Birthplace: Orsinium

Appearance: A heavy set sized Orsimer, Fulrog stands at 5'11, and weighs in at a solid 200 lbs. His face is weathered, having been through the Great War and survived the sacking of the Imperial City. Multiple scars run across his face and down his body; faint, but visible to those who pay attention. His hair is greying, and he keeps it braided back in a ponytail. He has a well trimmed beard that runs up to his ears, though he has been letting it grow out more lately. His nose is more pointed and prominent than other Orsimer, and he has a high and wide brow.

Personality: Fulrog is a stern older orc, very much of the persuasion that younger generations aren't up to the task of fighting - leave it to the professionals, he says. That said, he has respect for those who would willingly face an enemy down in combat, and has even more respect for those who come out on top. He has no patience for thieves or those that like to prance about - if you're going to fight, do it in a straightforward way.

He likes a well made blade, and loves seeing new enchantments to learn and test. He could talk shop for days, and finds it amusing when others question how he knows anything about magic or enchanting.

Dislikes mages who use their magic offensively, as he's seen the damage it can do, but he'll tolerate them.

Prefers not to engage in combat when it's against humanoids, but he'll do what's necessary. He prefers fighting dwemer contraptions, as it's guilt free. The one exception is the Thalmor; he'll eagerly fight anyone associated with them, and he has a distinct dislike of high elves, going as far as to be outright hostile.

Has a penchant for food, and particularly for horker meat since arriving in Skyrim. Tends to eat quite a bit.

Background: Fulrog was born in Orsinium, to Bash gro-Tolug and Lugra gra-Rakhna. Growing up in Orsinium, Fulrog quickly learned to fight, and fight well. Never a slouch in combat, preferring a good hammer to all else, he soon found his true love in smithing. Something about the way a weapon was forged, from a useless hunk of metal to the finely tuned edge of a sword or axe, inspired him. He never neglected his duties as a warrior, but he found himself drawn to the forge. He quickly became an adept smith, forging weapons and armor under the tutelage of his mother. But soon, he found himself desiring to further his craft, and to make the sharpest blades and the hardiest armor in all the land.

What he desired was enchanting.

He traveled south upon reaching the age of 20, entering Cyrodiil and joining the Synod. There he learned the basics of magic and, more importantly, how to enchant items. Things progressed well for a year, as he learned all manner of spells and enchantments to apply to his craft. But then, the Great War began.

At first, Fulrog was mostly removed from the war. He worried for his associates in Bravil and Leyawiin, but there was little he could do. He maintained his role in the Synod, forging ahead with his studies. Soon enough, however, he soon volunteered to help the Empire, creating and maintaining armor and weapons, and then enchanting them with whatever soul gems he could find. This continued on for three years, earning himself a reputation as a talented armorer and enchanter.

Unfortunately, that came to a halt during the siege of the Imperial City. Trapped in the city by the Thalmor, he aided how he could, but the outcome was inevitable. His store of goods was lost, and Fulrog was tortured by the Thalmor for months on end. Miraculously, he survived long enough for the city to be recaptured, and he was released. But, the scars were many, and were both physical and mental. He found himself hamstrung and crippled, and an undying hatred of the Thalmor and High Elves in general was born.

He regained some mobility through reopening the wounds and magically healing them, but the spryness of his youth was lost at the young age of 25. He also couldn't bring himself to use the aggressive forms of magic anymore, instead choosing to focus on alteration, restoration and enchanting.

Following the White-Gold Concordant, Fulrog aided the survivors of the aftermath as well as he could. He forged armor and tools, healed where possible, and helped in rebuilding the city. Five years after the war's end, at 30 years old, Fulrog decided a change in pace was needed.

He traveled north, to Skyrim, seeking to perfect his craft. Travelling the land, Fulrog picked up numerous tips and techniques from the various smiths. In particular, one smith - Eorlund Gray-Mane - inspired him so much that he chose to stay in Skyrim and practice his craft. He eventually chose to stay in the small town of Ivarstead. There, for many years Fulrog worked for the town, maintaining the arms and armor of the local guards. However, there was always an undercurrent of racism there; the Nords that inhabited the village typically shunned him when not coming to him to shop, and the guards always held an undercurrent of hostility when talking to him. Fulrog shrugged it off as best he could, but the ingratitude grated at him. He knew it was because the Nords typically didn't like outsiders, and that in the southern and eastern Holds the racism was more pronounced.

