Shadows of Darkest Soul (An Elder Scrolls RP)

[darkedge42392]

Hey guys. This is where the action will happen. :) Here is the Discussion Thread

 

As soon as either me or SoulofChrysamere approve a character sheet, I will put it here in Spoiler tags with the Username of those who it belongs to above it.

 

After the death of Almalexia and the departure of the Nerevarine from Mournhold, King Hlaalu Helseth decided that it would be prudent for him to retrieve the bodies of the two slain Tribunal and then show them to the public, proving that their "Gods" were nothing more than fakes. To meet this end, Helseth sent a search party to the High Fane in Mournhold to see if the rift made by Barilzar's Mazed Band was still open. To their surprise, it was. But to their dismay, they found the mutilated bodies of four of the Hands of Almalexia. Out of the shadows sprang the fifth, his mind lost to Sheogorath as he brutally attacked the Royal Guards guarding the team, killing them before they could react. A battle raged in the chambers of Almalexia as High Ordinators poured into the room, all trying to stop the rampaging Hand. The search party quickly disappeared into the rift of the Mazed band and disappeared. None of them were ever seen again. At least, not for a while, that is.

 

darkedge42392

 

 

Name: Adrynn Indarys

 

Race: Dunmer

 

Age: 70 (appears in mid thirties)

 

Birthsign: Atronach

 

Class: Spellsword (a mix of both magic and melee)

 

Skills: Blade, Destruction, Alchemy, Alteration, Restoration, Block, Heavy Armor, Blunt.

 

General Appearance: Adrynn is taller than most Dunmer, with a lean, athletic body and dark, ash grey skin. As with all Dunmer, he has dark, piercing crimson eyes that reflect any light back as a dark shade of red. He has long black hair with red highlights, usually kept in a loose ponytail or braided to keep out of his face. He has a hard, chiseled face, with deepset eyes and a scar that runs the length of this cheek and jawline.

 

Clothing/Armour: Adrynn usually wears a simple but nice crimson shirt with designs embroidered into the material and black leather pants and high boots. His armor is a ebony reinforced version of the standard Bonemold armor of House Redoran, with strips of ebony reinforcing different and vital areas, such as the chest and legs. He also bears two rings. One is the ring his wife gave to him on their wedding day, the other that was given to him as a token of thanks from a merchant. Both are enchanted.

 

Weapons: He usually uses a Daedric Katana that he found while adventuring deep in the Ashlands. He has enchanted it with a fire enchantment that burns his foes as he slices them. He also uses an ebony mace given to him by a friend who was an Ordinator before he passed away while fighting on Red Mountain. He is also skilled with this hands and spars everyday with his men.

 

Biography/History: Adrynn is a member of House Redoran with the Rank of House Father. He is a serious and humble man who doesn't take lightly to offense, and has a terrible temper when roused. He usually is quiet, unless he decides to speak, and he always speaks what is on his mind, regardless of how it affects the feelings of those around him. He usually keeps to himself unless asked a direct question or overhears a matter that is close to his heart. He is terrible to behold in a fight, but knows that fighting solves nothing, only words can do that.

 

 

 

SoulofChrysamere

 

CHARACTER NAME: Lecuaro Sulnair Marczon

 

CHARACTER RACE: Breton

 

CHARACTER AGE: 42 (experienced veteran warrior)

 

CHARACTER BIRTHSIGN: The Thief

 

CHARACTER CLASS: Master-at-Arms/Spellsword

 

CHARACTER SKILLS: Blade, Block, Light Armor, Athletics, Destruction, Alchemy, Sneak, and Armorer

 

CHARACTER APPEARANCE: Unlike most Bretons, Lecuaro stands at a towering six feet and two inches. His hair is a deep brown, his skin is a rich peach color, and his eyes are a dark hazel. His body is all lean muscle as the result of two and a half hours of exercising every other day.

 

CHARACTER CLOTHING AND ARMOR: Lecuaro wears a simple set of lower class clothing: a brown shirt and brown pants. He wears two rings: his wedding ring, and a ring enchanted for him as a token of gratitude by a mage he rescued from wild nix-hounds that fortifies his intelligence and speed, improving his decision-making ability and his effectiveness in combat. His armor is composed of high quality glass with strips of ebony for reinforcement of the non-flexible areas and vitals and strips of chitin at the joints so flexibility is as little hampered as possible.

 

CHARACTER WEAPONS: Lecuaro has fought with all manners of weapons during his lifetime and is highly skilled in each, but he favors the Akaviri katana and the Bosmer shortbow. His katana is made of the finest ebony there is and is enchanted so that it electrocutes Lecuaro's foes as it rends their flesh. He also uses a Bosmer shortbow that he found on a dead corpse deep inside a Daedric ruin to which he was sent to clear out. The bow had been infused with Daedric parts and energy, which amplified it's force. He had the bow polished to make the Daedric parts stand out and the rest of the bow painted and stained to make it a pretty walnut color. He uses arrows with steel, silver-plated arrowheads. He also keeps a club made of dreugh material as a backup weapon.

 

CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY AND HISTORY: Lecuaro was born to lower class parents in High Rock in 3E389. When he turned eighteen, he ventured to Cyrodiil in hopes of making it as a freelance adventurer. When that didn't pan out, he decided to enlist in the Imperial Legion. He quickly rose through the lower ranks and easily outclassed all of his contemporaries in weapon training and duels. In 3E418, he was sent to Morrowind and eventually became the commander of a small outpost fort north of Ald-ruhn.

 

CHARACTER PERSONALITY: Despite his great skill with weapons, Lecuaro is a very humble man who never thinks of himself as better than his peers. He is cool, calm, and methodical in his approach to a fight or a problem. His humility can, at times however, make him doubt his abilities. He is caring, and is extremely hard to anger and offend. He is blunt when he speaks and is not afraid to speak the truth. He chastises those for whom he cares when they do something wrong and can even be judgmental at times, but he never wishes ill towards them nor his enemies

 

 

boneless1

 

Name: Tarrik Torgaddon

 

Race: Imperial

 

Age: 45

 

Birthsign: Warrior

 

Class: Torgaddon is a Warrior Priest, a man of holy power. These people are trained in the art of combat to uphold there beliefs and to protect there followers. Using both Holy magika and Dark magika to smite there enemies. They Swore to an Oath of Silence for they will protect and uphold any duty appointed by there masters, only led to believe that they strive for the greater good.

 

Skills: Drain Health, Shield, Restore Health, Summon Skeletal Minion, Heavy armor.

 

General Appearance: This man is of regular height he is "5,8. he has brown hair mixed with white strains. dropping down to his shoulder, he has an earring on his right ear of a crescent moon. His skin is tan and scarred, aging the man from years of combat. He has a large scar running down his left eye that curves to the right as if someone slid a dagger down his face. He is a normal built man, not very muscular, not very boney. He looks as if he can handle himself in a fight. His eyes are an unusual bright blue that would barely glow in the dark as if a crystal in a dark cavern.

 

Clothing/Armour: This man wears the uniform of the royal guard. Though the crimson chest piece is now covered in claw marks from his recent travel. His shoulder guard half melted and charred. He wears no helmet for it was lost for unknown reasons. A unusual spiked chain is wrapped around his chest piece though clearly not crafted locally.

 

Weapons: He wields bastard sword crafted by his now deceased father, a normal two handed sword yes, but this sword has been enchanted by his mother for every stroke that lands on flesh will sear the skin of whomever comes in contact with its' killing edges.

 

Biography/History: Tarrik Torgaddon was once the son of a blacksmith, though events of his father and mother being murdered for there beliefs drove him to madness..begging the divine why have they done such a thing to him..why have they abandoned him.

He was later found lying in the snow near death by monks..this is all still very blurred since his past is still widely unknown.

From what he has told people he was trained to be a protector..a warrior priest. Mastered in the arts of combat, for two decades he was under the watch full eye of his masters. Only to be cast out by them for killing his master of suspected heresy. Ten years after the events of being cast out he traveled from Skyrim to Morrowind. Taking refuge in the city of Vivec. He sought to make a name of himself. Tarrik never told anyone of how he became a royal guard, he only says it was a bloody and gruesome story and yet no one needs to hear the tale. He was chosen out of many by Heleseth, who was intrigued by Tarikks status. Now he serves him, though recent evens now say that he has disappeared. Many believe he has died, others say he went back to Skyrim to kill his former masters.

 

 

XanAlderon

 

Name: Edward Wildeve

 

Race: Human

 

Age: 23

 

Birthsign: The Warrior

 

Class: Warrior

 

Skills: Longsword, Unarmored, Acrobatics, Athletics, Repair, Stealth, Healing (not with magic).

 

General Appearance:

 

 

 

Clothing/Armour: A suit or suit-like clothing, Edward does not wear armor, rather relying on reflexes to stay out of harms reach.

