My character

[Beriadan]

Name: Beriadan(surprise, surprise)

Name meaning- Protector of life

Origin- Sindarin(Elvish)

Sex: Male

Race:Nord

Age: 19

Height: 6'5"

Weight: 250lbs

Favorite weapon- male without a father Longsword, two handed mattock(sp?)

Fighting Style: A tank, likes to crash into the enemy and crush them.

Personality: Kinder than battle would leave you to believe. Has a frightening bloodlust in battle, but outside of warfare he is kind.

 

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Dusting of the snow Beriadan stepped onto the rocky ledge. The cold wind battered his face like a bellows into fire. To your average person te wind would be bitter and chilling, but Beriadan isn't a normal person. He is a Nord. He and his people revelled in the blistering cold and unforgiving mountains. The wind surged into his lungs like some healing deaught or firey brandy and gave him strength.

 

Breathing out a throaty laugh he turned and saw what remained of the landslide that had pushed him down the hill. Laughing once again He dug out his sword and ax. He had nothing, but these two things, well besides the clothes on his back. He was out for vengeance. In Skyrim he and his family had had a nice life, until a quarrel with a rival family had left his home in ashes, his family's bones charred and him wanted for the murder of 5 men. The same men who had burned his home.

 

He had been prepared to accept his fate as a criminal headed for the noose for 5 murders, until he had found out a sixth man had escaped, a phantom wearing dark robes and a black cowl.

 

How did he know the man existed? How could this simple, one time farmboy know that a proverbial shadow had been the puppeteer(sp?) of his family's demise? Perhaps it was the glowing, content man in the crowd when he wpresented himself to the local guard captain. Perhaps it was the voice of the stern woman in his mind, telling him it wasn't over, that the noose wasn't the ned for this man.

 

Either way he leapt from the horse as it was making it's way to the man on the gallow's ramp. Landing hard , with his legs churning like the piston's on a grain grinder he made his way to the spot where the man was, a single black rose gliding down to the rarth, where the man had been and a dark laughter echoing. As the guards closed in Beriadan had regained his inner, icey desire for vengeance. He lashed out with his fists and in return he was given the sound of multiple flesh on flesh contacts and the wails of two of the guards.

 

Streaking to his house he hopped the black and charred fence to the stables out back. He had hid his "tools" there after he had exacted his justice upon the wrongdoers. No he once again had them clasped to his back and was sprinting towards the Jerall(sp?) mountains. Maybe, just maybe he could maybe Cyrodrill