I think the title is self evident. I shall start:

Name: Fadril Indala
Group: The Abbey
Age: 82
Race: Dark Elf ("Dunmer")
Class: Akaviri Swordsman
Skills: Long Blade, Short Blade, Light Armor, Athletics, Acrobatics

Hobbies: Sparring, meditation, philosophy, art
Factions: House Redoran, Fighter's Guild
Interests: Akaviri swordsmanship, following his internal sense of what is right

Wields: Steel Katana, Steel Wakazashi (both in scabbards on left hip)
Wears: full Chitin armor, Expensive clothing 02 (blue with black and gold trim), Ancient Dwemer Ring (wearer's items last much longer than normal), Ring of Truth (Constant Effect Detect Illusion 80%)
Carries: a couple potions (mostly restore health, water breathing, and levitation), 200 gold

Bio: Fadril is a Dunmer who has a passion for mastering Akaviri fighting styles. He wears his Chitin helmet only in bad weather.

His face has neither scars, wrinkles, nor tattoos. His hair is black and shoulder-length.

He hails from Kragenmoor, the major Redoran city on mainland Morrowind. The reason he travels to Cryodiil is to improve his skills. He's excellent in dueling, but he's not so good in more chaotic fights, and he hopes to make up for this lack by questing upon the rift to Oblivion and by fighting the creatures that emerge from it. He also desires strongly to protect the innocents there.


I am generally online 4pm-10pm EST.

Originally posted in the general comment thread...

First... Many many thanx for adding a discussion thread Darkone, Also another thanx very much for the ::Location:: suggestion Peregrine as that was also my next thought LOL, makes it MUCH easier to keep track of those your with currently.

About Me: I have been RP'ing in forum threads for about four years now and have been very lucky to have some wonderfully talented folks be a part of several stories I have led as well as enjoyed being a part of a few as just a companion. The best stories I have seen have been those in which each character spoke as little as possible of the actions and thoughts of the characters around them. When interacting, or planning to interact with my character please feel free to contact me and I would be happy to help you fill in a dialogue between our two characters in your posting, and I will do the same for anyone I intend to carry on a conversation with as well.

I have also been a Pen and Paper RP'er for over 20 years and because of this I tend to get very elaborate in the development of my characters. They usually have a fairly complex personality that in many ways mirror's my own and in others fills in gaps that I sometimes wish were a part of my own etc. This can lead to various things through out the story where reactions to a similar event may take very differet directions then previous events. This is why I like to be better able to control the reactions and thoughts my character may have in regard to situations currently taking place. But please feel free to have your character 'speculate' about my reaction if you wish just don't assign one to me...

EXAMPLES:
Please no: "Semink saw that Trebbits was completely frozen with fear and unable to move because of it"
But ok: "Semink noticed Trebbits was not moving, he was either paralyzed with fear, or crazy!"

The only other thing I ask is that before posting PLEASE read the posts relating to the one you are making all the way through If I have written something you aren't quite sure of or that has dissrupted your upcoming post in some way PLEASE feel very free to contact me here or via PM and I will do what I can to correct the issue. I am a part of this whole thing to enjoy a good story with folks, first and foremost, and I do not want to be a problem for anyone envolved, so just hollar if I need to make changes or leeways for things you were going to post about etc.

Also Just as another note. I am generally online between the hours of 4pm and 3am Pacific Standard Time (PST) which is -8 hours of Greenwhich Mean Time (GMT) The time right now for me is 5pm So compare the time shown in the "Time posted" to that and you'll know how far off set I am from you. (If you have the forum set to your current time that is.)

Happy Tales all,

TW
________________________________________________________________________________

About My Character:

Story Line: The Abby
Name: Trebbits
Age: 19
Race: Breton
Class: Adventurer
Skills: Illusion, Enchant, Staff, Shortblade, Light Armor, Speachcraft
Hobbies: Journaling, Enchanting, Caving

Equipment: Hooded Robe, Padded leather Curaiss and Boots, Dark brown pants, Light tan shirt, Silver dagger (enchanted), Staff (enchanted)...
Small belt pouch containing - 5 Rings (various enchantments), 30 gold, and an Amulet...
Backpack containing - Small travel latern, Rope, Leather Gloves, salted meat rations (5 portions), Bread (5 portions), several Journals and writting utensiles, Some cloth and leather pieces for patching armor and clothing.

Brief bio: Hailing from Kaldravndal a small island west of Slosthiem, Trebbits has traveled many areas within the Morrowind Province and logged many stories of events that transpired there. He is also plagued by what many would call bad luck, events seem to go goofy around him, things just get bumbled and fall apart. Yet for Trebbits all of his misfortunes of troubles have somehow been things that saved him from peril of one kind or another, so really what comes across as bad luck is to him and usually those around him good fortune. Not that he is protected by the gods but some force of nature seems to disrupt what he would THINK to do with something he has no choice of thereby often times keeping him from doing something completely foolish.

Any questions about my character I am very willing to discuss if anyone wishes to inquire. All the best everyone and Happy Tale Telling!!!

TW

Name: Zow (Real name unknown)
Age: 27
Race: Redguard
Class: No actual class.
Height: 6'6"
Weight: 205
Skills(Major): Marksman, Sneak, Light Armor, Athletics, Acrobatics
Skills(Minor): Spear, Restoration, Illusion, Alteration, Security
[other practiced skills:] Armorer, Alchemy
Skills(Weakest) Speachcraft, Mercantile, Heavy Amor, Axe, Destruction, Enchant

Hobbies: Hunting, Training, Spying
Factions: None
Interests: Gathering information, fighting worthy foes.

Wields: Long Bow, Spear
Wears: Modified Dark Brotherhood armor.
Carries: A cylinder shaped wooden container on his back containing: Food, minor thief tools, poisons, magika and healing potions, minor repair kits, arrows, writing Utensils, and a hand-made ghillie/hunting suit (gets worn over the armor).