 

Weapons: A single longsword, it has been honed to a fine point. The hilt is covered in white fur and the sword does not have a scabbard, rather Edward carries it around on his shoulder or, should the situation require it, through his belt.

 

Biography/History: Mystery as of now, will be revealed if asked at a later date.

 

 

Zephyr Kronos

 

Name: Kriak

 

Race: Sarosian Hellblade (from another realm, dark hair, blood red eyes, usually 6' 6" to 7' 2" relatively lean as a race)

 

Age: 63, appears to be in his late 30s to early 40s

 

Birthsign: Unknown (exact birthdate is likewise unknown)

 

Class: Woodsman

 

Skills: alchemy, sneak, marksman, blade, athletics, acrobatics, and a mixture of illusion and destruction (almost solely the manipulation of fire and shadows)

 

General Appearance: Tall and lean at about 7' Kriak has blood red eyes and shoulder length black hair with a few speckles of grey mingled about. He is well tanned, scarred and calused especially on his hands from years of using a bow and blade. He looks fairly youthful save for the scarce flecks of gray but his eyes make him seem even older than he is, conveying next to no emotion in them.

 

Clothing/Armour: Kriak wears simple hide pants, moccasins and a jerkin

 

Weapons: An ebony (the wood not the metal) bow, a scratched and knicked serpentine shortsword with knotches at the hilt to catch an opponents blade when they lock and a small dagger that seems altogether to opulent for him with a pearl set as its pomel stone, though beautiful it is not very sharp.

 

Biography/History: Kriak has roamed the forests of Tamriel for several years collecting herbs, fruits and various alchemical ingredients which he uses in potent blends of varying poisons. He is quite nomadic ranging far and wide to hunt the different beasts of the land and is very reserved around most people.

 

Name: Baltis Llervu

 

Race: Dunmer

 

Age: Born 3E 400

 

Birthsign: Apprentice

 

Class: Telvanni Mage: Telvanni Mages are powerful sorcerers that are forces to be reckoned with, years of training and a lust for power make them all the more dangerous.

 

Skills: Major- (in order of proficiency) Destruction, Conjuration (and therefore some necromancy), Alteration, Alchemy, Restoration; Minor- Mysticism, Illusion, Enchant, Unarmored (and I suppose Mercantile but really just general money sense, I ran out of ideas when I made the character in Morrowind and mercantile had the most applications)

 

General Appearance: Llervu has the typical crimson eyes distinctive of the Dunmer people. He also bears the proud, high cheek bones and defined jawline common to most elves. He usually has no facial hair or has a black circle beard to match his jet black hair, which is kept relatively neat and down to about his chin.

 

Clothing/Armour: Baltis wears general finery covered by a deep crimson robe trimmed in dark colors. He wears no armors but wears the legendary Mentor's Ring, a trinket that he found when gathering ingredients for some of his necromancy experiments. He had to fight tooth and nail for it but the prize was well worth it. He was long sought the Necromancer's Amulet but it has so far eluded him. He also will use bound armor in a (very bad) pinch but that is incredibly rare.

 

Weapons: Occasionally a bound weapon in the absolute worst of circumstances where his magic fails him.

 

Biography/History: Baltis was born in Port Telvannis on the mainland of Morrowind in 3E 400 to Telvanni commoners. When Vvardenfell was opened to expansion in 3E 414, they were among the first people to travel with Mistress Therana and live in Tel Branora. Shortly after this an alchemist in Sadrith Mora paid Baltis's parents, the Redayins, for their son. Salms Andares took Baltis under his wing as his apprentice. Salms was an old man looking for an heir and legacy, all of his children having died due to horrible circumstances. Baltis realized a natural tendency towards alchemy, and later magic thanks to his friend Vandalas, a local sorcerer. In 3E 417, Salms died, Baltis wanted to continue the shop and learn more from Vandalas but the local mage lord had other plans. Neloth ordered the shop sold to another alchemist and Baltis to become his apprentice. Vandalas gave Baltis several books by a famed Telvanni Wizard, Olmes Llervu, for his studies. Several years past and Baltis took the name Llervu for his own. Eventually Neloth made Baltis his mouth in 3E 420. Baltis had little patience for the politics of the house or the stupidity of Gethren and killed Gethren's mouth in 421. Neloth promoted Baltis and then promptly banished him from Tel Naga. Baltis managed to secure a contract to build Tel Olmes on an island Southeast of Vvardenfell. There he spent a few years studying his magics. [exclude following from public post] Baltis realized that he could not possibly learn everything he wanted to in one lifetime, so he resolved to extend his lifetime forever. He conducted much research and acquired the materials for a phylactery. He had hired on several craftsmen and warriors over the years, including a skilled smith. His smith forged his phylactery, knowing full well the intent. Baltis made no attempt to hide his plans from his men, he was not much one for slaves, feeling that hirelings bound by loyalty and investment in their Lord's interests were the best option. He kept an open dialogue between his various servants, spellswords, nightblades and battlemages, most of whom were Argonian, atypical for a Telvanni. After much work and some coercing of booksellers and Master Aryon, Baltis acquired everything he needed and then completed his ritual of Ascension, becoming a lich in 428. This was incredibly fast for a mage but given Llervu's dedication, enthusiasm and ambition, unsurprising. [include this below, my bad] Llervu is currently in search of a means to teleport to the Daedric plane of Oblivion, much like Divayth Fyr has. His searches have taken him to Molag Mar with intentions to journey to the Shrine of Azura.

 

 

 

Sarogath

 

Name: Dar'ji'ra (derived from the Khajiit' language Ta'agra) [Gender: it's supposed to be a female character though it is hard to distinguish]

 

Race: Khajiit - Subrace Cathay-Raht -> appearance as a "jaguar men" or "panther" (the race is lore-friendly but i think i'd understand if you say subraces are off-limits or too "UBER")

 

Age: around 25 (Khajiit count rather in moonphases than in years)

 

Birthsign: The Thief

 

Class: Jo'Dar (derived from Ta'agra)

[Description "Jo'Dar": THe Khajiiti term "Jo'Dar" could be interpreted as "Wizard of Thieves" or "Thief among Wizards". Whether that implies the theft of "valuable goods" from people of magic power or it describes a mage that uses his powers to steal is not clear. In this particular case it describes the de facto royal agents The Mane sends out to spy on the outer regions of Elsweyr. Often times it is reported that those Khajiit claiming to be "Jo'Dar" were of significantly dark or straight black fur and an outright unsettling appearence because of their bright yellow gaze. This observation plus the scarcity and similarity of reports lead to the assumption that "Jo'Dar" is rather a title than a name which is transferred to only a certain breed of Khajiit, namely the Cathay-Raht.]

 

Skills: Sneak, Security, Speechcraft, Melee(Hand-to-Hand), Blade, Light Armor, Acrobatics, Athletics (those are eight like it was outlined in darkedge's announcement if it's too many or an unsuitable setup i'm open for suggestions)

 

General Appearance: Dar'ji'ra belongs to the breed of the Cathay-Raht throughout Tamriel these Khajiit are also known as "jaguar men". In her case she happens to be of black fur resembling rather a panther which is considered special amongst the Cathay-Raht. Being a female Cathay-Raht-Khajiit Dar'ji'ra is slightly smaller than her male counterparts but still she is taller in stature than most other races in Tamriel, with a towering 6"7'. Her immense size also makes it hard to tell whether she is a female or male. The rather muscular shape of her whole body can hardly be seen because her black-blue-ish shimmering fur covers most of it and it seems quite a bit more dense than the fur of the ordinary Suthay-Raht-Khajiiti and Dar'ji'ra is quite a bit vein about her outer appearance.Contrasting the dark fur there are shiny, white and razorsharp teeth though one of her fangs is slightly chipped from "misuse".The probably most defining attribute, apart from the obvious color of fur-coating, are the blindingly bright yellow eyes all Khajiit inherit and which seem especially unsettling on the Cathay-Raht.

 

Clothing/Armor: Dar'ji'ra wears a light leather armor of Khajiiti make granting a maximum of mobility. It is artfully wrapped around her body and the viewer gains the impression the wearer would really have to "slip" into the armor since it seems to be made out of one piece. Thin metal-plates that look stained beyond any reason cover the outer parts of the body like thighs, forearms and shoulders. There's another protective string of metal-plating along her spine. After a close examination the viewer could get the impression as if all metal-parts were directly molded or forged onto the wearer. A cruel but intruiging thought. Like many other Khajiit Dar'ji'ra doesn't wear any kind of boots or shoes nor did she ever feel the need to put on a helmet.She carries a necklace consisting of small totems and tribal items displaying her social heritage.

