spends her time 'clensing the earth of sinners' as she likes to think of it. When she is not busy bersekring on some daedra worshipers (or litterers), she enjoys praying at temples, sewing and embroidery, helping little old ladies across the street, and practacing the violin.

When entering populated areas, she tends to don a mask as there have been a few bounties placed on her for various 'accidents'.

 

Humming quietly to herself a heavily armoured woman nudged open the door to the low building with the toe of her boot. Then proceeded to kick it open with a resounding crash. Stepping through quickly before the door sharply rebounded off the wall and slammed behind her, she pushed back her hood stepped fully into the low flickering light of the bar. Distinguishing her features was impossible as a white, shapeless mask hid her face completely. As the patrons of the bar were being treated to a constant stream of amazingly powerfull, unique, beautifull, and godly patrons, no one so much as raised their head to look at her. After walking over to the bar and crisply asking for a glass of water, she took the offered jug of murky sludge over to a corner where producing a pocket bible, she began to thumb through it quietly, her sword resting against the wall beside her.

[joeman9]

Name:Brennus

 

Age: 16

 

Sex: Male

 

Born In: Chorrol

 

Race: Imperial

 

Occupation: Tavern boy

 

Weapon: Short or longsword (preferably steel)

 

Armor: None just clothes

 

Attitude: Stands about 5'6", wears light clothing, loves ale and mead, has brown hair, brown eyes.

[shu0001e]

Name: Pryrates

Age:34

Class:mage

Alignment: pure evil

Goal: to become a lich

Hobbies: murder, torture.

Skills magic all types but holy

if you meet me on any role play i will modt likely kill you

[Steven917]

Introducing Siegfried:

Name:

Siegfried Ziedrich

 

Pronounced: Zig-Freed Zayed-Rich

 

Age: 36

 

Sex: Male

 

Race: Breton

 

Class:

Spellsword (Journey Man, and erm not really TOO much like a spellsword. Anywaaaay...)

 

Alignment: Neutral, but slightly tips a bit to good.

 

Weapon of Preference: Blades, particularly two handed ones.

 

Equipment, Weapons, Armour (etc.)

Wears heavy steel armour, uses a rather large claymore with strange runes on its blade. Usually he is seen in a brown shirt and light brown linens. Has a moderate supply of food, consisting mainly of fruits and vegetables, and a shabby bedroll to use when camping out in the wilderness.

 

Fighting Style:

Magic and his weapon mixed. He uses what little knowledge he has of destruction. He, like all Bretons do are skilled at summoning creatures from the plane of Oblivion, and also good at healing. Mixes up healing, summoning, and destruction together into one, unique combat style. Not very good too good at any of them.

 

Personality:

Rebellious, cocky, and rather aggressive at times. Usually he's just friendly.

 

Appearance:

Pale complexion, curly shoulder length black hair, muscular frame, has a scar that goes vertically through his left eye, but doesn't effect his sight, 5'7, one of his most distinct feature however is the fact that he has a marking of a dragon on his left shoulder, which nobody has ever saw before in his life.

 

History:

Was born into a family of mages, living in Cyrodiil, Cheydinhal. His father being a war mage and his mother being a healer. They were killed in a encounter with a thing that Siegfried isn't sure about. When they died, Siegfried was already twenty one, more than capable of taking care of himself. He became a mercenary, and mostly did odd jobs for people.

 

 

 

 

 

IC (In Character):

After losing his way four times, he found a familiar sound, the sound of his steel boots against the road. Obviously meant he was on the right track. Seeing a faint light not too far away from him, Siegfried rejoiced. "A tavern." He mumbled to himself as he "opened" the door, which was more like punching it open. Nobody even bothered to look, but Siegfried went over to a empty table, unstrapped his armour and felt relieved. Walking around in it was NOT a good idea, and now it was finally off of him. Putting on his doeskin shoes, and then putting his feet on top of the small table, he started to rock back and forth and lost himself in the conversations of others, listening to anything interesting. Or more likely a business opportunity.

 

"You will go east, and find the one who turned. You shall find what was stolen and see it safely return... But in the end YOU will fail to save what matters most...

 

You will be betrayed by the one who calls you a friend."

 

"Shut it."

[Eternalbrazen]

Character name Kansas

Age; 22

Female in appearence; hosted by a male RP'er

Carries a beat up looking Hunting rifle and two combat knives.

Green eyes, Asian facial features;

Hair color; Auburn long to the middle of the back worn in an ponytail with loose bangs;

Hard bodied but not muscle bound;

No visible tatoos;

Has the hard eyed look of the veteran wastelaner with many kills under her belt, seldom speaks but always watches, everyone and everything.

Finds most men boring and will not tolerate being hit on.

[katashy]

Name: Ren

 

Age: 21

 

Appearance: Short black hair, side fringe. Bright blue eyes (Most of the time...), quite tall, slim.

 

Equipment: Black hoodie, DCs, black skinny jeans, katana and a British Army L96A1 sniper rifle that belonged to her father.

 

Fighting style: Can pick off enemies easily from far away, but is deadly in CQC with her katana.

 

Personalitie: Quite funny but doesnt have time for s**t little comments an jokes, can be friendly, but get on the wrong side of her and she'l rip your head off. Quite tense and insecure, but has to be.

 

History: Didnt know her parents, lived with her grandfather. Her granfather gave her basic training in combat. Grandad was killed by slavers, but Ren escaped. Slavers are now hunting for her, so she has to be quick and cant stay somewhere for too long. Her grandad gave her her fathers sword, hoping it'd help if anything happened, and so far, it has helped.

 

 

This is a character for my up-coming RP, about a group of people running from slavers.

[Nero1534]

Introducing the Hound of Darkness!

 

Name: Gaoraxior (Pronounced "Gah-Oh-Rax-E-Or")

Age: Unknown - Timeless

Race: Hell Hound

Psych: Naturally aggressive towards strangers unless they show him an act of purity or compassion, due to his nature as a Hell Hound, one of Hell's Couriers (Or rather, Ex-Couriers.). Can be compassionate at times, will also talk to humans, should he be at a neutral disposition with them.

Weapon of Choice: Fear. He will emit extremely disturbing visions of the host's eternal punishments, should they die fighting him.

Secondary Weapon(s) of Choice: His teeth, Hellfire Bolts (Fired from the mouth)

(Used only if the Visions fail to cause the enemy/enemies to back off.)

 

Mugshot: Look at Avatar Picture. :)

 

As the stench of brimstone suddenly filled the air inside of the tavern, three words were spoken, in an almost audible whisper, as a blaze of hellfire rose up from the ground, carrying the strange beast with it and setting it down on the ground. "In Darkness Dwells...". The hound walked into the tavern, pushing the doors open with it's cracked, fiery muzzle. The words: "In Darkness Dwells..." continued to whisper, now by multiple, invisible voices, getting louder and louder as the beast tromped forwards to the counter. The beast put it's paws on the counter and lifted itself up into a sort of standing position, and suddenly, the voices stopped. The beast gave Prophet a menacing stare, and only one last word was uttered by the voices, all in unison. "Gaoraxior...". Suddenly, the beast started panting and wagging it's matted tail, all the while vaporizing the menacing stare he gave the barkeep. "Mind getting me a steak, or something with meat in it, please?" he spoke, and hellfire poured from his mouth as he did so, rolling up over his muzzle and turning into smoke as it dissappeared into the air.