Name:
Walks-Among-Crypts, is the name given to those not of the Hist.
Age:
34
Gender:
Male
Race:
Argonian
Appearance:
Green scales adorned in red warpaint forms an intricate design across this Argonian's scales. An elongated snout containing sharp reptilian teeth bear small horns along his ridged eyebrows, and jawline up to the back of his skull, where they meet much larger horns pointing backwards, as a small tussle of crimson leaves sprout out from the back of his reptilian head between said horns. A pair of yellow snake-like eyes peer forth between bony ridges, belying a sinister intelligence. WIP

Personality:
WIP

History:
WIP

Skills:
WIP

Equipment:
WIP

Birthsign:
The Thief - "The Thief is the last Guardian Constellation, and her Season is the darkest month of Evening Star. Her Charges are the Lover, the Shadow, and the Tower. Those born under the sign of the Thief are not typically thieves, though they take risks more often and only rarely come to harm. They will run out of luck eventually, however, and rarely live as long as those born under other signs." - The Firmament

Miscellaneous:
I love the river Marne.

Name: Hraf Raven-Eye, “Blackbird”

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Appearance: Hraf can be seen in several ways as having the appearance of the typical Nord man; tall and stout in build, with a wide jaw and strong, broad features. His hair is very dark brown, nearly black, worn to shoulder-length, carefully combed and woven into thick braids. His beard, while thick and coarse, is kept short and neatly trimmed. Hraf’s most notable features are his dark, hollow eyes. Deeply-set with dark sockets, his brown eyes at times seem as dark as the sea on a moonless night. His gaze holds both worldly weariness and tenacity like a starving predator.

Taking pride in his appearance, Hraf makes efforts to keep himself well-groomed and smartly dressed. Fine furs, wools and leathers are his usual attire when not at sea, and he has a fondness for fancy brooches and necklaces. His attire at sea is more utilitarian, consisting of durable a black surcoat and boots, strongly-woven cotton clothes and a beaver-pelt cloak.

Personality: For a hardy sailor and known privateer, Hraf is a surprisingly personable fellow. Charming and silver-tongued, most find Hraf to be a man both easy to like as well as trust. However, his affable persona can be quickly shut off and replaced with the cold, ruthless pragmatism that one would expect from a veteran smuggler and mercenary. Hraf is an opportunist at heart, always on the lookout for the next chance to advance himself or his goals. While he acknowledges its strength, Hraf does not care for social standing as much as he values cold, hard cash. The power money brings is of supreme value to him, and Hraf is no miser; he lives quite comfortably off of his pilfered fortunes, and hopes to eventually retire on his accumulated wealth. While he is not completely without empathy, Hraf is rather stone-hearted, and cares little for those that he misuses or kills in pursuit of riches. The most consideration one would earn would usually be either their usefulness to him in the future, or the potency of any enemies that he would make by abusing or killing someone. Not that he fears reprisals greatly, as Hraf is a cool and level-headed fellow, and is quite confident in his skills and experience to keep himself alive and prosperous.

History: The clan Raven-Eye is an old and well-respected merchant house in Skyrim, claiming that their roots extend to the Atmoran sailors who brought Ysgramor’s Companions to Tamriel. Hraf was born a distant scion to the house, the second son of a second son. Even so, he was raised comfortably among his siblings and cousins, schooled in the arts of sailing and mercantilism, and when he became of age, he was given his own ship to command. He rounded the ports of Tamriel, trading and selling common goods in every province of the Empire. However, he quickly learned that there were greater profits to be made in the business of goods made illegal by the Empire.

Be it slaves from Black Marsh or moon sugar from Elsweyr, Hraf managed to put a finger in nearly every pot of Tamriel’s seedy black market. However, competition in the smuggling business was fierce, and Hraf quickly learned that one either needed to get good fast, or be killed faster. His skills in battle and manipulation were forged on the razor’s edge of criminality, from repelling rival smugglers off the deck of his ship, to sweet-talking Imperial customs agents. Even so, Hraf was still a young sailor, and was not infallible. An Imperial galleon intercepted a shipment of Hist saplings, and engaged Hraf’s smaller trade ship in battle. Much of his crew was killed, his ship was destroyed, and Hraf himself was captured by the Imperial authorities. His family’s connections were able to ease his sentence to a mere seven years in the Imperial Prison, but with that he was disowned from house Raven-Eye, never again welcome in his ancestral halls.