 

Weapons: Like all Khajiit Dar'ji'ra strongly relies on her paws and teeth when encountered in combat. Her tail may it look soft and touchy can be quite effective as a "third arm" in case the need arises. Being a "Jo'Dar" and having therefore received extensive training with bladed weapons two ebony daggers are tucked in the back of her armor. They might not seem much but the sheer hardy steel of the ebony daggers teamed with the greater strength of the Cathay-Raht make them the first choice for opponents wearing chain-mail armor. The precious metal also accomodates for those entities that are "not-as-easy-to-scratch".

 

Biography/History: The inner provinces of Elsweyr are shrouded into darkness and mystery. Not many have seen its' vast grasslands and deserts. Either surrendering in front of the unsuspected challenge of crossing huge dry flats without sufficent provisions or being chased of by the warring Khajiit tribes of the north. Even fewer have traveled as far south as Torval the "kind of" capitol of Elsweyr...

 

That is the place where Dar'ji'ra was born as the tribe-chief's daughter. Being born under the waxing Masser and Secunda moon her fate as a Cathay-Raht was predestined she had to leave her tribe and join with The Mane's entourage. And even more every Cathay-Raht of black appearance is not only added to The Mane's personal guard which meant a life away from her family but trained and educated similar to the Argonian' "Shadowscales" of Blackmarsh. That being said it has to be pointed out that the Khajiiti way of training is far less strict than that of the Argonian's leaving many (or almost all) "Jo'Dar" incredibly messy persons (though Khajiit argue that it is "in their nature" to be of ill conduct when it comes to tidiness). Still, like all bi-pedal Khajiit, she is a sort of "sweet-talker" relying on her subversive persuasion as well as her sweeping appearance.

 

 

AurianaValoria1

 

Name: Velanya Therys

 

Race: Dunmer

 

Age: 65 (appears to be roughly 30 years old)

 

Birthsign: Lady

 

Class: Crusader

 

Skills: Blade, Hand-to-Hand, Destruction, Restoration, Heavy Armor, Block, Athletics

 

General Appearance: Velanya has burgundy eyes, nearly purple, and mahogany hair to match. Her skin is an even, pale gray. She is fairly short for a Dunmer, only around 5'3''. She has a petite frame, and an angular, yet pretty face. Over her right eye is a tattoo of the Imperial Dragon, with the upper wingtips just below her hairline and the tail resting immediately below her high cheekbones. Her hair is waist-length, but she usually wears it in a twist or a tight bun at the back of her head.

 

Clothing/Armour: Velanya's armor is her Legion uniform - plain Imperial steel that she keeps polished to a brilliant shine. She never equips a helm or a shield. When out of uniform, she usually wears a pair of black leather breeches and black doeskin knee boots, with a loose white blouse and a black vest.

 

Weapons: Velanya's favored weapon is an ebony longsword named "Frostfang." The weapon deals cold damage on strike, usually resulting in moderate frostbite wherever it hits.

 

Biography/History: Velanya Therys is a Dunmer Crusader from Cyrodiil. Her parents were of minor Redoran nobility, and moved from Blacklight to Cheydinhal early in their marriage. They moved again to Skingrad, and it was there that Velanya was born. She joined the Imperial Legion at age 25, and has been stationed in both Elsweyr and Black Marsh. She was relocated to Vvardenfell when she was 32, at the rank of Champion. There, she was stationed first at Hawkmoth Garrison in Ebonheart, then Fort Pelagiad, and finally Fort Buckmoth. Upon reaching the rank of Knight Errant, she was released from permanent duties at the garrison. She still answers to her commander, Imsin the Dreamer, but she has the freedom to roam all of Vvardenfell unless orders are passed down from the Knight of the Imperial Dragon. Velanya enjoys her current rank; she does not care for a promotion and the politics that come with it. She is a loyal servant of both the Empire and the Nine Divines. Although she recognizes Hlaalu Helseth as the King of Morrowind, she does not consider him her liege. Her only loyalty is to Emperor Uriel Septim VII, and no other.

 

 

Nethgros

 

Name: Dar'krinji

 

Race: Khajiit

 

Age: 25

 

Birthsign: Thief

 

Class: Thief/Assassin

 

Skills: Sneak, Blade, Hand-to-hand, security, acrobatics, athletics, marksman.

 

General Appearance: Dar (as he is known to his fellow thieves)

is a very average, and unassuming looking Khajiit, by anyones standards. He is of average height, with a sleek, muscular build. He has a lush coat of deep orange/tan fur covering him from head to toe. Dar has two earrings, one in each ear. The left earring is made of the madness or, of the Shivering Isles, given to him by Sheogorath. The ring is golden, with black details of eyes teeth and various other things (if you have ever seen madness crafted weapons of Shivering Isles expansion). The right earring is made of the purest silver, given to him by Mara. Dar's clothing is made of sack cloth, being baggy pants, and a loosely fit shirt. In his sack cloth pants, Dar has added many pockets and such to store his various items, and is seen on many occasions pulling pounds of loot from them.

 

Biography/History: Abandoned as a child, Dar'krinji aptly named himself as a sneaky little outcast. He folloed in the generally accepted view of orphans by becoming a pickpocket and joining the thieves guild. For years, Dar spent his days rummaging around in peoples goods, taking what he was due. All this, of course, had to come to an end, and did. Unexpectedly, this end was not at the hands of the law, but in the cold, heartless embrace of skooma. Left behind by his fellow thieves, all Dar had was the skooma, and that quickly left him too. As he took the last of his skooma, he came up with a brilliant (to him) idea. Dar went to the nearest shrine of Sheogorath, and begged for some way to have his beloved skooma forever. A jovial voice intruded upon his thoughts and said, "Ay there little kitty, you want skooma, eh? You look like a decent fellow, why would you want somthing like this? Stuff like this could cost you... an arm or a leg!.. or somthing like that..." Dar only replied that he needed this, so Sheogorath did the most literal thing he could think of, and took his left arm, and right leg. A small pouch appeared next to Dar, but he hardly noticed as he screamed in pain, and squirmed in agony, blood pouring from his stumps. He cried for help, and the loving mother obliged. "I will help you, but only if you return the favor when required." Dar agreed, and his limbs reappeared, and a small token of Mara left behind, a brilliant silver earring. All this of cours happened in a span of three minutes or so, and everyone at the shrine of Sheogorath were dumbfounded at what had just occured. Dar stood up, looked around, smiled wryly, then took his items and ran. After running quite some distance, he stopped for a nice break to try out his new skooma pouch. Dar pulled out the pouch and emptyed the contents into his pipe, then opened it again to find it replenished. Overjoyed, he smoked in peace... until The Lord of Madness discovered what had happened. Breaking into Dar's peace, he said, "WHATS THIS?! You are sitting here enjoying MY SKOOMA, whent you should be over there bleeding like a skewered PIGGLET! How?!" Dar replayed the memory of what had just happened in his mind, and all he heard was a large sigh. Sheogorath said, "So I give you free skooma forever, and you get a nice earring from her? Want another kitty? Lets make a deal, you let me give you another b-e-a-utiful earring -and pierce your little kitty ears, and I won't tear out your kitty gizzards. Deal?" Seeing no choice, Dar agreed, and was immediately transported to a pitch black room. One single light turned on, and Dar found himself strapped in a chair, immobilized. A mysterious figure slowly walked over to him, brandishing nothing but a spoon. He said, "This might just be one of the most enjoyable things I'm going to do today!" And with that, he spent three grueling days piercing Dar's ears, with a spoon. Dar blacked out several times from this excruciating torture, the final time he woke up to find himself back in his ramshackle hut in Elsweyr, with both his daedric earrings on. He just smoked some skooma, and then left, searching for somthing interesting to do.

 

 

 

 

 

mythicdawnmaster

 

 

Name: Iodiria (Saint Iodiria the Mournful)

 

Race: Dunmer (takes on the appearance of the ancient "Chimer", having had her skin transformed by magicks and dyes alike)

 

Age: 250 (Appears to be in her 30's)

 

Class: Tribune. a member of the divine tribunal, of vivec almalexia and Sotha sil. She gained a place from lord Vivec, to replace Almalexia after her Death.

 

Appearance: Iodiria possesses long, thin limbs, and stands higher than most dunmer at 6ft2, her skin is a pale gold, embelished with tattoos that cover almost her entire body, in a much richer, metalic gold, etched into her skin. Her hair is a mix of differing shades of red, the occasional strands of gold litter her head also. Her eyes glow a distinct Orange-Gold, flecked with the occasional hint of red around her iris.

 

Clothing: Iodiria wears a set of white armour, fine cloth that conceals the sides of her stomach, and her lower body, down to her hips, with a large loincloth of white and gold fabric reaches almost floor level. Her arms are covered up to just above her elbows in golden chainmail, her wrists and fore-arms shackled in ornate plated gold bracers. Her shoulders are addorned by a pair of long pouldrons, not unlike the ordinators roaming the streets of mournhold, but in clean white and gold. Her neck also is covered by chainmail, a choker of gold atop it. When in battle, she dons a crowned helmet.