Bio: Zow has one left yellow eye, and one grey right eye, followed by white spiky hair. He got these strange features from a powerful mage he once fought. He wears pure dark-black clothing, has a hood to cover his strange hair, goggles and mouth piece to cover his face. He hates attention, and crowded areas. Normally keeps to himself. Hates many questions, for he does not like to reveal much about him. He likes to know about others, while they dont know much about him. He has been traveling, and fighting alone his entire life, and his weakness would be adapting to fight with allies.

Strengths: Assessing the situation, fighting at a distance, able to spot things at a distance, survival, fending for himself, Stealth, some resistance to poison and lightning.

Weakness: Working with others, has no concern for others, grabs unwanted attention, new to the area.

The Drunken Alit

Name : Rif Entaril
Race: Dunmer
Class : Thief
Major Skills : Security, Sneak, Speechcraft, Hand to Hand, Light Armor
Minor Skills : Shortblades, Mercantile, Unarmored, Marksman

Factions : Expelled from Thieves Guild
Equipment : Boiled Netch Cuirass, Netch Leather Boots and Gauntlets, Baggy Dark Brown Pants and Short Sleeved Earth-tone Shirt with many Pockets.
Carries : Master Lockpicks/Probes in leather flapped pouch, common travelling cloak of Tan/Grey color, Ebony Shortsword on left hip, Bonemold Bow and Arrows on back.
Appearance : Rif possesses plain features, dull red eyes and casual facial structure. His hair is black and short (about 1" in length) on his head while he keeps no facial hair. He has no scars or tattoos.

BIO: Rif has grown up on the streets of Cyrodiil where he learned to steal to survive. He is by no account a Master Thief though he is very good at what he does. Rif has a gambling problem which has lead to severe debt with some bad people and that has, in turn, lead to a drinking problem. He's a regular patron of The Drunken Alit where he often gets very drunk on the worst ale that one still must pay for. He's been expelled from the Thieves Guild for not paying his dues. The only reason he owns an Ebony Shortsword is that it was a gift from his father who simply stopped coming home from work at night. Rif is a native to Vvardenfell though he remembers nothing of it and holds no feelings towards the island, either way. Though he's generally a loner, Rif can work well in groups so long as he can do as he sees fit. He'll help keep his companions alive so long as they are of some use, even if it's only to be eaten by some big nasty in his stead. He cares nothing for the politics of the land and even less for the affairs of wizards or even gods, he just wants his share of treasure.


(EDIT) A Bit About Me:
This is my first ever roleplaying experience apart from the single player RPGs so please understand that if I do anything considered rude or taboo it is most certainly an accident. I'm actually quite personable and friendly so it should be fun playing a character of the opposite mindset.

Storyline: Fygge's Nord Camp (Mercenary Camp)
Name: Kane Nighy
Race: Imperial
Age: 26
Class: Warrior/Mercenary
Major Skills: Longblade, Heavy Armour, Armourer, Block, Shortblade
Minor Skills: Hand-to-Hand, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Light Armour, Medium Armour
Hobbies: Training, Focusing, Repairing Armour and Weapons, Studying Opponents
Factions: Fighters Guild, House Redoran and Ex-Morag Tong

Appearance: 6ft 2" broad muscular body frame, full daedric armour except pauldrons and helmet, bright blue ocean eyes and shaven head, hair colour is brown, holds two tattoos underneath cuirass, first is a howling wolf tattoo with a tribal sign on right side of chest, second is of a red dragon fighting a white wolf

Equipment: full daedric armour except pauldrons and helmet, daedric claymore, nordic longsword and an iron dagger, carries a few repair hammers and hardly anything else

Bio: Kane was born in Cyrodiil along with his older brother and younger sister, mother and father...when he was old enough, his father and brother taught him how to fight until it was time for him to venture on his own, after speaking with someone within the mage guild, he was teleported to Vvardenfell where he enlisted himself with the Morag Tong to make easy money killing people, after awhile his services were in demand from House Redoran and the Fighters guild. Several years past and the apparant rise of Dagoth ur threatened Vvardenfell, however only one person could defeat him and that was the Nerevaraine...Kane was still a mere pup and continued to live his life as normal until his services were in dire need once again..this time he faced a major challenge with a battle leading a small force along with working with several smaller forces...they won but left a survivor...from there Kane got romantically involved with one of the leaders of the forces, Aserth, a female breton archer.

another few years had passed and Kane had hung up his mercenary ways, living his life by helping his fellow town folks with odd jobs, until the survivor of the battle returned...taking Kane's lover and forcing him back into his old ways...this took Kane to Solsthiem yet when he finally finished off the one he gave mercy too, he had wished he never gave that option, to his horror he found his lover dead...now with no meaning but to kill for a job Kane has decided to head for home in search for a mercenary camp that can contain his skills and give his life meaning once again.

Storyline: Fygge's Nord Camp (Mercenary Camp)

Name: Ulf Vilhelmsbane (he never tells his full name)
Race: Male Nord
Age: 57-59 years old
Birthsign: The Atronach

Specialization: Magic
Major Attributes: Intelligence and Willpower
Skills: Alchemy, Alteration, Conjuration, Destruction, Illusion, Mysticism, Unarmoured (changed from Hand to Hand)

Hobbies: Staying alive
Interests: Arcane arts, his own mind, Oblivion, deadra
Factions: None


: Advantages
Incredible intellect, good willpower and some strength.
Very skilled in magic, especially frost and destruction (which he don't like using though... because of the special incident in his past and others like it - (he can't control it very well "it seems"))

: Disadvantages
Rambles, talks to himself, changes character, paranoid, hates fire (weakness to), have nightmares, drinks, sometimes almost insane and does things out of insanity. Is an ugly smelling fellow.