To escape his social isolation, and to keep his skills sharp, Fulrog ventured into the mountains two to three times a year, delving into the Dwemer ruins. There he found considerable riches in the durable metal that the dwemer used in their constructs. He could never carry back much, but what he did bring typically made his customers very happy - at least, the ones that could afford it. In a way, delving into those ruins was somewhat of a vacation for Fulrog. He got to get away from the racism of the Nords, he could sharpen his skills on dwemer automatons instead of shedding real blood, and he could spend his free time studying the dwemer scripts. It was a good life, the right amount of excitement and steadiness.

But soon, the Skyrim Civil War started, and Fulrog faced fully fledged discrimination in the Stormcloak's area of influence. Nevertheless, he tried to remained neutral. While he was glad that someone was standing up to the Thalmor, he wished it wasn't against the Empire that had treated him so well.

By the end of the war, Fulrog had been forced to help arm the Stormcloaks. A typical sight was of the guards coming by and appropriating whatever weapons and armor he had created. Seeing the Stormcloaks win created mixed feelings in Fulrog; in truth, he disliked both the Thalmor and the Stormcloaks. He debated whether to leave and head back to Cyrodiil or Orsinium. But ultimately, he decided to stay a bit longer, joining the caravans that had grown beyond just the Khajiit. For several years he stayed with them, enjoying the camaraderie that had been denied to him for so long. That was, until he heard about a certain company of mercenaries in Dawnstar - for Fulrog, it presented an opportunity to really start up his craft again for those who needed it, rather than the army of Skyrim, which grew more totalitarian by the day. (Will expand a bit more on his thoughts about joining the group once I know a bit more.)

Skills:
Expert: Smithing
Adept: Enchanting, Two-handed blunt
Apprentice: Mercantile, Heavy Armor, Alteration, Restoration
Novice: Dwemer (extinct language)

Weaknesses:
Relatively slow and clumsy; he's lost fine motor control, except in smithing, which he has to concentrate intensely to do. He won't be doing acrobatics anytime soon, nor any lockpicking. His weight doesn't help in this regard.

Has a pathological hatred for everything Thalmor and High elven. If he's provoked by them, he'll literally try to kill them.

Has a fear of destructive magic, and dislikes illusion as a whole. If faced with destructive magic, he'll flinch, and possibly refuse to engage the magic user.

Tends to require more food than others, and can be a pain to deal with when hungry.

Spells:
Candlelight
Stoneflesh
Healing
Healing Hands
Lesser Ward

Combat Style: Prefers to fight with two handed mauls, and he goes right into the fray, relying on his personal armor and weapon to see him through.

Relations and Affiliations:
(Formerly) Synod
Knows the people of Ivarstead, and of the travelling caravans.

Opinions of Group Members:
None (yet)

Other Capabilities:
Can sink into a berserker rage, where he forgoes defending himself in favor of dealing as much damage as possible.

Cash:
250 gold (What little he has remaining from his time as a merchant in Ivarstead and in the Caravans.)

Keys and Lockpicks:
None

Tools and Crafting Materials:
Smithing hammers, a bellow, a few dwarven ingots.

Clothing and Armor:
Blacksmith's clothing and robes
Dwarven armor set with enchantments (lesser soul gem quality)
(Helm: resist magic)
(Chest: Fortify Health)
(Gauntlets: Resist Magic)
(Greaves/Boots: Fortify Carry Weight)

Weapon and Ammunition:
Dwarven Warhammer, enchanted with absorb stamina (lesser soul gem quality)
Steel dagger
Pickaxe

Potion and Arcane Supplies:
Enchanting supplies (troll skull embedded with some gems, small enchanter)
Some petty and lesser soul gems

Jewelry, Valuables and Personal Belongings:
The gems embedded in the enchanting supplies.
A smithing hammer from his mother, one that he doesn't use.

Books and Documents:
A guide to Dwemer scripts
Personal journal filled with notes on dwemer scripts, magical spells and enchantments, and mundane entries.

Food, Drinks and Ingredients:
A week's worth of hard tack
Two water skins
A haunch of venison, cooked.

Load Bearing Equipment:
Backpack made with a bear pelt

Other: