Name: "Steelpike" Roland Corvo
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: The Steed

Appearance: Roland is a young man, and tall for a Imperial, about 185 centimeters. He is a sinewy man, who is quick and agile, but is not a brawny or muscular man at all, and there are stronger men than him. For his services during the Civil War and in the Imperial Legion, he has gained more than just a few scars. Roland has long, dark brown hair, bordering almost black at times, and clear green eyes, that have a spark of determination and will. His face is kept clean shaven meticulously. He could be considered a handsome man, if he smiled more with his thin mouth.

Biography: Roland was born into the Corvo family in 181 Fourth Era, whose members have served in the Imperial Legion as officers and soldiers for generations. His father Marcus, for example, fought against the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War. As such, Roland has always wanted to distinguish himself in the Legion. Roland lived most of his childhood and teenage years in Cyrodiil, often moving from town to town, as his father was assigned to different towns to act as an inspector and instructor for Legion's troops in Cyrodiilic garrisons.

Roland learned how to use a sword and other weapons while still being a child. Often, he would just use a stick or a wooden sword and fight with his friends, siblings and cousins. As the eldest son of the flock of six children, he was often given the best education, but Roland has always looked after his younger siblings.

Roland grew up into an ambitious young man, who took service to the Empire seriously and saw life in the military as a prestigious one. As he turned eighteen, Roland joined the Imperial Legion as a footman, starting as a swordsman. Proving himself as a competent and aggressive duelist and a handsome young man, Roland became a poster boy, so to speak, for the Legion for a while during his training, as he excelled as a soldier and came from from a military family. Two of his younger brothers also joined the Legion as scribes.

He gained some fame before the Skyrim's Civil War, and as he had risen to the officer ranks just before the war's beginning, he was given the command of a unit of heavy footmen. His commanding officer would turn out to be Hector Sibassius.

Roland had heard a few rumours and whispers of Hector from some older men of the Legion, but not many concrete facts. Roland soon was acquainted with the man himself, and served as one of his junior staff members throughout the war, helping him pacifying Skyrim's countryside. Roland's cohort of swordsmen often broke the back of Stormcloak resistance in any battle and often took the heaviest losses. Often clad in steel and taller than most Imperials, he gained the nickname "Steelpike" from his fellow soldiers.

Roland often volunteered to take his men into the fray if needed and led them from the front. The unit shared a tight bond and certain feel of entitlement forged in the many battles. They saw themselves as the best unit in the whole Legion, which, of course, could be always argued by other units.

One day, though, Roland's Raiders, as his cohort was known, was attacked by a brown-scaled dragon while on the march. The attack lasted only a couple minutes, but it left the cohort devastated and decimated. Out of the dozens men under Roland's command, only a handful survived, and the dragon was hardly hurt at all, vanishing as fast as it had attacked. The Raiders lost most of veteran soldiers, who had been serving ever since the beginning of the war.

The attack left Roland mentally shaken and embittered, and tried to serve the same way as he had before the dragon attack, but something had changed. He had become more short tempered and angry, often snapping at people. Some of his comrades would say that he had lost his edge in the dragon attack, and they would be right. After seeing his men and friends dying a fiery death, Roland had been devastated emotionally.

After the Civil War, Roland became an instructor at an imperial garrison in Skyrim, teaching what he knew to new recruits and soldiers. He hasn't told much to anyone what had happened to his cohort during the Civil War, but there are rumours and whispers around him, of course. Almost two years passed, before Hector Sibassius contacted Roland and asked him to join his expedition to find and kill a rogue mage named Akhar.

Personality: Once an ambitious and sociable young man, Roland has become a more reserved man, often seeming more cold and emotionally distant than before, perhaps even somewhat cynical. He has still his wit and sense of pride in his line of work. He is a quick and clever man, but he is not an academic. He has a practical view on the world, and can crack a joke or two, if he's on a good mood. An honest and direct man, Roland often says what he thinks.

During his early career in the Legion, Roland was a good humoured man, who saw soldier's life as a duty of a good citizen, but also as a game. He on purpose wanted to be the best, seeming a bit cocky and overconfident, but he often made sure that he didn't leave any comrades behind. The Civil War changed his personality draamatically.

Skills: Roland is an expert swordsman and duelist, a solid tactician and a competent instructor. Roland is magically non-gifted, relying on his physical attributes. He also knows how to read and write. He is used to march and camp in different enviroments, mainly Skyrim and Cyrodiil's forests.