 

History: Born into a Wealthy Indoril family, Iodiria was forced joined the temple from a very early age, advancing steadily in her roles as both an Ordinator, and a Temple cleric, in the holy city of Necrom. After quite a few decades, nearing a century, she had been found worthy of mastering the clergy, and leading the Mournful Ordinators into battle, protecting Necrom both physically, and spiritually. She was Sainted by Lord Vivec, after she continued to spread the teachings and light of the Tribunal, and serving the city Necrom in countless battles, becoming known as "Saint Iodiria the Mournful Soul". having become proficient in Divine magic, and use of the shortsword, she led many military campaigns in the name of the Tribunal, even away from Necrom, occasionally stepping in on behalf of Berel Sala. Upon Almalexia's death, she was requested by the people to be placed in the Tribunal as the replacement for Almalexia, simply because they desperately needed a mother figure in there pantheon, someone compassionate and wise. Vivec made it so, but as the Tribunal were now mortals. She fit in as a protector and mother to the Dunmer, relinquishing her duties in Necrom until things settled down, and taking up residence in the High Chapel of Mournhold, providing ample resistance to the Imperial influence of Helseth and his court, spurred on by the death of the goddess Almalexia, her now golden visage awaiting whatever may happen.

 

 

Macman253

 

Name: Vykk Drago

 

Race: Imperial

 

Age: 25

 

Birthsign: The Thief

 

Class: Rogue

 

Skills: One handed, Light Armor, Acrobatics, Archery, Sneak, Pickpocket and Unarmed.

 

General Appearance: Tall, physically attractive. Has bright green eyes and dark brown hair with a scar running over his left eye from a duel he participated in.

 

Clothing/Armour: A leather jacket, pants and boots. A red bandana tied around his right bicep.

 

Weapons: Carries a pair of daggers up his sleeves and a crossbow with some steel tipped bolts.

 

Biography/History: Raised in Balmorra's streets he learned the trade of a thief quickly, never knowing his real parents he grew up in the Thieves Guild, taken under the wing of a famous thief named Lucius he learned quite a lot. When he came to age he used his skills to benefit the Thieves Guild, when a member of the Morag Tong killed Lucius Vykk left to hunt down the assassin. He confronted the assassin at his villa he slipped inside and killed him. He learned that House Hlaalu was behind the assassination. It was then he set his personal mission to strike at House Hlaalu's interests and with that he became an outlaw and he took over the villa. He used the assassins personal guards as his own, offering them fair pay and treatment. Using the skills of these guards he took over the local bandit gangs to form The Red Hand, with The Red Hand under his control he turned his sights on House Hlaalu.

 

 

NinjaGoddessAyra

 

Name: Ayra

 

Race: Dunmer

 

Age: 60ish (appears around young 20s)

 

Birthsign: The Lover

 

Class: Assassin

 

Skills: Anything that involves stealth, destruction (mainly just strong drain spells to put target to sleep) and blades

 

General Appearance: Ayra has a rather strikng appearance. She has the ash grey skin typical of the average Dunmer with an athleticly toned body. However, unlike the typical Dunmer, she is very unique in that she has very piercing eyes of sapphire blue. Ayra is a very beautiful Dunmer, with long sleek black hair that (for the most part) she wears as a pony tail that goes down to her shoulder blades. She has very fair skin, except for the scars on her back and along her sides, which thankfully aren't really visible under clothing/armor. However, the thing that is most peculiar about her striking appearance would be her facial tattoos. Ayra's facial tattoos consist of the daedric letter "S" that starts at the bottom of her right eye and curves down her cheek. On the other side of her face, she has more daedric letters tattooed down her left cheek, but what the letters spell out isn't clear to anyone ignorant of daedric writing.

 

Clothing/Armour: Ayra can be seen wearing a variety of clothing from expensive to extravagent, but for the most part sticks with a very elaborate teal colored robe, common among mages. When in the field and wearing armor, she'll stick with light armor always, with a particular preference to Dark Brotherhood garb/armor. She also wears an exquisite amulet around her neck, given to her by one of the few people she could ever call a friend.

 

Weapons: Ayra usually sticks with Glass jinx blades and daggers, preferring up close and personal work. She also carries around a Daedric wakizashi, knowing full well that sometimes things don't always go as planned.

 

Biography/History: Ayra has always been shunned as a child, because of her strange appearance. As a child, parents of all races would not let their children go near Ayra because of her strange blue eyes and unique facial tattoos. She endured a harsh childhood and was labeled as "the demon child" by prejudiced people who persecuted her because she was different. Later on, Ayra was recruited by an agent working for the Dark Brotherhood after finding her as little more than a child, with a sword dripped in blood and a couple of corpses strewn about the inside of what was once a house, now burnt down. When he saw that she had no tears in her eyes, he decided to take her with him. From that day forth, Ayra hardly ever spoke much after that, becoming more of a machine and doing as she was told without question. Over the years she rose through the ranks of the Brotherhood, and with a combination of her skill, silent nature, and piercing blue eyes, earned the title of "Angel of Death." After a few decades, she mysteriously left the Brotherhood, and no one has heard of her since.

 

 

SikSikSikki

 

Name: Arrenius Midoronia

 

Race: Imperial

 

Age: 21

 

Birthsign: The Shadow

 

Class: Agent - Agents are operatives skilled in deception and avoidance, but trained in self-defense and the use of deadly force. Self-reliant and independent, agents devote themselves to personal goals, or to various patrons or causes.

 

Skills: Speechcraft, Mercantile, Sneak, Acrobatics, Block, Light Armor, Long Sword, Unarmored (Unarmored added because, while being from the Magic skill set, would apply to him as he learned early that you'll never know what position you'd be in when caught unaware)

 

General Appearance: Arrenius is of average height, being around 5'10" and somewhere around 185lbs. He is slender, but not spindley with what seems to be an athletic build, if seen. Neck long reddish-brown hair tops his head, and is streaked through with brunette (much like the embers of a wood fire after the flames have died down.) His face is rather un-remarkable save for his strong cheek-bones and a large burn scar that covers the right side of his otherwise handsome face. Deep green eyes peer out beneath his auburn brow, and a beard to match his hair is kept thin and rims his angular (but not square) jawline.

 

Clothing/Armour: He wears a crimson tunic with a gold tinged trim, and no chest armor. He does, however wear pauldrons, gauntles, greaves, and boots that seem to be of the golden hued Altmeri moonstone, but not design. The pauldrons resemble that of your average imperial soldier (except for the material, of course) while the rest seems to be closer related to Orcish design.

 

Weapons: Arrenius is a man of words, his favored weapon and one he uses well.. But that does not keep him from carrying around his trusted sword, Drakenguard, a family heirloom named for it's supposed role in dragon slaying of the past. (of course, should experts study the sword itself they would find that it is much, much newer and has never really seen battle against the dragons, but no one in the family would ever let that information slip.)

 

The sword, much like his armor, is made of moonstone so as to match, and the design is based on the blades used by the Akaviri Invaders of the 2nd Era. (Some, from jealous or hateful houses say the family forged it so that they could brag about being in possession of the infamous "Goldbrand" of legend, though this rumor, while likely, is not true.)

 

Biography/History: Quick wit, and a quicker tongue, Arrenius is a fine example of Imperial Aristocracy. However, though he did quite enjoy the life of luxury bestowed upon him by his noble family in Cyrodiil, he knew it wasn't his calling. Not long after an accident in a local tavern which left his face burned and scarred, he decided it was best for him to see the world as life could disappear in the blink of an eye. The Midoronia were not pleased, and were quick to send him off when word spread of their adventurous, trouble making son, but at the very least they sent him well equiped- in case he DID manage to bring the family honor as an adventurer. And now, after a year of travelling, Arrenius has found himself in the Molag Mar region of Vvardenfell, seduced by the tales of hazordous landscapes and daedric ruins that dot the island.

 

 

 

razorpony

 

Name: Shaie Ta'Rah - pronounced as "shy"

 

Race: Po Tun of Akavir.

 

Age: 25

 

Birth sign: Thief

 

Class:

 

Huntress. The Huntresses of Akavir are renowned for their skills in stealth and tracking. A close Tamrielic aproximation would be Rogue or Scout.

 

Skills: Blade, Light Armor, Acrobatics, Sneak, Marksman, Alchemy, Illusion, Armorer

 

Appearance:

 

Petite yet powerfully built. Shaie is roughly 5 feet tall and 120 lbs with piercing green eyes. Po Tun have a more humanoid facial structure than the more commonly encountered Khajiit. Her feet retain a more tigerlike appearance with broad pads and claws. Being from the north, she is a "snow-tiger" of white, grey and black stripes. Her hair is usually worn in braided cornrows that hang down just past her shoulders. Despite the physical differences she is often able to pass for Khajiit among the less informed locals with the aid of clothing and illusory magicks.