Hraf’s imprisonment was not his first turn in the clink (nor would it be his last), and it was not the end of his career. Once released, he recovered a cask of gold that he had buried in the sands of Stros M’Kai, having planned for just such an emergency. With this, he commissioned a new ship from the shipwrights of Windhelm, dubbed “Blood Eagle,” and hired a reliable, yet suitable unsavory crew from the city’s slums. With a more battle-worthy ship and crew, Hraf took on more dangerous work that he was previously hesitant to engage in, including piracy, raids on coastal towns and mercenary work. With the onset of the Civil War in Skyrim, Hraf returned home as a privateer. Not that he truly chose a side; the Blood Eagle merely sacked whatever ships seemed most vulnerable, and he had acquired papers to prove that he was allied with either side as needed.

The calm following the defeat of the Stormcloak rebels and the return of Imperial law to Skyrim was disappointing to Hraf. Opportunity for his brand of work has died down in these peaceful times, and as such he has been forced further inland to put his particular set of skills to use.

Skills: First and foremost, Hraf is an inheritor of the long tradition of Nord sailors. Able to command a ship just as well as he can work as a deckhand on one, Hraf’s years at sea have made him just as comfortable in the open ocean as he is on land (perhaps even more so).  He knows the coastal waters of Tamriel like they were his hometown, and he is intimately familiar with the numerous byways and coves used by smugglers such as himself. Storms and icy waters mean little to a Nord sailor, and Hraf sails through such obstacles fearlessly.

As reliable a warrior as he is a captain, Hraf is an experienced swashbuckler, more than able to hold his own in a close-quarters battle. Short swords and scimitars are his forte, especially when fighting with a shield, but he is competent with axes or mauls as well. Fighting in a cramped space with little room to maneuver is second nature to Hraf, and in this way the corridor of crypt is much like the underdecks of a ship. In more open spaces, Hraf is a crack shot with a crossbow, his sharp “raven’s eyes” aiding his aim.

In more subtle matters, Hraf is a skilled haggler and negotiator, and is surprisingly knowledgeable in matters of trade and economics. Over the years, Hraf has established a network of comtacts throughout the Empire, both reputable and otherwise, from which he frequently calls in favors and blackmail. While his charisma mostly lends itself to establishing deals, trades and other such short-term agreements, Hraf is never the less a dangerously smooth talker, and has a penchant for manipulation in certain circumstances. Some say that the “raven eyes” allow a man to see the desires of others, but Hraf attributes this talent to experience and practice. Once he knows what someone wants, bending them to his will is usually just a matter of time.

Equipment: Hraf’s most prized possession is his ship, the Blood Eagle. A Nord longboat, the Blood eagle has a sturdy, oak hull and mast (both reinforced with iron), twenty rowing benches, and a black sail emblazoned with the silhouette of a red eagle. Modified to fit Hraf’s specifications, the Blood Eagle’s bow and stern are fitted with steel beaks, designed to ram into and pierce the hulls of other ships. Below decks are many secret storage compartments for smuggled goods built into the hull. The deck is kept well-waxed, allowing spilled blood to be quickly and easily cleaned away.

In battle, Hraf prefers functionality far over form, and prefers his equipment to be easily replicable in the event it is dropped into the sea or broken. When preparing for combat, he equips armored plates to his boots and bracers, dons a simple steel helmet, and wears a mail shirt between his surcoat and fur cloak. He carries a sturdy shield, made mostly of steel for strength, but with a layer of wood to catch blades and axes. His weapons of choice are a simple, curved sword of castle-forged steel, and a long, straight knife of similar construction. When preparing for enemies afar, he wields a steel-spring crossbow and a quarrel of iron-tipped bolts.

Birthsign: The Serpent

Miscellaneous: Hraf keeps with him a trained raven, which he calls Muni. It usually perches on his wrist or shoulder, and Hraf feeds it small corns or scraps of meat. It has taken to imitating death-cries that it hears in Hraf’s presence, or calling out “Blood! Blood!” at random intervals. Hraf finds this behavior inexplicably amusing.

Name: Balen Oril

Age: 50

Gender: Male

Race: Dunmer

Appearance: Balen is a Dunmer of tall stature, almost as tall as an Altmer, and similarly wiry and long-limbed, though nonetheless he possesses the sinewy physique and rugged complexion of his kin. He is, like most other Dunmer, ashen skinned, and red eyed, both his sclera and pupil blood red. Aside from his lanky physique, another defining trait of Balen is that his eyes are incredibly large, a trait further accentuated by his receding hairline and large brow. Thanks to this and his weak chin and gaunt face, his upper head looks much larger than normal. He sports a rather large mustache that people have likened to a pair of scimitars hanging down from his upper lip.