Equipment:
- Armour: red gambeson, black mail hauberk, black breastplate, pauldrons and gauntlets, fullhelmet ornamented with bird feathers.
- Weapons: A steel bastard sword, a foot long steel dagger and an oaken shield with a steel rim.
- Green wool shirt, a brown travelling cloak with a hood, a green cotton tunic, a scarf.
- Backpack and a flagon.
- An amulet of Talos.

Other: Roland likes card and board games, especially if Septims are involved. He also enjoys drinking Nord mead and Cyrodiilic brandy. He hates the smell of burning flesh and fat, and is afraid of burning alive.

Name: Erissil Stagshoof

Age: 112

Gender: Female

Race: 'Wood Elf' (Bosmer)

Birthsign: The Thief

Appearance(from head to toe): This Bosmer stands at a proud height of five-feet-and-three-inches (160.02 cm), her life spent in the lush woodlands of her homeland probably having something to do with that, as well as the mixed heritage of Bosmer biology.

Rich locks of auburn hair tumble down from her head to the middle of her back, most commonly either left free or drawn up into a topknot of sorts, autumnal leaves and the feathers of various birds woven into the curls and about her pointed ears, two small but noticeable antlers of bleached bone visible as they poke through fringe of hair on either side of her forehead.

Below this nest of hair and thin brows of a similar colour is a face that has never seen a drop of foreign blood, a curious and expressive visage holding the balanced oddity of Mer features – a face both beautiful to look upon, but equally just as otherworldly; this is no travelling tradesman or mercenary soldier, but the slender and point-chinned face of one who has spent their entire life in Valenwood. Eyes of pure black look out from deep-set sockets, high cheekbones flanking a slender and slightly button nose, a mouth with full but pale lips concealing two rows of pointed teeth behind them, all set into flesh 'Caucasian' in colour but almost constantly daubed with a layer of dirt and grime.

She possesses a graceful and sylphlike form of packed muscle as one progresses lower – her limbs like coiled springs of corded muscle and her overall frame not as 'light' as one might expect from one of the Mer – she is nevertheless broader than her Altmer cousins across the shoulder, and owns the athletic form of one who has spent their entire life in a constant state of exercise and readiness for conflict; life within Valenwood is anything but easy, and she is living proof of this.

One thing that does mark her out from any other lineage of Mer are the various elaborate tattoos and markings patterning her body and face (the facial marking being especially extensive, covering almost any spare flesh) using a method unknown to man, but probably carved into the flesh, causing it to look more like bark if the dye should fade. These designs vary from appearing as the veins of forest leaves, to the swirls and interlocking variations more often seen among the Bosmer peoples than any others of their kindred. These patterns are generally varying hues of green, giving Erissil a more natural camouflage as well as accentuating her already otherworldly look.

She wears nothing upon her hardened feet, capable of walking over most things without damage.

Biography: Born deep in Valenwood, in the densely forested region known as Malabal Tor, to the rightly feared and often avoided Stagshoof tribe, there is actually very little to tell of Erissil or her life before the arrival of Hector Sibassius and his expedition into her homeland. She grew up much like any other Bosmer, taking on the religion of the Green Pact from her extended family and being trained in the use of the bow by her father, learning all that she needed to know to survive; in the end, isn't it always about survival?

She was seventy-six when the Great War of 4E171 began, when the Aldmeri Dominion and the Imperial forces of Emperor Titus Mede II began their drawn out conflict of bloodshed. In spite of Thalmor control of Valenwood – following from three years earlier, when the Dominion had first annexed the 'province' – and some support from the otherwise insular Bosmer, the Stagshoof clan remain as neutral as they can and therefore outside of the worst of the fighting; whether this was due to allegiances or simply because of their isolation from the outside world did not matter.

Time moved along as it did...the Imperial forces beat the Elvish forces back...and Valenwood went on as it always had.

The blood of Bosmer had been spilt though, for not all had remained out of the conflict, and it was only a year before the end of the war that a group of Aldmeri-aligned Bosmer assailed the treetop homes of the Stagshoof clan. It was a somewhat unfair fight, for the terrain and locals knowledge was with the defenders, and by the end of the raid it would appear that the attackers had simply disappeared into the woodlands.

The clan feasted well after that.

Unknowing of faraway things such as the Stormcloak rebellion, the Stagshoof people were nevertheless highly connected to their land, and when an unknown presence entered the forest they were one of the first to feel it in the roots and the air. Something was not right, something had to be done.

It was a gloomy day when an odd Bosmer, one clad in light clothing of an Imperial manufacture and bearing a missive from an individual he claimed as some sort of 'Hand', appeared before the Clan Mother and requested aid in a matter of the utmost urgency. He assured them it would be to the benefit of them all, seeking only a native guide from a clan that had remained neutral during the Great War – with no ties to Imperial or Aldmeri – to lead a small group into the confines of Valenwood.

Much debate was had before Erissil was gifted the task, the Mother and elders of the clan probably not told the entirety of the matter and assured that it would be a quite safe 'job' - clearly the Imperial Bosmer had learnt how to lie during his time in the Empire.

Unaware of Akhar or the true reasons for the arrival of Hector, she now goes to meet he and his compatriots with relish. What will she learn from these strangers? What do they look like? What do they taste like?

Personality: Like most of her kind she is generally affable and welcoming of outsiders, Valenwood having taken in its fair share of strangers in its long existence, although coming from one of the more insular clans she remains wary and cautious – even skittish – around those she has entirely no connection to; adding to this later penchant for observation before interaction is her bare-bones grasp of Tamrielic, what she does speak usually being quite broken and causing others to see her as unintelligent - possibly true in the conventional sense, but animal cunning and almost genius-like improvisational skills usually put that to rest quite quickly!

What probably effects her personality and mental state the most is not her isolation from 'Civilised society', but a long standing religious tradition of those Bosmer who choose to remain in the deep depths of Valenwood, known to the world as the Green Pact. It is this pact with Y'ffre that not only keeps her from devolving back into a more primordial form (hence the presence of antlers growing from her body), but it also causes her to appear more savage than would otherwise be the case.

Eating a slain foe within three days (the so-called Meat Mandate), protecting the flora and fauna of Valenwood, and producing products of non-plant based varieties are just a few of the things – along with a lot of faith – required of the Green Pact Bosmer.

It is a religious belief that Erissil follows to the letter, and those accompanying her should probably be aware of, for if they cause her to break the Pact...then it may well be their carcasses upon her plate.

Skills: Everything you would expect of a Valenwood native, and one who has lived for over a century to boot!

While there may well be those versed in stealth and subterfuge throughout the world – the Dark Brotherhood being a prime example – within the confines of Valenwood it would be hard to find anyone better than the diminutive inhabitants of the place. Erissil has spent her entire life having to live (some would say cope) in what is essentially the most unsafe 'forest' in Tamriel, a place where to anger the wrong critter or a neighbouring clan could mean your painful end at any moment, something that has affected her development deeply.

Tracking, path-finding, the wielding of a bow, these things come as second nature to her; do you need an animal ran to ground and bagged? No problem. A throat slit by an unseen assailant in the dead of night, as if they were killed by the jungle itself? Easily done. Need some natural poisons to coat a weapon? Here they are.

There is no magic within her, beside the affinity that all Bosmer seem to have with the creatures of nature, and while she is able to perform many feats that may appear magical to others there is no magic involved beside basic instincts and decades of honing them in the light deprived depths of Malabal Tor.

Equipment: Although the Bosmer are not forbidden to use material such as wool, fibres from fur and flesh, and other such thing, there are those within Valenwood that are more barbarous than others. The Stagshoof clan have never shied away from showing themselves in this more backward light, proud followers of the Green Pact and unconcerned with the outside world unless it comes knocking.

Due to this, Erissil clothes herself in such little clothing that strangers would no doubt find it salacious!

On her lower body there is nothing but a stout belt of woven hide, hanging from it a breechclout crafted from the same creature (the ubiquitous stag that gave the clan its name), squares of hide draped over the front and the back - the cloth winding over the belt, under it, and over it again – but leaving the bare legs free to move as they will.

As one moves higher and follows the line of her firm flesh they shall find the remainder of the animal, a large male by the amount of skin it left over, has been crafted into 'shawl' of sorts – a large piece of the hide able to be wrapped about her shoulders, reaching down to her lower back, an imported brooch of Imperial design used to fasten the two together about her neck; beneath it she wears nothing but a strip of hide to keep everything in place when traversing her home.

At a pinch, and in times of need, she can don loose-fitting robes of gossamer and flax layered over the top of with more sturdy treated leather – these reinforced sections mostly covering her shoulders and around the waist area, but prefers to leave the restrictive clothing for those who need it.