 

Clothing:

 

Burgundy off the shoulder blouse beneath a black leather vest and dark trousers. Her vest has clasps of ebony to reduce reflections in low light. Instead of a helm she wears a durzog tooth headband. She does not wear rings on her hands preferring instead to pierce her ears with multiple rings, two of which are enchanted with fortify acrobatics and speed. She rarely wears boots of any type as few clothiers in Vvardenfell make footwear for her anatomy. A dark cloak often finishes off her wardrobe depending on the weather.

 

Armor: Black chitin cuirass, greaves, and bracers made from the carapice of shalk beetles. Worn over normal clothing.

 

Weapons:

 

Her signature weapon is a silver gilded katana of her own design that she named the Ivory Talon. It features a tiger head pommel carved from the tusk of a bull Horker she killed in Solstheim years ago on her first hunting expidition. She is also known to carry a compliment of glass throwing knives with which she is deadly accurate at close to medium ranges. A gifted alchemist, she is proficient in the use of poisons to incapacitate her enemies. Claws on hands and feet are weapons of last resort.

 

Biography:

 

Life in Akavir:

Shaie grew up in the frigid northern mountains of Po Tun bordering Kamal to the North. For centuries her people have guarded the northern

passes against invasion by the snow demons. They are hardy guerilla style fighters, blending into their surroundings and launching sneak attacks against their foes. As children, the tiger people are tested constantly to evaluate their skills and abilities. As teens these skill sets are honed in rigorous training exercises placing them in various classes: Spellweaver, Mystic, Warmaiden, and Huntress for females- Males are generally used as shock troops and footsoldiers due to their larger size and berzerker tendencies. Upon reaching adulthood, the Po Tun are expected to complete a journey that is part pilgrimage and part safari to demonstrate their skills and ability to survive in alien environments.

 

Personal History:

Shaie is young, brash, and hot headed. After completing her training and entering the service of the Po Tun imperial guard she went out

for what was supposed to be a night of celebration. Events turned bloody when a brawl erupted at the pub where Shaie and her friends were enjoying drinks. Accounts of the fray are varied but when the dust settled Shaie was left standing amid the broken bodies of 3 other patrons, sword drawn and bloody. Although she claims not to remember any of the events of that night, evidence against her based on eyewitness testimony was enough to have her stripped of her rank and banished from Po Tun. Her last know whereabouts were somewhere on the isle of Vvardenfell in the province of Morrowind.

 

 

Hopefully I can get more character sheets in here for you to read. :)

[darkedge42392]

Adrynn Indarys, Ald-Ruhn, Redoran Council Chambers

 

Adrynn awoke, sitting up sharply, his dark ash gray skin covered in a fine bead of sweat. He threw the thick crimson covers off of him and swung his legs off the bed and held his head in his long fingered hands. The dream was still fresh in his mind, teasing him with things of darkness and nightmares. He took a few deep breaths and tried to clear the images from his mind.

 

"It's only a dream, Adrynn, it's only a dream. It doesn't mean anything," he told himself, still reliving the horrors of it. Shaking the memory of the dream from his head, he stood up and stretched, hearing his joints pop.

 

With that done, he reached into the nearby closet and pulled out his change of clothes and got dressed quickly, his nimble fingers fastening the buttons to his shirt with quick ease. After he pulled on his black leather boots, he grabbed the small stack of parchment and a small journal that lay on the desk beside the bed and made his way out of the spare room of the Council Hostel and into the Redoran Council Hall itself, seeing the Counselors of House Redoran around the table to his right, all in deep discussion. He made his way over to them and watched one in a deep red robe detach from the others and make his way to where Adrynn stood.

 

"Ah, Adrynn. Excellent, you're awake," Archmaster Athyn Sarethi said, a smile gracing his weathered face as he embraced Adrynn. "I trust all of your needs were met?" Athyn said with a twinkle in his eye.

 

"Yes, Archmaster, they were. Thank you," Adrynn said, a smile coming to his lips as well. Athyn Sarethi had been Archmaster of House Redoran for two years now, ever since the Nerevarine had come to Vvardenfell and claimed his right as Hortator of House Redoran. In the struggle to fulfill the Prophecies, the Nerevarine had to defeat the former Archmaster, Bolvyn Venim in a duel in the Arena in Vivec. Needless to say, Venim didn't win. Since the Nerevarine had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared, Athyn Sarethi was chosen to lead House Redoran.

 

"Well, now, Adrynn. What brings you to Ald-Ruhn from Bal Isra?" Athyn asked, wrapping an arm around Adrynn's shoulders and leading him off away from the other Counselors.

 

"This," Adrynn said, handing Athyn the stack of paperwork. "I've been getting reports of bandits along the road from Ald-Ruhn to Maar Gan and have come to fill out a request for more patrols along that route. I'll even offer some of my men if I need to."

 

Athyn looked over the reports, his weathered face falling into a scowl. "I've always wondered why bandits even bothered with trying to attack poor pilgrims travelling along that route."

 

"It's because they are headed to Maar Gan to the Shrine to pay their respect to the Tribunal. And usually they have a lot of gold, or can be ransomed for gold."

 

"Hmm, yes. Good point, Adrynn," Athyn said, his eyes scanning the reports some more. "I'll make sure to get this request through."

 

"Thank you, Archmaster," Adrynn said, a smile gracing his lips again.

 

"Oh, it's no trouble. You know that," Athyn said, patting Adrynn on the shoulder. "Have you heard any news from the mainland?"

 

Adrynn stopped. "I have not. Why, what happened?"

 

"Well, besides the rising of House Dres and the slow decline of House Indoril? There are rumors that Helseth is plotting against the other Houses."

 

"This is nothing new, Archmaster. King Hllaalu Helseth has always been greedy for more power."

 

"Indeed, but this is different. Something is afoot. Something that doesn't bode well for any of the Houses."

 

"What do you want me to do about it?" Adrynn asked, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared into the eyes of the man he owed everything to.

 

"Well, nothing right now. But, there is a task I have for you."

 

"What would that be, Archmaster?"

 

"We have received a request for you to come meet an Imperial Legion Commander who is stationed north of Ald-Ruhn. One Lecuaro Marczon, I believe. It seems he wishes to meet you about some important matter he's dealing with."

 

"When do I leave?" Adrynn asked, interested.

 

"Today. Prepare your things. You have a long walk ahead of you."

 

Adrynn saluted. "Yes, Archmaster."

 

 

OOC: Well, I think this has been a fairly good way to start the RP. SoulofChrysamere, I hope you can post soon. And guys, you can post what your characters are doing. I'll try to move the story along when we get everyone introduced.

[boneless1]

Tarrik Torgaddon/Clockwork City Hall of Theuda

 

His boots echo across the great hall of Theuda, his fingers twitching to his ever so torturing memories. A frown covers his face as he looks down the hall. His bastard sword drawn as he see's tally's his kills. Torgaddon paces the halls, his eyes scanning every corner. He sighs shifting his head to look behind him. He heard whispers of his name, every whisper a different voice. His head began to ache endlessly, the pain as if he would explode like a volcano about to erupt. He drops his sword, falling to his knee's slamming his armored hands to his ears. "What have I done...what have I done." He grasps the throned chain around his chest squeezing it with all his might. The memories of his comrades haunt his thoughts..he could still feel the hellish fire that graced his very skin.

 

Torggadon..grinned, the sounds were gone..his thoughts were his once again. Everything became quiet, he could not hear the voices call his name, nor could he hear the faint screams of his comrades. As he reclaimed his sword, he stood, pacing back and forth through the halls. His pace never slowed down, or sped up. In his mind he knew he was supposed to be here.

To wait, he does know how he come to be here. He only knew that he must stay until fate told him to move elsewhere.

 

As hours passed Torgaddon began to drag his sword beneath him. His pace never slowed down, but his breaths became deeper. Ash still filled his lungs, the scars of battle still left upon his body. He played the occasional I spy to pass the time in the hall, but never the less he still suffered. Another hour pass's, his legs begin to ache he resorts to dragging his feet beneath him. Until he spotted a fine little corner to his left just in front of the door that led to the central gear works. He slammed his self down on the corner, his head leaned back and his vision fading. The only thought that ran through his head. I'm sorry.

Edited March 19, 2011 by boneless1

[XanAlderon]

Edward Wildeve, Outside Ald-Ruhn

 

Edward moved slowly, he was tired, having walked a long way since his coming to Morrowind. He wrapped his cloak around himself tighter, the incessant onslaught of the sand-storm had been whipping him since daybreak. He looked to the horizon, moving a hand to try and protect his eyes. He could faintly see a tower and trudged towards it. It was Ald-ruhn but the streets were deserted, save for helmeted guards and those brave enough to rush through the streets, a result of the sand-storm.

 

He went into the first building he found, a mages guild and, breathing a deep breath of clean air Edward moved to a seat and sat down, laying his sword next to him.

[Sarogath]

Central Elsweyr, North-East of the City Corinthe, Corinthe Marshlands/Savannah

 

It's not been long since Dar'ji'ra finalized her training and was sent out to the borderregions of Elsweyr. Her task was clearly lined out: "You are to travel to Rimmen once arrived there, make your way to the 'Cyrodiil Region' unnoticed and establish contact with one of our many cousins. He or she will be cooperative in making you accustomed to the local habits. Every full moon of Masser and new moon of Secunda a messenger will pick up your report & observations and/or deliver new orders."

 

"... deliver new orders." Dar'ji'ra thought.

 

That'd be something new. In all the years of training she had never heard of a "Jo'Dar" that ever received new orders or returned to Elsweyr for that matter. "They all gave up their life for the great clan mother and the well-being of all Khajiit & The Mane", at least that's what they say. Dar'ji'ra wasn't sure at all.

Anything she heard about the area outside of Elsweyr only bewildered her. Mages, Orcs & Argonians are not the nicest bunch. The dense jungle around Torval and Tenmar Forrest had been her home and proving grounds since she was taken from her clan.

She wasn't afraid but rather curious about Cyrodiil.

 

"Don't worry!", they used to tell her. "If you make it here any other place will be like Skooma in a pipe..." and Skooma in a pipe she did and knew all too well.

She'd give quite something for some nice Skooma right now. Hmm, sweet bliss. The amount of moonsugar she had with her would suffice to serve as payment in the first few days and other than that it might open a few closed doors.

Dar'ji'ra didn't worry.

 

It's not like I will stop being a Khajiit, she thought.

 

If there's a thing she liked she'd surely take it that's why she was sent to Cyrodiil in the first place.

She remembered The Mane shortly before she was sent off: "The Jo'Dar are the Kings among thieves. They will take your eyesight and you'll be too blind to see it. They will pull the words of a mage's tongue when he is muttering his magic. And they will put an end to all those whose ears are sweet from sugar..."

 

Back then it sounded very promising the adventure, the people but The Mane had managed to not tell her that after she had finished her training she would have to walk to Cyrodiil, for 'secrecy reasons'.

 

"Gzalzi vaberzarita maaszi" an inner voice echoed in her head, calming herself aswell as pushing away any thought that distracted her from the inhospitable environment.

 

"Muddy, misty, marsh-woods!" she yelled out, as she stepped into a quite deep puddle of water. A nice fare-well gift of the Corinthe marshlands so it seemed. As Dar'ji'ra looked up from her soaking wet leg the large hot dry-flats of the North opened up in front of her.

Rimmen was still a long way ...

 

North-Eastern Border of Elsweyr, Outskirts of the City Rimmen, Dusk

 

After two days and nights of neverending dry-flats & sandstorms Dar'ji'ra set eye upon the silhouette of Rimmen's Tonenaka. It stood out as a quite much darker tower-shaped building contrasting the bright dome-shaped lot of the buildings that made up the rest of the city. It is believed the Akaviri once set the foundingstone for this now prospering community.

 

As she neared Rimmen Dar'ji'ra had come along many plantations. They all looked like those which she knew from the outskirts of Torval.

Dar'ji'ra knew all too well what kind of crop they grew. Sugar. She wasn't antipathetic towards Skooma but the ill-effects it could have on non-Khajiiti had made her think twice and she now continued her own Skooma-habit only on an 'irregular' basis.

On the other hand the trade with moonsugar yielded a quite profitable sum of septims which could clearly be seen on a city like Senchal to the south or Rimmen which lay before her.

 

The bright white buildings were set alight by the fading daylight and were therefore paint-dipped in a pink-ish purple. Dar'ji'ra liked the scenery and decided to finally rest and stay for at least until the next moon arose.

 

Even though she was quite still a way from the inner-city the outskirts' dwellings were all built of bleached-white freestones with some structures in a multistorey layout. She stopped at the next tavern that didn't have "rawlith khaj" in its' name. I've seen more sand, dust and dry ground than I would have cared to in my whole existence. Remembering her way through the northern deserts of Elsweyr, she would not stand for anything she'll do if there was a smirkly grinning Suthay-Raht asking whether her trip was 'hot and gleeful'... It was, is and will be, she thought.

 

In fact, she travelled for so long not minding her outer appearance, she didn't notice that through all the sandstorms and floating dust her fur had picked up a sand-colored tan only broken by a few fairly visible lines that resembled her original dark pelt.

 

Looking up and down her dust-covered-self she shivered in disgust. *Roar* "Filth! Icky!" she mumbled as the tavern's door opened with a screeching sound.

As outside, the air was thick, heavy and hard to breath. The stench of Skooma and evaporations was so immersive Dar'ji'ra thought she could see the smell. A few customers were scattered around the room sitting on large piles of pillows using small stools for tables.

Nobody seemed to take notice of Dar'ji'ra's arrival. Nobody, except for the bartender, a small but ruggedly handsome Bosmer...

 

"Va khajjiti! Va renrijit budi rab!" he friendly greeted Dar'ji'ra in a very seasoned Ta'agra.

 

"Va bosmeri!" Dar'ji'ra replied, a bit surprised of the Bosmer's in-depth knowledge of the Khajiiti language.

 

"My name is Sardor. I'm the operator of this humble business." he continued in a polite and humble way. She didn't expect such modesty from a Mer left alone a Bosmer.

 

"I search rest and room, bosmer." Dar'ji'ra realized her rude barking towards Sardor and tried to give her request a friendlier touch: "I will pay greatly for expenses and accomodation." Well done, I'm one polite Ra'Kaht. She cynically remarked about her own coversation skills.

 

Sardor seemed surprised too but rather about the fact of Dar'ji'ra's use of language. He had thought her to be a nearly mute 'Senche' because of her height. As she looked down on him he felt Dar'ji'ra was almost two feet taller than himself and her blunt way of expression plus the prospect eager refunding by a Khajiit was more than enough to raise his suspicion.

 

"Of course! Accomodation it is!" he said, slightly insecure about who just stepped through his door. "We have a marvelous cabin upstairs and..."

 

"I'll take it." Dar'ji'ra interrupted him leaving a rock of moonsugar by the size of the bosmer's eye on the counter, adding: "This will serve for now..."

 

Sardor pointed her towards the upper storey of the tavern. "May I ask how long you intend to humble my establishment with your presence?" he called out behind her as she made her way up the stairs.

 

Nosy little meri, she thought. "Expect the same amount tomorrow and don't let me be bothered." she answered avoiding Sardor's question.

 

The door to her cabin creaked as Dar'ji'ra shut it from the inside....

Edited March 24, 2011 by Sarogath

[Zephyr2011]

Kriak--Vivec, Telvanni Canton

 

Kriak's skin crawled with agitation at the prolific amount of people. Every neuron in his body was firing on overdrive. Every movement was registered and he logged it in his subconciensce. He felt infinitely out of place in this city of beggars in rags and statesmen in opulent robes. His simple attire and collection of hides contrasted sharply with his surroundings drawing dozens of stares. This wasn't even the foreign quarter where some stranger in animal hides would just be odd. This was Telvanni, where even dunmer from the other houses were looked down upon. A few spat towards him and their slaves stole quick smirks or grins as he subtly and deftly dodged the saliva.

 

Where is he? He said he'd meet me in the plaza. Kriak thought...

 

At last a Breton with long flowing silver hair emerged from a building built into the walls of the plaza emerged he had all the premiscuity of the Telvanni and only lacked the palor and eyes. He led Kriak into to a door, an alchemists banner fluttered nearby, he put in an old key inside the lock and turned revealing a cluttered, dusty shop filled with all manner of pickled and dried ingredients on shelves and in bottles throughout the room. At first glanced it seemed haphazard but trained eyes and some studying revealed a definite system to the arrangement of ingredients and solvents.

 

"What? A high Telvanni mage can't use magic lock his doors?" Kriak's sarcasm dripped.

 

"Stow it barbarian. This is a busine-"

 

Suddenly the willowy Breton was lifted in the air as he was held by the throat, "Don't you ever call me a barbarian again. I come to you to do business because you give the best price in this area but I will sail all the way to Sadrith Mora if need be and they'll pay better and offer less lip." The breton grasped his neck and doubled over to catch his breath as Kriak released him and threw his pelts on the counter. "500 septims, and not a coin less." He said as if the previous exchange had not happened and he layed several viles that shown in seemingly flourescent hues of green, red and purple on the counter. "And the finest poisons you're shop will ever see."

 

"What! Preposterous that's-that's outrage-" The Breton sputtered.

 

"That Argonian in Sadrith mora offered me 700 for the lot of it and even he's underpaying me. I hate traveling far from my hunting grounds which is why I'm doing business with you now pay up, you'll quadrouple your money and more besides."

 

"Very well." The Breton unlocked a small chest and began setting out septims in stacks of 50.

[SoulofChrysamere]

Lecuaro Sulnair Marczon - Fort Floodgate

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The deep, crimson red of the morning sun raced across the landscape that normal-looking day. The cliff racers soared through the sky, some daring the archers atop the fort towers to take a shot at them. The guars, alits, and kagoutis roamed about clumsily, as if oblivious to the conflict raging around them. It was another day on the frontlines for the rugged staff of Fort Floodgate.

 

Lecuaro was taking is daily morning constitutional along the southern end of the battlements. He inspected the walls, the soldiers' weapons, and how they were performing their duties. They were doing the best he could expect with the scant supplies that were sent out there. They hardly ever had extra weapons or armor or even food and water. Nonetheless, they made the best of it.

 

As the day advanced into the late morning, the normality of the day was taken away by lean, athletic messenger boy that dashed up to Lecuaro, who was returning to his quarters for his breakfast. Between gulps of air, he relayed an alarming message.

 

"The Dunmer rebels are charging the eastern wall en masse! The soldiers over there are getting pummeled, sir! They need help!"

 

The messenger's cry rang out across the whole southern battlement, and every soldier stopped his task and looked upon the boy in disbelief. Lecuaro, however, knew that immediate action had to be taken if the fort was to be protected. He drew is bow and shouted, "All men follow me!" as he ran for the eastern wall.

 

When Lecuaro and the reinforcements reached the beleaguered defenders, the ocean of chitin and netch leather armor below was astonishing. Endless waves of arrows came up over the walls, battering the armor and shields of the Imperial soldiers. Bloodcurdling war cries were being shouted and balls of all kinds of magical energies battered the walls. The legionnaires fought back though, hurling javelins and fireballs and sending their own waves of arrows down into the mass of Ashlanders. Lecuaro himself took up a relatively safe and covert position among a jumble of crates, barrels, and fallen rubble on the eastern side of the wall.

 

"They've never attacked with this many people before." He muttered to himself. "But...a force this large must have a defined leader."

 

Following his hunch, Lecuaro peered around a barrel and tried to find an Ashkhan or some kind of shaman or leader among the sea of Dunmer. After a couple minutes of fruitless searching, his eyes happened upon a figure in bright and decorative armor atop a guar. The figure seemed to be chanting and there appeared to be a heavy concentration of mages around him. "He must be a shaman or something. If I can take him out, I'll bet their wizards will lose a lot of their power." Lecuaro thought to himself.

 

He drew an arrow and nocked it. He then peeped up over the top of the crates and waited until he had a clear shot. There was one mage that was right between him and the shaman, and it wasn't moving. Lecuaro was about to lower his bow when suddenly, the interposing mage fell, an arrow lodged in his skull. Without hesitation, Lecuaro released his arrow. The razor-tipped missile streaked across the battlefield and found its mark. The shaman's head snapped back and he fell dead from the guar, Lecuaro's arrow lodged in his left eye.

[Sarogath]

North-Eastern Border of Elsweyr, Outskirts of the City Rimmen, Sardor's Tavern

 

As Dar'ji'ra woke up it was a bright and shiny day. Looking out of her window she judged from the sun's height it was past midday already.

The cabin she had rented looked and smelled no more appealing than the tavern's lobby. She didn't care for that yesterday but now it was getting awfully obvious: Filth adds up. Her appearance did get worse over the night tossing herself around her own squalor and the tavern's seemingly innate odour. Dar'ji'ra suppressed a feeling of nausea. Her tail moved to cover her face and especially nose as she leaned out the window.

 

The street outside was busy with people. A market seemed to be on the way. Many Kahjiiti but to Dar'ji'ra's surprise many people were of non-Khajiiti origin, too.

I wonder whether they all are day-workers in the fields, she tought to herself.

Whilst she was looking over the crowd one particular individual appeared to be strangely 'out-of-place', yet still familiar. Straight across Dar'ji'ra's window sat a pitch-black housecat. It looked at Dar'ji'ra as it turned its' head in an angle and then smiled.

 

Not your ordinary house-cat, Dar'ji'raa thought. The house-cat then got on all fours, looked down the street and dived onto the ground, disappearing in the crowd immediately. Dar'ji'ra was buffled. Still exhausted from two days of travel she considered it a misinterpretation and decided to see what kind of aliments Sardor had in store. She grabbed an unassuming robe to cover he stenched self and to disguise her grizzly armor then she went downstairs.

 

Sardor wasn't to be seen anywhere. On the other hand yesterday's 'customers' were still around. Dar'ji'ra walked up to the barcounter stepping over a faded person. As she stood in front of the counter Sardor popped up behind it.

 

Sardor: "Welcome! Welcome to my humble abode!"

 

Dar'ji'ra: "You welcomed me yesterday already."

 

Sardor: "I did? Of course I did! I mean it's always nice to have steady customers."

 

Dar'ji'ra looked over the lot of people literally hanging about. "I can see that." she said being a bit irritated she hadn't made more of an impression in their last encounter.

 

Dar'ji'ra: "Does your establishment serve meals, too?" she quickly keept talking to prevent Sardor's forseable and aimless torrent of words.

 

Sardor: "Of course! Of course we do! What would you like? Our roasted mud-crab is very much anticipated..."

 

Dar'ji'ra: "Do you serve anything that has no shell?"

 

Sardor hesitated, looking down in an evasive way, "Well, if you put it that way..."

 

Dar'ji'ra: "Do you serve anything else besides mud-crab at all?"

 

Sardor answered with a cheerful "I can positively say we have no non-mud-crab-foods here!". Dar'ji'ra already thought something of the like. The hunger had a quite temper shortening effect on her.

She grabbed Sardor by his collar and pulled him halfway over the counter, "I paid plenty for one night of rest and a meal...", she extended her index-finger-claw and pointed between his eyes: "...I would be nicer when I had proper nourishment and a place to bathe myself."

His eyes were wide open. He had felt how easily Dar'ji'ra lifted him up behind his beloved 'counter-fortress'.

 

He broke into sweat & stuttered "I... can of course but...".

 

Dar'ji'ra growled. A sound that could rather be felt than heard. Sardor did well feel it as she pulled his face closer towards hers, "You know Khajiiti are carnivores, don't you?"

Sardor went pale and faded. She let go of his collar and he unconsciously dropped on the barcounter. Scram! Dar'ji'ra thought.

That was a quite unfortunate outcome of conversation, she needed worthier adversaries who'd not cower in fear as soon as she began to slightly threaten their lives.

 

"Well done! He'll remember that his entire life. *HeHe*" a voice spoke to Dar'ji'ra from behind her. She turned around only to find the tavern's door had opened.

 

"Down here! You too big version of a furball!"

 

Dar'ji'ra looked onto the doorstep and saw that same black house-cat she had seen out her window earlier.

 

"You are not very polite. I think I'd remember a somebody like you." the house-cat added.

 

By now she had realized it was no mere house-cat she was talking to but an 'Alfiq', a small but magically very talented breed of Khajiiti.

There was no grain of dust to be found on the Alfiq and it seemed to have a bubble shaped dome of clear air around it.

 

"I cannot recall of having asked your opinion." Dar'ji'ra answered.

 

"You didn't but I don't much care." the Alfiq ranted into Dar'ji'ra's direction. So much for politeness.

 

"May I ask your name?" Dar'ji'ra asked in an agitated voice.

 

"You may not and please spare me any pleasantries you intend to send my way." The Alfiq slowly moved towards her. Hardly in a menacing way since the Alfiq reached only her kneecap. "...but you may ask why I am in this place." the Alfiq continued.

 

"Well then, why are you in this place?" she asked following the outlined question. Dar'ji'ra recognized the insolent social conduct of a mage like only their kind displays it. Arrogance is always their downfall.

 

"I am here because I was sent to deliver a message. A rather tedious task so I'd be very grateful if we can get this over with."

 

You could have written me a note instead of pestering me with that annoying presence of yours Dar'ji'ra commented in her head.

 

"When you received your briefing, you were told that a messenger'd meet you at a certain timeframe. Believe it or not I'm that messenger." The Alfiq stood before Dar'ji'ra and looked up.

 

"It's neither the timeframe to report nor is this the place I was sent. You are rigorous but too early." she replied.

 

"Var var var!" the Alfiq ranted. "Orders change, as do times and a variety of other things... " by the time Dar'ji'ra had guessed the Alfiq to be a male and he continued, "...such as The Mane's mood or interest."

 

Dar'ji'ra looked at the miniature mage. Well the description fits The Mane she thought. "So my current orders are..."

 

"Hereby invalid!" He passed Dar'ji'ra a scroll out of nowhere it seemed "You are to follow those new instructions now."

 

"And for just how long are these new instructions going to be valid?" she wanted to know.