: Armoury
Staff of frost

: Items
Amulet of foul intellect (plus to intelligence, minus to personality - looks like a crude silver amulet)
Few potions (hoping to be making more of those)
Ingredients and herbs
Alchemy equipment
Water skin
Other skins

: Costume
Fur boots, pants and shirt in lesser condition.
Cloak with hood, brown, ragged.
Iron belt with snake

: Appearance
Longish wild black/grey beard and hair
Brown/green eyes - sometimes wild/haunted looking
Below average nord height and average volume
Bad dark teeth
Filthy and dirty, smelling

Ulf is a man, who when you meet him put in a combined "Nice old uncle" and "Crazy looney wizard" and "Madman" soup, where you "cook" him until you might get to know him. Not a lot of people got that far though.


Background:
: Ulf Vilhelmsbane - he got it when he killed the local chieftain’s son in his village at a young age. Has since then lived on the run or away from Skyrim. The bounty on his head is only in his head by now... not in the real world, where he has been thought dead for long and things moved on. He has no contact with his family or anyone else. His ugly apperance and smell makes people leave him alone but also fortificates a lonely old mans beginning insanity from the long periods of solitary.
Thinks he was setup and framed by Mehrunes Dagon himself, by the god altering his fireball spell to impossible high levels when he would not want it. That is how Vilhelm died. In a dangerous kid’s game, they were playing with magic one day, both being born in the sign of the Atronach, they had fun practising spell absorbtion of some of the more harmfull spells. Alas, from the hands of Ulf came the devastating fireball that instantly killed Vilhelm - immediately leaving Ulf an outlaw and a fugitive to be.

Came by Fygge's camp almost by chance although in his own mind it is his fate to be there and be part of this venture.

Originally from a small village in Skyrim.


(about his master: I've been around - having not tried this before though. Workaholic, so I fear a bit if I can keep up. Danish by origin (nord ), live and work in Malta. Here in the forum to have a fun and enjoyable time first and foremost.)

Name: Crimson "Scar" Bueford Nickname Scar is from ppl that dislike him and make fun of his scar. Some ppl call him Crim for short and ppl that always refer to ppl by their last names is fun for a name like Bueford =)

Race: Looks to Imperial

Age: Looks about 35-40 because of his unnatural looking aging and hair color.

Height/Weight: 5'10" 105 stones give or take.

Appearance: Fair, generally ruggedly handsome face but worn and aged so he looks much older than he appears. Windstrewn stark white hair that he cant keep straight or fixed no matter what he tries. Very lithe bodywise. Not bone thin or skinny but not stocky or bulky. Almost sickly or under fed appearance. Pretty pale skinned even tho hes very rugged looking. Long thin scar down his left eye and cheek that has a slight hint of silver color to it that you can almost never be for certain you see.

Dress: Old travelling clothes that are worn out and a tattered old cape thats lined and shoulder caped in black/grey/white fur that looks like wolf fur. Could almost pass for a poorly trained ranger appearance wise.

Equipment: Nothing really. He carries no weapons of any kind not even a walking staff. He eats and keeps himself fed as best he can but he never has any stored foods or rations that hes uses noticably. Carrys an old worn out waterskin that has a slow leak.

Background: Never open about his past to anyone. Openly dislikes magic and all its uses and forms. He would even use potions even if its life or death. Dislike led to a life altering change he has to live with every day.

Name: Oroko
Age: 25
Race: Dark Elf (Dunmer)
Class: Custom class
Skills(Major): Swordsmanship, light armor, acrobatics, security, sneak
Skills(Minor): alteration, illusion, athletics, marksmanship, destruction
Birthsign: the shadow

Hobbies: reading, writing, hunting, sparring
Factions: Thieves Guild, Morag Tong
Interests: expensive things, women, good food, treasure, money, fame
Wields: Glass longsword enchanted with poison, steel shuriken, several summoning scrolls
Wears: Glass cuirass, and netch leather armor, plain borwn cloak and a gondolier helm
Carries: a few healing potions, an amulet of chameleon, a ring of increased agilty and speed

Bio: Oroko is an unconventional thief and assassin. Instead of the typical dagger, he has always preferred a two-handed sword, believeing that the best defense is a good offense. While not a mage, he knows enough magic to get by and uses it competently. He sees theft and killing as a job and a business, and conducts himself in a professional manner while "at work". However, this life of crime has made him somewhat antisocial with most, and he can be very arrogant and aloof. He's more comfortable working alone, but has teamed up with others on occasion when it was absolutely necessary. On these rare instances, Oroko has proven to be dependable if somewhat terse with his companions. He's travlled over much of Tamriel and has seen quite a bit. as a result, there is little that phases him or causes him much distress. He's always on the lookout for the next big prize, or the chance to increase his fame in the world.

EDIT: Damn double post last night... was really really slow for some reason and couldnt edit it. Fixed now! =)

Semink: The Abbey

Name: Semink
Gender: Male
Race: Kajiit
Age: Kajiit equivalent of 28 in human years (I don't know how long Kajiit live)
Skills: Sneak (including sneak attack), moderate acrobatic skills (nothing amazing), marksman
Special: Good sense of smell, hearing and eyesight as would be expected of a Kajiit; quite clever and quick-minded
Equipment: A dagger and twelve poison-enchanted steel throwing stars (and a few potions)
Background: Grew up in a Kajiit tribe, started travelling in Cyrodill, worked at a farm where he was basically treated as a slave, ran away and stumbled apon the ruined Abbey.

About me:
I'm a maths with computing student in the UK, and have just finished my secend term in the second year.
I'll probably only post in the evenings from now on.