Her armament, such as it is, follows along these lines – her foremost weapon being the ever present bow of her people, a 'short bow' of a recurved design constructed from imported wood and layered with bone, the string made from animal hair. Paired with this is a quiver, worn across the back, containing numerous arrows of varying designs. From the most common arrow, a simple triangular-headed shaft, to bodkin arrows more capable of piercing thick flesh and armour. These tips are usually crafted from bone, although some make use of iron for arrows that would otherwise be unable to penetrate anything more than leather armour.

For closer fighting (which she tends to avoid) as well as general purpose tasks, she carries on her hips – one tucked into her belt and the other in a sheath on the opposite hip - an iron-headed hatchet capable of being thrown or as a melee weapon and a double-edged dagger handled with deer bone.

Lastly are what one would call 'miscellaneous' items – these includes a bone pendant of Y'ffre's symbol that hangs about her neck, and a small pouch at the rear of her belt containing medicinal herbs.

Other: She enjoys mimicry and playing tricks, is a pretty good seamstress with materials she knows, and is eager to learn if a little withdrawn at first.

Name: Balen Oril/Eno Indor

Age: 54

Gender: Male

Race: Dunmer

Birthsign: The Lord

Appearance: Balen is a Dunmer of tall stature, almost as tall as an Altmer, though nonetheless he possesses the sinewy, hard physique and rugged complexion of his kin, although he is a bit on the thicker side. He is, like most other Dunmer, ashen skinned, and red eyed, both his sclera and pupil blood red. Balen is not just peculiar in his height, but also his visage – he has an almost comical face, with a thin, hooked nose, and incredibly large, beetle-like eyes that look like they’re a slight squeeze away from popping out of their sockets whenever he opens his eyes fully. Thanks to this and his swept back hair, narrow chin and gaunt face, his upper head looks much more prominent than normal. He sports large sideburns that curl down from the sides of his head in locks, and is clean shaven otherwise.

Balen’s clothing favors function and simplicity over form. His common attire consists of a grayish-blue waterproof broadcloth robe, recently tailored to bear a sleeveless, leather raincoat on top to function as a cape, and false sleeves; it is a piece of attire that is probably two sizes too large for him and held close by help of a tightly wound sash, over a dull yellowish long-sleeved shirt. His lower body is covered by breeches that are tucked into gaiters, with simple leather slippers covering his feet.

Balen likes puffy, wide-brimmed hats and can often be found wearing one, tucking his ears well into the hat’s crown.

Biography: Balen has led a rather interesting life and picked up many professions throughout, and has mostly managed to stay away from physical harm.

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. As expected, it went somewhat disastrously, and Balen’s friend Godron died, although Balen himself was not harmed physically. Many others could not say the same – he was even once accused of sending the group to their doom by one of the survivors, despite having not led the expedition.

Balen grieved over the loss of his friend, but not much, and not for long. As much as he hated to admit it, the expedition had indeed brought some excitement to his otherwise dull life, and just in time, too, for he had began questioning the things he had learned from books recently. He began to prepare himself for this life of adventure - 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, and eventually found himself in a grave-delving party, where he met Hector Sibassius, with whom he would form a rather odd and unexpected friendship through the series of unfortunate events the group would go through.

After the arduous and almost fatal journey through the Nordic graves, Balen took a rather short break from adventuring, and instead made an innovative return to his roots by making an investment in an invention inspired by the Dwemer schematics he had seen over time – a printing press. Most of the hard work, of course, was thanks to an Altmer, who actually had experience in engineering. The tool itself was not very popular, but it helped Balen create a business around selling books once more, with much more free time.

Despite his newly found prospects, the idea of adventuring still burned inside his stomach, like a guilty pleasure beckoning for another try. Too afraid to seek it himself once more, Balen was both relieved and distressed whenever he stumbled upon anything resembling an ‘adventure’ once again, be it being encouraged by one of his patrons to go for administrative politics in the Imperial City, searching for ancient cities in Anequina, and occasionally helping out his ‘friend’, Hector Sibassius, in their chance encounters.