Balen prefers simple and practical clothing. His common attire consists of a grayish-blue waterproof broadcloth robe, that’s probably one size too large (maybe two) over a quilted vest, with a pale burgundy shirt underneath, tucked well into his baggy grey pants, which are also tucked into his knee-high leather boots. In hotter climates, he ditches most of the clothing entirely and wears only the robe, breeches that end at the knee joint and leather moccasins. He covers his head with a wide brimmed hat.

Personality: Balen is a rather still person. He’s not dull or dense – he simply believes that he does not have much to share with most of the people around him, so he keeps quiet and does not try to be a sore thumb. He’s not oozing with calmness, but rather, he’s just contemplative. This does not mean that he tries to get along with everyone, however. As opposed to trying to be on good terms with everyone, Balen simply prefers keeping quiet and picking his words, and the people he speaks to. Balen is a man of simple pleasures and rarely complains, making him a useful companion, though he can be hard to get used to. He wonders the secrets of creation and reality, and enjoys speaking about such matters, preferring the company of mages despite not having much skill or interest on the practical applications of magic. It’s easy to confuse him for a man of peace. This is wrong – he’s simply a considerate and practical person. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, though he’d much rather prefer that they’d stay clean.

History: Balen has led a rather interesting life and picked up many professions throughout, and somehow managed to avoid life-threatening danger through most of it as well.

Born in Blacklight, in a foggy Middas of the First Seed, to an upper middle class family affiliated with House Hlaalu, Balen grew up through a rather uneventful childhood as the youngest child. For most of his childhood, he was educated by his grandparents and his father’s grandfather, who was an immensely elderly scholar that claimed to have been saved by the Nerevarine from Kagoutis in Vvardenfell hundreds of years ago. Perhaps thanks to this man’s countless stories, or perhaps thanks to natural disposition, Balen earned a penchant for reading, reading up on the past, of the times before the Red Year. It was during these times, while he was reading the Sermons of Vivec, when he first questioned his faith in Ancestor Worship and Daedra Worship.

Following his father’s death, Balen, the youngest child, was given the duty of taking care of his father’s remains, while his elder brothers tried to get the family profession running again. Seeing this as an opportunity, Balen decided to uphold his father’s last wish and take his remains to Necrom, and joined a trading caravan to go there. During this journey, Balen befriended a Bosmer bookseller, Godron, who told Balen that he’d be happy to accommodate him in Valenwood. After interring his father’s remains in Necrom and buying a bunch of trinkets claimed to be of Akaviri make, he took a ship from Necrom to Southpoint. Here, Balen’s fine writing skills, Godron’s profession, and the money they made selling the so-called Akaviri artifacts, opened an interesting business venture – Godron would buy rare books, Balen would write down the content of books they’d find, Godron would sell the original copy to the highest bidder and then stock his shop with copies of the real book. During this time, Balen practiced his skills of writing, and more importantly, got his hands on books he wouldn’t be able to hear of otherwise. Making spare copies of books he got interested in, Balen eventually built up his own collection. Eventually, he parted ways with Godron amicably, and got on a ship to Alinor, to learn the secrets of the Aldmer. However, he could not get along with the Thalmor officials, and did not stay on the isles for long.

Balen got on a ship to Stros M’Kai to learn more about the Sload and perhaps Yokuda, but the ship was attacked by pirates. It was during this time when Balen first took his first two lives, cutting down a pair of pirates trying to carry his chest out of his room. Following the attack, the ship’s captain decided to dock at Rihad instead, finding its original course too dangerous for the damaged ship to handle. Balen spent a good amount of time in Rihad, comprehending the rather large amount of knowledge he had gathered in form of books so far, and going over them. During this time, Balen began pearl hunting as a hobby, but soon turned it into profit. He earned his fondness for Skooma in Rihad as well, thanks to its relaxing properties.