My character is also to be seen here now:

• Name: Gnaag
• Race: Wood Elf (Bosmer)
• Class: Bard
• Prefered skills: Athletics, Block, Alternation, Illusion, Speechcraft, Mercantile
• Age: 30

• Wearing: common pants and shirt, no armor neither helmet
• Possessing: nice expensive belt with the purse hanged on it; steel dagger with fake gems; very nice ring with some kind of enchantment that influence one's speechcraft to very high level, but it takes an owner's ability to talk what he wants to; a buckler from Fairghot, 4 healing potions
• Appearance: regular wood elf, only one special thing is that he is bard and it talks for everything.
• Place: The Drunken Alit, later The Burning tower

Name: Sesmar Alaharnok
Race: Nord
Age: 30
Height: 6’2’’
Weight: 200 lbs

Description:
Well defined physically fit body, for armor he wears the dull green robes of his Order. He keeps his head cleanly shaved as he finds this easier to maintain and provides one less thing to distract him.

Equipment:
Long Bow
Quiver of Arrows
Long Wooden Staff (Blessed by the Head of his Order, granting the weapon the ability holdup under extreme pressure.)
Small Traveling Sack

Content of Sack:
Dried strips of meat
Dried Fruit and Vegetables
A few Ingredients and Herbs
2 potions of Restore Fatigue
3 potions of Restore Health

Armor:
Dull green cloth robes
Padded leather to protect feet, forearms and shins held in place by cured silk wraps

Skills:
Major: Hand-to-Hand, Blunt, Marksman, Alchemy, Athletics
Minor: Stealth, Security, Block, Acrobatics, Restoration

Sign:
The Ritual

Storyline: Ruined Abbey
Name: Darak Shadowblade
Gender: Male
Race: Dunmer
Favourite skills: Long Blade, Illusion, Stealth, Critical Strike, Dodging, Destruction
Image: here

As strange as it may sound, Darak is my char from Daggerfall! Obviously I played Morrowind, but for the upcoming Oblivion I decided to get back to my previous char.
I laso wrote many stories about him: you can find them all here
I'll provide you a quick summary anyway: Darak was trained as an assassin in Morrowind, but later was exiled and shunned by other Dunmer in whole Tamriel, so he had to get off on his own. He later met a group of brave people known as the Crimson Blades, voted to help those in need and became one of them (in fact, I joined the Crimson Blades guild on the internet). He had to deal with many enemies, notably some of his fellow Dunmer, and later in his life he embarked on a quest to find a dragon: he succeeded, but not the way he expected, since the creature imprisoned him (read the last stories for further details); now, after more than one century of seclusion, the barrier misteriously disappeared (during this time he did not age normally, due to some side effects of the enchantment) and Darak had his chance to finally flee.

Hope this explains something more.
As I wrote, I don't think I'll be able to post tomorrow (wednesday), so see you on thursday.
Live long and prosper,
--
Darak

The Alit
Name: Ralaith


Race: Dunmer


Age: Unknown. He never bothered to keep track.


Appearance: Dark complexion, even for a Dark Elf. Light gray hair, left ear pierced with two small silver hoops. Wears Dark Brotherhood armor, which appears to be beaten up, but is actually slightly reinforced, and when traveling, a dark, hooded cloak. Is short for a dunmer, and has a scar running down his left cheek.


Weapons: Hand-crafted Ebony darts, twin steel longknives with silver interwoven into the blade.


Skills: marksman, speechcraft, sneak, light armor, athletics, short blade, acrobatics, illusion, a little destruction, ambidextrous (blocking and attacking with two blades)


Main attributes: agility, speed, intelligence


Enchanted items: One ring of fortify agility and speed (1 charge), one ring of fortify sneak and chameleon (1 charge), one amulet of medium shock damage on target and one second immunity to shock (4 charges)


Mannerisms: normally a loner, but recognizes the need for a group. Never speaks at normal volume. Finds jokes in things normal people would not see as funny. VERY persuasive when he wants to be. Fairly arrogant.


Factions: Kicked out of Dark Brotherhood, unaccepted by Morag Tong, refuses to join the Thieves Guild or House Hlaalu.


Bio: Ralaith is a rogue. He joined the mission for money mainly, but also as part of his own, private quest to prove that he cannot be stopped. He does things based on their difficulty, on how much people say they are impossible. He is not currently a part of any group other than that of the quest, for varying reasons. The Dark Brotherhood will not accept him because he humiliated their leader, he is considered too honorless for the Morag Tong (so he assassinated their Grand Master), he thinks the members of House Hlaalu are a bunch of blibbering idiots, and he has some private beefs with the Thieves Guild that he refuses to talk about. He came from Morrowind in search of a new challenge, for he could find none that he thought worthy there. He has no racial preferences, whether his companions are lizard or cat or elf or man or whatever else makes no difference to him, although he does prefer Elvish women above those of other races. You will find no better dart thrower in the land, but his real strength lies in his intelligence--in his ability to find his opponent's psychological weaknesses. He is not overfond of liquor, or of the illegal drugs known as Skooma or Moonsugar, for he knows that these will slow his quick wit. He prefers to observe adversaries as well as allies from afar, although he will not shy from getting up close and personal when necessary, and, when he chooses an ally, he sticks by them throughout it all. As for his history, well, he doesn't talk about it much.

[ooc-ooc]About me:

This is not my first roleplaying experience, although I would not consider myself a master of it. I love to game and write fantasy stories, and the Elder Scrolls world is so well defined that it is a joy to write in. I am not in the competition to win, although it would be nice, but I got an e-mail inviting me to join, and I thought it might be fun, and so far it has turned out to be. Good luck to everyone, and happy RPing![/ooc-ooc]

Character Description

Name: Sonnaba Beach

Gender: Male

Race: Orc

"Class": Cleric? Warrior Monk?