After the Great Fire of 204 burnt down his printing press, and the building which they were using as a workshop, amongst many other things (such as most his business possessions), Balen finally found himself an excuse to free himself from the ‘shallow life of comfort’ that he had been living. He began oaring and trading through the Niben River and beyond, and even started work on a book that was meant to explain the secret religious creed of the Thalmor. Based off his purchases, bribes, favors and findings, Balen finished the book by 4E 206, had it published, and even sent a copy to the Thalmor Ambassador, hoping to get an Official Permit to visit Alinor again, an act that he considers even today to be a ‘foolish gesture of pride and naivety’. After avoiding three freak accidents following the gift, Balen was eventually invited to Alinor as a guest of honor.

Feeling the invitation as an optional death warrant, Balen contacted his old friend, Hector Sibassius, to help him disappear. Using the connections of some of his past clients and his friend’s position to fake his own death (nothing more than a bunch of articles asking for an investigation of the controversial writer and some fake mortuary reports), Balen began his life as a Penitus Oculatus asset, going by the name of Eno Indor, working as a cryptanalyst, cryptographer, and walking reference index.

Personality: Balen has gone from amiable and shy, to still and quiet, and nowadays he’s practically somewhat of a prejudiced recluse. He’s constantly monotone, but 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 like a monk, but rather, he’s just contemplative. His quiet and introverted nature does not mean that he tries to get along with everyone for the sake of security, 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 quiet and considerate man of simple pleasures, making him a useful companion, though he can be hard to get used to, given his rather deflective and slightly dismissive nature of people he meets, and his somewhat unorthodox views, such as voicing admiration for the Thalmor’s long term goals. He has developed an interest in esotericism and metaphysics over time, and enjoys speaking about such matters – at some time in his past, he gravitated towards mages, but over time Balen has realized that most mages don’t care about the nature of magic the way he does and views them with slight disinterest. Fearing his letters may be intercepted, he is no longer able to partake in correspondence with his few acquaintances. He's not exactly happy about his new social circle, but he prefers a quiet life of security to social life with a chance of being a victim of foul murder, so does not complain about it. He also has some appreciation for the job because of the intellectual challenges it offers him - a dangerous, high stake pleasure, like gambling, only it relies on smarts as opposed to the roll of the dice.

It’s easy to confuse Balen for a man of peace thanks to his behavior. This is wrong – he’s simply a considerate, practical and somewhat paranoid person, who knows that too much attention is often a bad thing, and thus tries to stick to the corners of other’s eyes, away from the limelight. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, being well aware that his new position has not been given to him out of pity but usefulness, and has gotten in and out of messy situations more than once. Nonetheless, he’d much rather prefer that they’d stay clean. Balen has, much to his chagrin, taken a preference for looking for practical applications of things, knowing well that the more useful he is, the more important an asset he is, and thus, less likely to be discarded or sacrificed.

Skills: Balen is an odd case – he’s about as much as brawn as he is brains, in that his constitution is almost prodigious. Balen can walk and run miles without tiring, dive for unexpectedly long periods of time, and carry very heavy equipment without flinching. Despite all of this, Balen avoids physical and ranged combat like the plague, keeping his foes at a distance with use of a walking cane and, as much as he despises putting theory to practice, alchemical liquids. An erudite scholar and anatomist, a skilled linguist and a stenographer, Balen has refined his craft of translating and writing to code breaking and cryptography, and, despite lacking any practical skills of Restoration, can perform medical procedures if necessary. Balen has earned slight practice in magical arts out of necessity, having become a fairly practiced user of the school of Alteration.

Equipment: Balen carries a walking cane made of ironwood as his sole ‘weapon’, with a detachable handle which contains a steel dagger, one that has not been brandished yet, to a degree that Balen has mostly forgotten about its function. Save a padded cloth corselet with a layer of silk to hold projectiles worn over his shirt, and a scaled leather sparring gauntlet to hold onto enemy blades, Balen is unarmored. Slung across his shoulder is a satchel that contains a small pestle and a mortar, a couple of books on Valenwood’s flora and fauna, a book on 'practical' alchemy, a book on the anatomy of the races of Tamriel, a journal, a surgery toolkit, and an iron retort along with a purse holding fire salts. Worn across his chest is a bandoleer holding lacquered, wooden containers of alchemical potions.

Balen also carries a steel, hand-pumped spray with a refillable container, commissioned for the trip, to function as a weak poison spray against the rather displeasing wildlife of Valenwood. After a bunch of days spent tinkering, he has managed to attach a separate, additional container, which he has experimented with to ‘spray’ potions, be they beneficial or malevolent.

