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Preacher

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"Have you ever ssseen Argonia? I haven't, asss I wasss born in ssslavery, and they judged me ssstrong enough to try and win my freedom, in an arena in a remote location."Arathos says to Sierrah. He then turns to the barkeep, and says "Keep it, i have plenty at my camp in the wilderness, i just wear the chitin because I like it, I could easaly afford glass armor."
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Name: Daentus Remus, goes by Daentus

Pronounciation: Day-ant-us Reem-us

Age: 238

Sex: Male

Race: Dark Elf

Combat Style: Double Short Blades

 

Noticable Features: Cloak of Morag Tong style but dyed black with slight blue glow from runes on blades, Imperial influenced accent and name

 

Noticable Weapons: Left hand short blade(unique make) "Pride" Right hand short blade(unique make) "Honor"

 

Attitude:Quite, reserved, very enigmatic, slow to anger, slow to make friends, quick to learn

 

The cloaked figure of what seems to be a Dark elf by the reddish tint of the eyes from under the hood wanders in silently enough as to not bring much attention. Scanning over the group he moves to the bar table keeping a somewhat wary eye on what appears to be a forgotten scamp left behind by a spell caster. He speaks to the bar tendeder saying "If you would, could you fetch me a container of flin?" Then laying down a diamond as payment. While turning to watch the scamp's actions curiously, he then rests one hand on Honor.

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Introducing Bomo

Age very very old

Sex male

Race high elf

Weapon Powerfull staffs and spellcasting

 

The door opens to the dark stormy night rewaling a roped figure.

Moments later a lightning strikes the ground, and the roped almost stumble into the room.

Looking straight forward he slowly crosses the floor towards the bar. It seems like he dosent notice that everybody stopped talking, and watchfull eyes follows every movement.

The other wizards in the room feels the strong power erupting from this old man, and the figthers stare whit awe at the forcefield surrounding his entire body.

He places a few septims on the desk, grab the nearest bottel and heads for a quiet dark corner. The bloddy gore on the large bag over his shoulder, send out some very familiar smells, it's filled whit rotten daedric hearts.

He finds a chair in the darkest corner of the room, takes a huge drink of the wine, pull some daedric hearts out of the large bag, finds some empty vials in his pockets, grabs a number of comberry in a small bag, and eventually pull out his alchemy equipment.

Minding his own and slowly whispering strange words, he starts to make restore magicka portions.

Soon everybody have forgotten about this strange traveller, and the voices raises once again...

 

 

 

 

 

 

(sorry for my gramma, but i think i do it better in english, then you would in danish ;) )

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Name-Thomas

Race-Breton

Class-Mage

Weapon-Spell- Thunder- shock damage 100 pts for 100 sec. 20 ft blast.

Appearance- Wears a dark blue robe and always has a look of superiorority on his face.

 

OOC-Note that this is my new Thomas. The old one is gone.

___________________________________________________________________

Thomas entered the bar. He talked to the barkeeper and bought a room. He went to the room and got set up. Then went back to the bar and sat down with a bottle of cydrollic brandy, and the book The Art of Magic War.

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