Age: 29

Weapons: Silver staff and gloves

Armor: none

Clothing: Frayed but clean fine cloak, common other clothing

Look: Taller, broader and uglier than the average Orc. Clean but threadbare clothing.

Brief Description: Raised in Morrowind by Dunmer until being apprenticed to the Imperial Temple as a teenager, Sonnaba worked his way up the temple ranks to become a Shrine Sergeant. He took advantage of the Temple to round out his education in the scholarly arts as well as combat. After an "unfortunate incident", he was forced to flee Morrowind and eventually arrived in Cyrodiil.

Since arriving a few years previously, he has made a steady living as either a fighter for hire or a healer. Having sworn off edged weapons since the "incident", he is very proficient with blunt weapons, hand to hand, and knows a few choice spells. Lately, his healing clientele has grown as word spread of his healing skills and more importantly, his discretion.

Even after so many years since the "incident", Sonnaba still maintains his alias and disguise to avoid trouble. Having previously been known for his refined manners and skill with an axe, he has studiously avoided both: imitating the slowest of his race.

Character description

Name: Frog in Tree (Frog)

Race: Argonian

Age: 28

Weapons: Steel spear

Armour: Chainmail curtass with a self-repair enchantment

Potions: 2 standard healing

scrolls:

Enchanted: Amulet of detect creature

other:

Desription:

Raised in a argonian village Frog joined the border patrole just after the comming of age ceremony (name giving ceremony) around 16 years of age and till recently occupied this position. Being out in the swamp for days a time he developed his hunting skills and as such sneaking skills. After numerous skirmishes with Slavers and your normal day to day swamp monsters Frog honed his spear and hand to hand skills to a level
above any other in his village.(This got him the task to go into the lands of man and find out what the old Shaman woman saw in her vision)

Frog headed to the city to find leads since he heard that someone in the city would allways know something of anything.

Name: Arcos Aries

Race: Dark Elf Male

Age: 110

Hobbies: None. Temple policy is very strict in that Hands do not concern themselves with anything except training themselves and duties.

Factions: Tribunal Temple

Interests: Archaeology, Combat, Study of Magicka

Weapons: Windscythe, a uniquely forged Dai-Katana enchanted with a Shock Damage 45-65 points enchantment, a standard steel Wakizashi and Tanto used as sidearms

Armor: Her Hand armor (Hands of Almalexia armor) minus the helm w/ all Hand enchantments

Enchanted Items: A ring of Almsivi Intervention, an amulet called the Power Chain that grants a strength boost (constant effect).

Appearance: A relatively young Dark Elf at 110 years old who serves as a part of the Temple's most elite force, the Hands of Almalexia. His face is remarkably ununique for a Dark Elf, with a common Dark Elf frown, red eyes, and black-silver hair that reaches down to his shoulders. His only disinguishing facial feature is a scar from his hairline across his left eye.

Personality: Temple doctrine forbids Hands to portray emotion publicly, and Arcos is grim and untalkative with Temple personnel. In public, however, those who know him know a Dark Elf who is loyal to allies, watchful, and very genial with friends.

Background: He was born in Sheogorath to a poor Dunmer family that lived in Dagon Fel. He moved to Godsreach in Mournhold at the age of 4 after his father discovered a great deal of money while dealing with bandits. They lived there until his parents were killed and his home was plundered by nordic bandits. He was taken in by the Tribunal Temple as an orphan at the age of 8, where he was discovered to have extraordinary talent in both war and magic, as well as being a superb marksman. He rose the through the Temple as a assistant, secretary, errand-boy, transporter, and pilgrim, until at the age of 17 he joined the Ordinators. He was sent to Vivec where, through his exemplary service, was promoted quickly through the ranks and was soon sent back to Mournhold to join the High Ordinators. He served in them a short while until the goddess Almalexia noticed his talent and he became the youngest member ever of the Hands of Almalexia at 37. He served a great deal of time and remained with the Hands even when they were turned into a dispatch service after Almalexia's "disappearance". He was dispatched to Cyrodiil to investigate the recent daedric disturbances and daedric activity in the area. His findings shock him, and he decides to remain with the mercenaries under Fygge that he has stumbled upon. He is currently disobeying Temple orders by assisting the mercenaries, and could be expelled from the Temple and Ordinators if reported.

Major Skills: Long Blade, Athletics, Destruction, Restoration, Heavy Armor

Minor Skills: Marksman, Acrobatics, Alchemy, Short Blade, Sneak

Name: Arenar Gratius
Alias: Soldin
Group: Mercanaries Camp
Age: 24
Race: Imperial-Born, Some Breton ancestors.
Class:
Skills: Blade, Unarmed, Light Armor, Destruction, Acrobatics, Block, Marksman

Hobbies: Training his Unarmed and Destruction skills. Hunting strong monsters. Raiding elven ruins.
Factions: Considering joining the Fighers Guild, otherwise factionless.
Interests: Ancient objects such as Elven, Dwenmer, and Daedric. Exotic creatures from farther realms the Cyrodill.

Wields: An extended bastard sword enchanted with a feathering spell which allows him to weild it much faster then a typical blade of its size.
Wears: Typically wears very light weight and non-bulky armors such as leather. In many cases however, he doesn't wear any armor and chooses to rely on his ability to dodge. Currently he wears a dark green, nearly black, sleeveless shirt and light tan pants with large pockets at mid-thigh. For shoes he wears a pair of old, somewhat restored, set of hardened leather boots. Around his waist is a rather large belt that holds his few items that he carries with him. His forearms are wrapped in leather strips to protect his hands from his unarmed blows. On his back is his sword, seated in a that is strapped to his torso.

Bio: Often times a laid back and unserious person during anytime of peace or rest, Arenar's main problem in life is a lack of inspiration or strive to better himself. This may dwelve from a boring childhood where his parents made him do little but look after his little sisters. Because of this, he will fervently protect his friends but dislikes boring fights in the woods. Exceptions are made to this rule of course. Despite this, he still loves a good fight and is more then a capable fighter.