Other: A former Skooma addict, he has quit the habit some time ago, and since found out that he has a keen sense of smell. He's also experienced with many board games, and very much enjoys playing Go, a strategy game, allegedly of Akaviri origin. He also has a guilty pleasure in the name of backgammon, a game whose reliance on luck he looks down upon, but cannot keep him from playing it anyway.

Name: Do'ava
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Race: Khajiit, Cathay
Birthsign: The Warrior
Appearance: Do'ava is on the shorter side, standing at 5 feet 8 inches and is lean with muscle. He has a single gold earring in his right ear. His fur is pitch black, turning a charcoal color in direct sunlight. His left hand is oddly pure white, including his left hand claws. His eyes are golden with thin black pupils. This Khajiit has several scars all along his body, a testament to his years as a caravan guard. He has dreadlocks the same color as his fur, if not darker, that go down to the middle of his neck.

His eyes, though acute and sharp, have a somewhat crazed look to them. No doubt due to his skooma use. As such, sometimes Do'ava will appear twitchy and irritable when he is usually calm and friendly. Do'ava typically wears armor that is a combination of leather and metal, with a cloak for when the weather gets rough. He wields two scimitars, both of which he keeps on either hip.

Biography: Do'ava was born in Southern Elsweyr in the 179th year of the Fourth Era. He was the son of a pair of skooma farmers. Obviously illegal, Do'Ava or just Ava back then, was born into a life of crime. Ava learned from a young age to watch his back, as his parents' plantation was constantly targeted by rival gangs. He learned the ins and outs of growing skooma and street fighting, how to dodge guards and cut purses. But Ava grew bored with the life he led, always staying in the same place, talking and fighting with the same people. When he was 15, he left home and headed towards the coast, using his parents' connections to join a smuggler ship. Still working with skooma, but they sailed all over Tamriel. His family, while sad to see him go, were supportive and Ava knew they would get by just fine without him.

The year was 4E 194 and Ava was sailing the ocean. He found it so much more thrilling, learning to sail, dodging imperial ships and pirates alike. Ava found a brotherhood among this band of thieves he had never known before. Cruising into harbors in the dead of night and moving crates of skooma under the noses of idiotic guards. Ava never knew being a criminal could be this much fun, as before he was essentially the son of a well paid farmer. After a year, Ava was awarded his prefix of Dar. Apparently smugglers love nothing if not a good laugh. Dar is the classic prefix for thief. Dar'Ava continued the smuggler's life, but besides learning to sail and move illegal narcotics, he also picked up a habit. Skooma. It's common for smugglers to take skooma to keep alert for the authorities into the night and while Khajiit have a large tolerance, some still get addicted. After 5 years of use, Dar'Ava was definitely addicted to skooma, but he managed it well. Well, until he finally got caught.

They were off the coast of Skyrim, heading back home after an especially risky run on horseback to Riften. It was an early misty morning, and they didn't see the dual imperial vessels and nordic long ships sandwich them on either side. The ships slammed together and the smugglers were quickly overrun. Dar'ava earned one of his scars that day and was quickly thrown into the prison in Winterhold. It wasn't exactly ideal. Locked up in a cold and wet prison cell miles and miles from the warm sands from home. Dar'ava spent a year in prison, where he got the Khajiit earring of a prisoner, a single gold loop through his right ear. It was in the year 201 that Dar'ava was approached by Drovassa, a Khajiit merchant caravan leader. Somehow this silver tongued cat had convinced the infamously prejudiced Stormcloak guards to let him in. However he got in, he offered Dar'ava a choice. With the rise of dragons, caravans always needed capable combatants to protect them. Drovassa offered him a position as a caravan guard. Dar'ava knew if he didn't go he would rot in here for at least another 10 years, best case scenario. So he took it. The next day he was suited up in some custom armor and weapons of his choice and off they went.

Dar'ava had picked up the scimitars from Redguard smugglers and he proved so talented with them that he chose to wield two. Dar'ava began to travel Skyrim with the caravan, guarding the cargo. It wasn't the best paying, not compared to the skooma trade. Speaking of skooma, that year in prison with very little skooma broke Dar'ava a bit and his dependence increased as he binged it when he got out. Of course he was clever enough to keep it from Drovassa, but it was an issue getting it in Skyrim. Regardless, he kept on working, bashing heads and slicing throats when needed. It was in the peak of the civil war that Dar'ava had met Hector Sibassius. Despite being an Imperial stooge, Dar'ava found himself intrigued by the man. That intrigue lasted all the way until the caravan and imperial patrol Hector was a part of was ambushed by bandits. It was the most bandits Dar'ava had ever seen in one place and he used to be a big time smuggler. It was a bloody battle, half of the caravan was wiped out and a quarter of its cargo was ruined. Dar'ava earned another scar and narrowly saved Drovassa's life by decapitating a bandit who was about to lodge an axe into Drovassa's head with a move he learned from an old Redguard man.