Balen left Rihad in a hurry after participating in a ritual to summon Hermaeus Mora that went awry. He had participated in the ritual, mostly as a guest, in hopes of learning more about the content of the Elder Scrolls from the Daedric Prince itself. However, the ritual went awry, and Balen, savvy enough to run before the Prince was fully summoned, was able to survive. He’d later learn that the corpses (if they were dead, that is) were literally merged with the walls of the Shrine. Going south, Balen moved to Chorrol and settled there, spending his time with the Mages Guild members. He found most of them too attached to the arts of Magicka to actually care about the grander scheme of things, however. Balen sold books in Chorrol for five years and tried to live a simpler life, compared to his time as an eccentric in Rihad. Then one day, Godron showed up at his doorstep.

After a long talk about what he’d been doing with his life since Balen left, Godron made Balen an offer. Godron told Balen that he was no longer a book seller, but a trader of artifacts. Of course, the risks were much higher as Godron had to fund his own expeditions and often partake in them himself, but it was also much more profitable, and he was able to see first-hand sources, and stop having to rely on inaccurate accounts. Balen was convinced, and joined Godron on a trip to a Dwemer Ruin in the Velothi Mountains. Spending most of his time translating and drawing schematics of what they faced, Balen drew the ire of Godron’s hired blades, but soon proved his worth by toppling over a Steam Centurion by just disabling its gyroscope and pushing it down, instead of smashing it to pieces.

Unfortunately, the rest of the expedition was not as auspicious. About half of the crew, including Godron, was lost to a malfunctioning (or trapped) elevator. Heavily demoralized and grieving over the loss of his long time friend and business associate, Balen returned from the expedition alongside the survivors, bringing back what they could carry, alongside the captured Centurion, selling them all in Cheydinhal.

The endeavor had cost him a friend, but it had also opened a new world of possibilities to Balen. He did not like to admit it, but he was thrilled, to be able to enter and sense the world and things he had only read about in the past. He was able to enter the societies of those who had written the books that had inspired him. And he wanted more of it.

Spending the cash he had earned from his first experience for suitable equipment, Balen started looking for work, hoping to immerse himself in the unknown once more.

Skills: Balen prides himself on having a robust constitution. Truly, like a mule, Balen can walk for long distances without tiring at all, submerge himself underwater for long times, or repeat grueling labor tasks without flinching. He does not like facing situations head on, and would rather find an easier way to go around something. Thanks to his high endurance, Balen can go for days wearing armor, though he prefers lighter armors (compared to, say, plate armor) so his movement is not constrained. He is an average swordsman, with most of his encounters won through cautious action, straining the opponent, and thinking, rather than sheer skill with the blade. While not muscular, Balen certainly bears natural strength. However, Balen tries to keep his physical role to a minimum, and prefers to use his knowledge. He is inept at practical magic – Balen is certainly not the sort of fellow to fling fireballs while running. However, he can possibly, if you manage to convince him and provide him with time and ingredients, cast curses, or give mundane objects odd properties, such as making water emanate light. He refuses labels such as enchanting and alchemy, however, believing that they narrow concepts of much greater scale.

Equipment: Balen prefers to be mobile, and thus, carries all his belongings in a rucksack, and prefers to keep them in the bag unless necessary. For battle, he owns a steel dagger of Ashlander make, which is practically a shortsword, having a blade too wide and too long to be a dagger. On the grip of the shortsword, the Daedric letters Meht, Ayem, Roht, Neht and Ekem are inscribed, though Balen has not been able to comprehend what the letters mean and assumes that it’s some sort of tribal superstition. As for armor when combat is inevitable, he wears a simple mail hauberk, a plate gorget, and vambraces.

Birthsign: The Lord

Miscellaneous: Balen handles Skooma like it’s nothing. It’s hard to tell if he’s under the influence or not.

Name: Angelique du Mersot (Mer-so) . She goes my Merci as Angelique is kind of a mouthful.
Age: 24
Gender: Female.
Race: Breton.

Appearance:
Angelique is a young Breton woman a little below average height. She possesses the classical beauty of her race with high cheekbones and a neat, heart shaped face. She has dark eyes and dark chestnut hair which she keeps cut above her shoulders; lest it interfere with spell work or alchemy. Years of living on very little have left Angelique unhealthily thin. This has also resulted in a slight hollowing of her face and eyes, granting her an intensity that can be a little off putting.

Surviving on the streets has not given Angelique the luxury of idleness that many mages enjoy and as a result she is in excellent physical condition. Running and climbing have given her tight, lean muscles without the bulkiness often seen in swordsmen or warriors.