Very creative in battle, Arenar mixes magic with melee for destructive combinations in the battlefield. When close combat is out of the question, he has the ability to to use a bow, although he doesn't carry one on himself.

~~~~~

I really don't care If I win or not I'm in it for the fun, not the game ^^

Name: Ice-blood (Ice for short)
Race: Argonian
Age: 29
Weapons: Black Ice (his ebony greatsword)
Armour: full suit of steel armor (without the helmet and shield, and with greaves instead of boots), and a brown cloak
Potions: 3 potions of healing, a potion of magic absorption, and a bottle of flin
Scrolls: none
Enchanted Items: Black Ice (Frost damage and frost damage absorption enchantments)
Other: sharpening stone

Backstory:
Born in the Black Marsh, Ice-Blood was originally in training to be a monk, learning the ways of unarmed and unarmored combat. However at the age of 12, his home town was raided by a group of slavers from Morrowind and he was forced into slavery at a plantation in Morrowind. He remained a slave until the age of 24, when he successfully murdered his master. In the ensuing confusion he led the slaves in revolt and escaped the plantation. After a long journey, the group arrived back in the Black Marsh. Ice took up practicing unarmed and unarmored combat once again, until another group of slavers raided the village he was staying in. This time, however, he managed to kill many of the slavers before he was knocked unconscious. He awoke aboard their ship with his hands bound, so his martial arts training was almost useless. He managed to subdue the jailer aboard the ship and used the jailer's greatsword to break free and kill the remaining slavers. Turning the ship back, he decided to learn how to use weapons other than his own body. He was found to be adept at the greatsword, and quickly mastered its use. Knowing that slavers would keep plaguing the Marsh, he decided that he would go to Morrowind and act to end slavery as best he could.

Upon arriving in Morrowind, he found that it was not as easy as simply going to the Telvanni-controlled eastern areas of Morrowind and killing everyone. After crossing the wrong Telvanni wizard in a bar in Vivec, he found himself face-down in the underworks of one of the cantons. He was taken in by the local fighter's guild for a time and did some small mercenary jobs to earn money. He met another Argonian who strongly sympathized with his cause and allowed him training in the art of speechcraft. He was also instructed on military strategy, and proved to be an effective strategist. By the time he was 26, he had analyzed the situation carefully, and knew his beset course of action to begin his crusade against the slave trade.

He first sought out small plantations. He was not very well armed or armored and knew that a strike against a rich plantation would be hard to pull off. He carefully planned the attack, first entering under the guise of a trade emissary, then stabbing the owner in the back with a dagger. Without a leader, the remaining guards quickly fell to his blade and he arranged for the now-freed slaves to be returned to Elsweyr and the Black Marsh. He continued his work for two years, becoming known as a serious threat to the slave trade. The brother of one particular slave turned out to be a blacksmith and was so thankful for his brother's return that he forged Ice an ebony greatsword. The blade was also enchanted with frost magic to give slavers exactly what he thought they deserved: a cold death. Assassins started to come after him, but after killing many of them, he discovered who had sent them, and carried out his most well-known attack yet.

It became known as the "Cold Reception." A certain Telvanni wizard, who possessed both nearly limitless money and power, was holding a feast to celebrate his latest acquisition of over 100 slaves. He was also the one responsible for the assassins that plagued Ice. Crashing in through the front door, Ice slaughtered every last one of the wizard's guests. He then moved to the wizard himself and cleaved him in two with one powerful swing. The few witnesses who were able to tell what had happened were found dead days later. They all referred to him as a cold-blooded killer, being friends of the wizard, but cold-blooded wasn't enough. His blood was cold as ice to have killed everyone with that black sword of his. And so the name has stuck. He had freed over three hundred slaves by this time and realized that the death of that wizard truly had an effect on the slaving community. He decided his next move wouldn't be a simple liberation, it would be something far greater. And so he is currently moving the hundred slaves through Cryodiil on the way back to the Black Marsh and Elsweyr. He learns of the danger Oblivion represents and decides that this will be his next great move in his crusade. He then sets off to Fygge's camp, knowing that whatever will happen will start there.

Just a note, I made a mistake in the skill list, a big one. Has been too long time since I played Morrowind

Anyway, just Unarmoured instead (changed from Hand to Hand).

Name: Hadrio Sidosus
Race: Redguard
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Height: 6'6''
Weight: 234 lbs.
Hair: black, cut short in a buzz-fade (like this dude-> http://www.barbersonlymagazine.com/jamalbefore.jpg
Skin: Lightish for a redguard (like nelly -> http://umusicimages.ca/nelly/microsite/info1.jpg )
Eyes: left eye is pale brown, right eye is blind (vertical slash on the right side of Hadrio's face)
Build: Muscular - a tree of scars tells seven years of his life
Face: Looks basically like mine ( http://img50.imageshack.us/img50/2766/mecrippin2fn.jpg ), but a couple years older

Skills
Major:
-Blunt
-Unarmored
-Athletics
-Security
-Hand-to-Hand

Minor:
-Alchemy
-Conjuraton
-Blade
-Sneak
-Mercantile


Backstory

Hadrio Sidosus was born in Taneth, Hammerfell, a port city. He lived in the poor quarter of town in a little shack, along with his mother. His father had been murdered before Hadrio was born by Orcs as he was questing in search of Orcish artifacts the Dragontail Mountains. They'd dropped his mangled body off at the doorstep of his shack, with a message nailed to his back: "DONT RETERN -- THE ORCS". When the orcs had robbed his corpse, they had overlooked a bandana in his back pocket, which seemed to be somehow magical. His mother had given it to Hadrio when he began working in the fields; it was a bandana supposedly of his ancient ancestors of Yokudan before they'd come to Tamriel, and would protect him whenever he had it with him.