 

"I don't know. As you have surely guessed I'm a mage not a clairvoyant!" he turned around lifting his tail gazing back over his shoulder "I think we are done here and don't you linger around. You are in Rimmen one day and have already found one of the worst places to be...*tsk*" The Alfiq trodded out of door.

 

Dar'ji'ra felt like she was made a fool. Time seemed to stand still when the Alfiq was talking to her. Creepy mage-bunch. I don't like them & never will. she proclaimed for herself.

She looked at the sealed scroll she was given. It did not have a scratch. After all the way it must have come it still looked genuinely recent. Hmm, smells like The Mane, too. She broke the seal and read...

 

"The orders you received when you left Torval are forfeit. Your mission has changed in location and urgency of matter. It was decided Cyrodiil has become less important and focus must be set on outreaching regions. You are therefore required to move to Tear in Morrowind (or Dres as the local folk now call it) and forego as it was outlined in your first assignment: Make contact with one of our brethren, he or she will introduce you to the local habits. A chance of transport per ship can be seized in the city of Bravil bordering north-east Elsweyr. The vessel will sail out on a full Secunda and does not carry regular passengers."

 

Dar'ji'ra had heard stories about Morrowind but nothing more. Never had she meet anyone who had been there. Not a reason to not go there. she thought in juvenile boastfulness.

 

Rimmen had only been the beginning of her journey, so it seemed. Bravil was a days travel away. Dar'ji'ra would leave during the night, her favourite.

Edited March 26, 2011 by Sarogath

[SoulofChrysamere]

Lecuaro Sulnair Marczon - The Eastern Wall

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The loss of their shaman had an immediate and dramatic effect on the whole of the Ashlander forces. The mages' spells became weaker and more infrequent, and the general morale of the army seemed seriously damaged as the war cries stopped and the arrow volleys came less often and and most of the arrows didn't even clear the wall. It seemed that they would soon be forced to break ranks and flee, but then a new figure holding a bow and an arrow nocked mounted the guar.

 

The figure was looking in Lecuaro's direction, and took aim at the barrier that served as his shield. Lecuaro stayed down and began looking through the cracks between the crates and rocks, trying to find one that gave him a clear view of the bowman. At last, he found one that allowed him to view the bowman and that was large enough through which to shoot an arrow. Lecuaro assumed a prone position, positioned his bow horizontally in front of him like a crossbow, nocked an arrow, aimed, and fired.

 

The pointy projectile rocketed towards the archer and struck him right in the stomach -- not as clean a shot as with the shaman, but Lecuaro figured he'd either die from blood loss or get trampled by his comrades. Lecuaro had already nocked another arrow and was about to resume his hunt for important-looking targets, when he heard a strange noise come from the direction of the Ashlanders.

 

He peered around the left side of his barrier and, to his horror, he saw another shaman surrounded by a large cluster of wizards building up a huge ball of fire. The arrows from the Imperial soldiers harmlessly bounced off the shield that had been erected around them. After a few seconds, the shaman and the mages quit their conjuring stances and launched the huge ball of flame at the fort wall -- right in Lecuaro's direction.

 

Lecuaro's fear-induced paralysis released its grip and Lecuaro sped away from the wall as fast as his adrenaline-flooded legs could carry him. There was a terrific blast behind him and he was knocked off of his feet and thrown a good twenty feet back. After he ceased rolling and sliding, he lay still for a moment, and then shook himself to see if anything was broken or badly injured. Feeling nothing too bad, he rose and stared at the large gash where his makeshift shelter and a good portion of the wall used to be.

 

"How the hell did they summon the power to conjure something that big?" Lecuaro wondered as he ran back toward the battle. He reached the edge of the wall and crouched down behind a small pile of rubble that either survived the blast or was birthed by it. He was in the process of readying an arrow when he glanced at the top of one of the watch towers and spied five people that had until just now been missing from the fight: Sorinyarie, chief battlemage, and the other four most powerful wizards at the fort: Relbren Edmontere, Anenra Ritharyn, Gavus Larinus, and Kurgan gro-Gashra.

 

The quintet of mages threw up a shield and began to conjure a large ball of fire above themselves. After about ten seconds, they unleashed the spell on the Ashlanders below, but it wasn't just a ball of fire; it was a beam of fire. The fire beam seared through the Dunmer lines and headed straight for the second shaman and his mages. Their shield wasn't strong enough and the flame crashed through, incinerating the shaman and all of the wizards around him.

 

As heavy as the damage was that the fire beam inflicted, the rebels still did not flee. Instead, ladders appeared and were propped up against the wall. The inexperience in siege warfare of the Ashlanders was apparent, however. They had decided to deploy the ladders at a most inopportune time and even worse, the ladders were poorly crafted. Some of the imperial soldiers took up warhammers and axes and began to shatter the ladders one by one, sending the Ashlanders that were scrambling up them crashing back down to the earth.

 

As the last of the ladders was destroyed, a new and welcome sight appeared on the wall. From the opposite end of the wall, the catapult on which the fort's Redguard engineer Circon had been working rolled up to the battle with a big chunk of rock ready to be hurled. Circon and some of the other soldiers got the catapult into position, and then flung the boulder out into the crowd of Ashlanders.

 

The Ashlanders reeled at the sight of this new enemy device. Circon's catapult, with the help of a flurry of spells from Sorinyarie and the others atop the watch tower, drove the battered Ashlanders into a full scale retreat. The battle had been won, but the cost, both physical and psychological, was high.

 

The successful defenders whooped and hollered in celebration as the last of the Ashlanders disappeared from the horizon, but Lecuaro tuned them out as he walked the ruins of the eastern wall. That force was huge, much huger than what Lecuaro thought the Ashlanders capable of raising. As he surveyed the scorch marks, polka-dot patterns made by enemy arrows, and the general disarray of the fortifications, he couldn't help but think that that attack may have succeeded if they had been smart about their approach. After all, Fort Floodgate was still a new building and in many ways still not a proper fort. The walls were still lower than normal, and there weren't any keeps or watch towers that were actually built into the wall. There were no proper heavily fortified areas designed specifically for defensive purposes either. The fort was, however, still an impressive example of what just four months of non-stop construction could produce, and it was certainly the most imposing edifice in that area of the Ashlands.

 

After a couple minutes, Lecuaro shook these thoughts from his mind. He didn't need his men's jubilee suddenly turning to depression at the sight of their commander sadly moping about the wreckage. He took a moment to collect himself and then went to join the celebrating soldiers.

[darkedge42392]

Adrynn Indarys, Ald-Ruhn

 

Adrynn stepped out of the Skar, closing the creaking door and throwing a thick scarf around his face to filter the fine ash as it rained down in a thick storm. He strode down the street quickly, covering his eyes with a long fingered hand so he could see where he was going, though he knew the city like the back of his hand. He went down the steps and to the right, headed for the large shell that held the Mage's Guild. Opening the door, he stepped inside quickly, shaking off the ash and pulling the scarf down from his face. As his eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior, he noticed a distinct flash of steel. Looking to his right, he saw a beautifully crafted blade laid on the nearby table. Stepping closer to examine the sword, Adrynn noticed a cloaked figure sitting in the chair to his right. Figuring to whom the sword belonged to, Adrynn nodded in greeting to the man and headed downstairs.

 

Sweeping his eyes across the large room, Adrynn noticed many members of the Mage's Guild at work, some mixing potions, others with a nose deep in a book, and a couple praying at the Imperial Cult Shrine.

 

"Adrynn! There you are, you devil of a Dunmer!" a thin, over worked female voice rang out.

 

"Edwinna! Still at work, I see . . ." Adrynn said, a grin spreading over his face as he embraced the demure little Breton woman.

 

"You bet your grey hide I am!" she said with a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes. "Now where have you been? I sent you out to get that scroll two weeks ago!"

 

"I've been busy, Edwinna. I have a stronghold to run and a House to serve as well. You seem to keep forgetting that, my little friend," Adrynn said, winking at Edwinna.

 

The little Breton put her hands on her hips and looked up at the tall Dunmer, admiring the strong facial features and the deep crimson eyes he had. "I haven't forgotten one bit. But you need to keep your studies up if you want to advance any further in the Guild, Adrynn. You have such potential."

 

"I know, I know . . . That is why I brought you this," Adrynn said, handing Edwinna a scroll and some gold. "It's what you sent me to get. And the change from what you gave me to get it."

 

Edwinna's eyes lit up as she unrolled the parchment and read what it said. "Thank you Adrynn!"

 

"It's no problem. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be heading out," Adrynn said. "I have some House business to attend to."

 

"Oh, no problem, dear. Go right on ahead," Edwinna said, giving the tall Dunmer another hug before turning away and reading the scroll he had brought her.

 

Shaking his head with a grin, Adrynn headed upstairs, then out the door, wrapping the scarf around his face as he shut the door.