Personality:
Despite her relatively hard life Angelique is fairly pleasant, even friendly. Betrayals and abuse have made her wary but she wants to be accepted and be part of the group in a way that only those who have been kept on the outside for a long time can understand. Morally Angelique is very flexible, working with many disparate groups, has given her a mercenary's bland acceptance of the world that is, rather than the world that ought to be. Moral judgments and outrage can be expensive when eating tonight depends on pleasing others.

Magic is Angelique’s true joy and her whole demeanor frequently changes when she practices it. She loves magic in all its form and has an insatiable appetite for new lore and knowledge. All the sacrifices she has made seem worth it when she pulls together a particularly clever spell or masters a new technique. She can be a little resentful of those who have had the privilege of a more leisurely education in the arcane arts, particularly if she feels that the practitioner is lazy or wasting their blessings.

History:
On the distant shores of Daggerfall in High Rock, far to the west, lies the small village of Marne. In this village, under the sign of the Lover, Angelique was born. Her parents were social climbers, well to do for tradespeople but not spectacularly wealthy. Like many Breton children Angelique showed early magical promise. As she grew older, this promise turned into a fascination bordering on obsession. Not infrequently she would be punished for pestering some wandering spell caster for a lesson or a bit of lore. Unhappily, formal education at a magical school was far beyond her parent’s limited means and she tried, without success, to accept this.

As the years passed Angelique grew into a strong willed and beautiful young woman. She learned a little alchemy from her mother but in her heart she always dreamed of studying magic. On her sixteenth birthday Angelique was betrothed to one of the younger sons of the local nobility. It was considered quite a coup by her parents, despite the fact that the gentleman in question was a younger son and unlikely to inherit much beyond a few poor acres. Entree into the nobility is the dream of every aspiring peasant after all.

It was too much for young Angelique, after a screaming argument with her father, in which suicide as threatened and the prospect of her being taken to the altar in chains was raised, she stormed off to her room. After hours of weeping an idea occurred to Angelique that was only possible in the romantic mind of a teenager. Gathering a few belongings she crept down to her father's strong room, opened the simple lock and stole the dowry that he had spent years laying away for her. Fleeing into the night, she left Daggerfall for Wayrest, able to pursue her dreams of magical study. Or so she thought.

Unfortunately, what a sixteen year old girl from a small town in Daggerfall imagines is a lot of money doesn't go very far in a city like Wayrest. She obtained some instruction but within a few months she was broke. With no place to live, no way to continue her studies and unable to return home, things looked dire. By a combination of luck and determination she made her living on the street. She picked wild flowers and made potions which she hawked to the desperate and foolish. She learned that a pretty girl could relieve a drunken merchant of a few septims, if she had the stomach for it, and she found the ins and outs of the local underworld.

Through these networks of pickpockets, pimps and cut purses, she found the means to continue her education. A lesson on illusion from an old nightblade in exchange for some company and a few bottles of mead, a vain wizard willing to give a pretty and fascinated girl a few pointers on a cantrip, a drunken priest that would expostulate on healing magic. Bit by bit she was able to patch together a semblance of training while keeping body and soul together by the barest of margins. And then, of course, there were the Cults.

It is an open secret that every nation in Tamriel is riddled with Daedric cults of one type or another. Some of these, like Azura’s, are relatively benign but the kind of cults interested in a desperate young woman with magical abilities tended to be the other kind. Here, a midst smoke, blood and sweat, she received what might be euphemistically described as her foundations in conjuration.

She might have ended here like so many others, drawn into the ever constricting circles of cult life, hopelessly addicted to drugs or other vices but for a strange chance. During a particularly debauched ritual she came face to face with another worshiper. To her horror, she recognized the face of her former fiancé, worse yet, he recognized her. With the realization that he would certainly have her killed to prevent the possibility of exposure or blackmail she fled. An old acquaintance in the mercenary trade vouched for her and she was hired on as a guard for a caravan headed east, to Cheydinhal.

Skills:
Angelique's skills lay primarily with magic. She has received an extraordinarily eclectic education and is basically competent in most magical disciplines. Conjuration is a particular area of strength as this was the easiest area in which to find instruction. She is also slightly better at illusions and restorative magic as these were the most essential to survival on the streets. She has a small degree of skill with alchemy but has had little practice beyond love potions and hangover cures since she was a girl.

Although not a master thief by any stretch of the imagination, living on the street has given Angelique the basic tools of an urban criminal. She probably can’t steal it for you herself, but she can find someone who can.

Equipment:
Leather pack
Walking Staff
Dagger

Birthsign: The Lover