His family was poverty-stricken but self-sufficient, farming to feed their bellies and make some extra coin at the marketplace in downtown Taneth. Hadrio would spend countless hours by day in their fields with his mother, beginning at the age of four, chopping the wickwheat and saltrice with his machete for gathering. He also did household tasks like gathering wood, again with his handy machete. By night, Hadrio would go downtown with friends and see if they could sneak into places they wished they could afford to be in. They traveled in little gangs, and often stole sweets and the like from shops. He would always bring something home for his mother. When Hadrio was seven, his mother had another child, a baby girl.

A particular incident stands out in his childhood. As he and a friend were chopping saltrice, while his mother was caring for his half-sister, Hadrio was accidentally slashed by his friend vertically across the right side of his face, blinding his eye forever. He cleaned it as best as he could in a nearby pond, but although it stopped bleeding eventually, the gash stayed wet and oozy, and became infected. He fell ill minutes later. That night, he and his friend went to visit the village crazy -- rumored to be a witch, a practicer of voodoo. Her house was full of small potted plants with star-shaped leaves, that induced a sense of calming when sniffed deeply. The witchdoctor made a pact with him -- he would return every night to be her apprentice Necromancer if she healed him as best and as fast as he could, and cleansed the wound. He returned home the next morning with a fresh scar on his face, smelling strongly of herb. After the incident, Hadrio's future wounds seemed to heal much faster than normally.

Life continued as normal, but his night activities were replaced with lessons of alchemical knowledge and potionmaking, and more darkly, of creating zombies. He gained much wisdom in those few years, but never had the chance to apply his skill out of apprenticeship.

One black, dark day, his little village on the outskirts of town was raided by Orcish reavers. It was the day after Hadrio's birthday; he'd just become 9 years old. They set many huts afire, killed or beat children, enslaved the men or young men, and raped or enslaved the women.

Hadrio had cowered in a corner in his hut, as he helplessly watched his mother being raped by an Orcish reaver, and beaten with a large club with lead nails at the end. He was frozen, traumatized. Soon, he lost control of himself. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and foaming at the mouth, he grabbed his machete and stuck it into the back of the enemy. The towering Orc roared in pain and dropped his club, which Hadrio grabbed and smashed the Orc's face with. He eventually had beaten the Orc into an unrecognizeable pulp. As his adrenaline died down and he felt burned out, he began to weep, clutching his mother's dying body as she coughed blood, and then left the living plane forever. Soon after, two tattoo-faced, skin-headed Orcish reavers bashed the door in with a warhammer, and after seeing Hadrio on the floor, weeping, and everyone else bloody and dead on the floor, they flashed bloody grins as they took him away. They threw him into the slave ship, where he was made to row the oars along with the rest of the captives. He eventually passed out.

He awoke to slavery. Feet and hands bountd with heavy chains, he worked in the mines of the Dragontail Mountains, gathering metels for the Orcs to craft their fine armor and weapons. Harshly beaten and whipped endlessly for good work, he became a crushed yet defiant person. Bad work brought death, as he observed countless times. He would often break the pickaxes by purposely striking rocks that he knew were harder than the iron of the tools, with all the strength he could muster. This happened often, however, and wasn't considered bad work because it was normally unintentional.

He was a slave until he was 16, at which time he was in the middle of puberty. His body was hardened from years of labor. He would have been a handsome young Redguard, if he hadn't had the scar on his face. Eventually he grew restless of being a slave, as he knew he could overpower his masters if all the slaves worked together. He led a slave revolt, which was pseudo-successful. He learned quickly that pickaxes were very effective weapons. During the fray of the battle, he swore he saw a man that looked like a middle-aged version of himself without the scar, fighting alongside him. But the man disappeared when the battle was over. He quickly unlocked his bracers with a key he found on an Orc's body, and helped as many as he could unlock their own before he left. A deathly object caught his eye, and made him freeze - the club with the nails through it, the same club used to kill his mother, in the hands of one of the skin-headed Orcs who'd taken him away seven years ago. He grabbed it and fled.

A few of his fellow former-slaves joined up with him, forming a street guild of bandits that was always on the move. Their main base was in Rihad, a river city in Hammerfell, where they could hijack weapon shipments. They eventually traveled to the Imperial City in Cyrodiil, where they set up another illegal weapons contraband. This, along with the distribution of skooma and Moon Sugar, was their primary source of income.

Hadrio lived on the streets of Cyrodiil for six years, recruiting any scum who had no place to go and nothing to do, until they'd started a riot in which the Imperial Guard proceeded to slaughter the majority of his gang. Again, in this small war, he saw the strange man fighting alongside him, though he was nowhere to be found after the carnage was over. He decided it must be his ancestors' ghosts, as the bandana in his pocket was warming up fast. He, along with three others (Davina, a Redguard woman two years younger than Hadrio; Ngangwe, a half-Redguard half-Imperial and one of Hadrio's closest guildmates/co-leader of the weapons contraband; and Gregorio, a rough but intelligent Redguard-Orc hybrid born a slave in the mines ,with Redguard features and fine, smooth Orcish hair), were the only survivors in his gang, and they were all wanted dead for first-degree murder, with a seriously bloated price on their heads.

Hadrio fled, along with his lover Davina, to Elsweyr to escape the law. Davina was eventually killed by Khajiit assassins hired by the Empire, and eventually Hadrio himself was caught. Miraculously, he was wanted alive rather than dead, and was thrown in the Imperial prison.

And the rest is told in the RP.

Ok, this is the info my character, 'The Silverwolf'. At present Ive not selected an actual name other than what other people call him by, will probably reveal a name later on but Silverwolf keeps the sense of myster of this character which I'm really likeing at the moment

Background:(Most of this is explained in "The Burning Pilgrimage part 2 -The Abbey" but this is the condensed account of where he is from)----Born on small farm 12 miles West of Telune in the North-West province of Hammerfall. His mother is unknown and apparently died at child birth/very young into his life. He lived with his father who is a retired Imperial Legion Guard who gained noteriety amoungst his fellow soldiers for being a powerful warrior. One night, his father is begged to take up his sword again to defend the nearby village of Telune which has been beseiged by some sort of Demon. During the night he has a disturbing vision, and wakes to find his father gone. He sets out for the village only to discover his father broken armor. Enraged, he reforges the armor and wears it as he ascends to the cliff top, and to the demons lair. After a heated battle in which he is defeated, my character submits to the Demons will. However, in a desperate attempt to survive he driveshis sword into the rockface of the demons lair, startling a landslide. This knocks the Demon off the cliff, but the resulting collapse of the cliff causes him to fall off aswell. He lands on a large jutting, talon like rock. He is implaed along with the barely alive demon which is also impaled on the same spike. as the moutnain collapses around them, the two wounds casue tehir blood to mingle, and ther hearts become one. Evil enters his. At this point the Demon finally dies and the spike breaks off, hurtling him into the ocean below. After washing up on shore and being nursed back to a kind of health. My character realized the demon, instead ofgiving him a gift of strength, or power, has given him visions of hell which he must endure while he sleeps. Weakened from the wound, he sets off to find ways of simply allowing him to not fall asleep. However, with the openeing of the Oblvivion gate, the dreams have sifted into the waking world, he now sees the burning flames of his nightmares when he is awake. Thus The Silverwolf sets off to find a way to close the gate.


Name: Silverwolf (The)

Age: 40's

Race: Breton

Profession: Wanderer (In past has had no goals in life other than to remain alive and sane, The openeing of the gate Oblivion changed that however)

Skills: Alchemy (He has learned how to make potent restoration potions so he need not sleep for great lengths of time)

Schooled evenly and semi-proficiently in magic schools of Destruction, alteration, Mysticicm and Illusion. Whatever he could pick up form the people he initally went to to get his potions and herbs to keep himself awake.

Minor Skills With Broadsword (After the battle his physical body is weakened)

Attire: Ink-black Cloak which obscures all of his body and most of his face. (He likes to keep himself to himself.)

Look: Long, Silvery-White hair, Tall and thinly build but with the suggestion of a previous stocky/strong build<---- A 'wasted away' feel Skin darkened, almost with a 'burned' look, resembling that of a dark-elf.


Well, thats it for my caracter, there not much else to know at this stage. Im sure more will develop, ill jsut need to wait and see where it goes from here on in. Currently writing part4 (relating to story update part4) at time of post.

Don't wanna be a stickler, but I thot you might wanna know that Hammerfell is the redguard province... and your dude aint a redguard, so how come he born there?

High Rock is the Breton province.

If you already knew this and I'm blowin' hot air, correct me.

Name: Blacksteh

Race: Redguard

Weapons: 1 Ebony longsword

Major Skills: Longsword, Athletics, Acrobatics, Medium Armor, Block

Minor skills: Armourer, Security, Heavy Armor, Marksman, SneakArmor: Chainmail

Magical Items: 1 enchanted exquisit ring (sanctuary)

Items: 5 restore health postions

Name: Evaeril Sa-Karat
Race: Khajiit
Age: 32
Hometown: Haven, Valenwood
Height: 5'10
Weight: 140 Lbs.
Major Skills: Longsword, Block, Light Armor, Destruction, Conjuration
Minor Skills: Marksman, Acrobatics, Athletics, Sneak, Security
Weapons: Ebony longsword and Bonemold Bow


32 years ago, somewhere on the border of Elsweyr and Valenwood, two Khajiit decided that they didn't want children. They left their litter in the middle of the forest for nature to claim. Three days passed and almost all were dead. All but one. That cub cried and cried and on the night of the third day it was found. Found by the Bosmer... by the Wood Elves. The elves who were filled of compassion for this lost cub took it as one of their own. Even as the Khajiit and the Bosmer were at war, the elves that found him raised the Khajiit in their home village. The village of Haven. A fitting name for the young cat. The cub was given the name Evaeril or "The Enlightened One" in elvish.

Years passed and Evearil learned that he was very different from the others in Haven. He had a tail. His body was covered with fur and he had strange ears. But even though he was unique the elves in Haven treated him no differently. They taught him language. Religion. Their way of life. Evaeril's parents brought the young Khajiit up next to their very own children. He learned the art of the bow. He learned magic. But most importantly he learned the value of life. Inside he was elvish at the heart. But outside he was still a Khajiit and he often longed to know his real parents or to even meet another Khajiit that looked like him...

Then one day changed Evaeril's life forever. He left the elven village never to return. His life after that was a series of meaningless events here and there. He traveled around the world and did odd jobs for people. In return he would be paid and would travel again. His life lacked meaning. It lacked substance. He connected with the elves in other states but those elves hated him for who he was. What he looked like. He was never close to anyone for long. They would push him away. So his life was a life of traveling. Twelve years passed and he came to hate himself. He hated what he was. He hated the body he had been condemned too. He was desperate for change.

When he heard that a Nord was gathering mercenaries to fight against demons he was attracted. Maybe he could end the false life he had been living. Maybe he could free himself from his meaningless existance. The truth is, Evaeril came to Fygge that night to die. To die with honor. And as he was calm and kind on the surface, he had no peace. He would go to meet battle. And that odd flame that burned for 32 years would go out in a bright burst. And maybe, just maybe if he was lucky, that burst would be remembered...

(To know the rest, and some in between, visit the Lake Island RPG)