This action won Drovassa's respect and gratitude and might have caught the attention of Hector as well. Drovassa declared Dar'ava a thief no more and instead had proved himself a warrior, earning the prefix Do. Do'ava beamed with pride and felt relief he had taken Drovassa's offer. The civil war came and went and Do'ava continued to work as a senior caravan guard. They had branched out into Cyrodil so the trips were longer and more dangerous, but better paying. Until one day, when Do'ava got a letter from Captain Hector Sibassius telling of a dangerous mission. While Do'ava had no love for the Empire, he always knew the importance of contacts, even from a young age. Plus with dangerous missions comes money and he could always use more of that. So Do'ava took a leave of absence from Drovassa's caravan company and went to meet Hector Sibassius...

Personality:

Despite being a former criminal and full time caravan guard, Do'ava is a pretty easy going and friendly person. Everything he does borders on obnoxious arrogance but just manages to stay in the admirable confidence zone. In combat, he thoroughly enjoys himself. Do'ava's general approach to life is live everyday like it might be your last. In his line of work that is a very real possibility. But his demeanor changes completely when he's going through skooma withdrawals.

There are several stages to Do'ava when he hasn't got a fix. When he hasn't gotten a fix for a few days, he'll become twitchy and irritable. After a week and a half he'll become straight out rude and hostile and after about two weeks he'll become crazed and dangerous. With each week without skooma, he becomes deadlier, like a cornered animal. His love for skooma is so much he'll put himself and others in harms way to make sure nothing happens to it. While usually a good friend, skooma is the one thing that will completely shatter any affection he has towards a person. While a 'good' friend, Do'ava isn't a fan of becoming emotionally deep or sacrificing his own plans for others. A chief reason why he hasn't had any long term relationships of any kind.

Do'ava's combat style of running and slashing makes him a glass cannon, able to dish out the damage but not take it as much, despite armor. While Do'ava is no fool when it comes to combat, he doesn't have the mindset of a large scale tactician. As such, he will go into battle not considering the possibility of being surrounded or out supplied. He's at his best when he's just living in the heat of the moment, the ground fight.

Skills:

- Experienced Dual Swordsman: Years of fast living on the seas and as a caravan guard has made Do'ava a master of the dual blade combat style.

- Silver Tongued: Being a former criminal and member of a merchant caravan for 7 years, Do'ava knows how to manipulate people.

- Skilled Sailor: Do'ava can sail and navigate pretty much ever ship in Tamriel, given time.

- Skooma Farmer, Smuggler, and User: Do'ava is a bonafide expert in all things skooma, spending his life growing, moving, and using skooma.

- Blood of the Khajiit: Being a Khajiit, Do'ava just has a natural talent for certain things. Stealth and Secrecy is something Do'ava doesn't do often, but when he does, he can keep up.

Equipment:

- Caravan Guard Armor: A combination of leather and metal, this armor set is a great all around light armor. (Similar to Brigand Armor from Skyrim, but more sleeves.)

- Two Scimitars: Scimitars he purchased from a Redguard merchant once he was hired by Drovassa. Named Nisava and Talaasi. Their names are inscribed on the blades.

- Winterhold Prison Earring: An earring he was given by a fellow smuggler before said smuggler was executed. Do'ava wears it to honor his smuggler crew. Who ever said there was no honor among thieves?

- 5 Medium Sized Skooma bottles: Pretty self-explanatory.

- Small Pack: Just the bare essentials....like skooma.

Name: Alaron Baird

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Race: Imperial

Birthsign: The Tower

Appearance:



Alaron is a taller individual standing at about 6'1". He has short black hair and a face worn and battered looking somewhat malnourished. He wears a long brown scarf around his neck, bringing it up to cover his face during illegal activities. Over his should he drapes a large leather coat with fur shoulders. Once a fine prize from a burglary of a nobleman's home, now worn and blackened from rough use and mistreatment. Simple loose brown trousers and worn out leather boots complete his common thug attire.

Biography: Alaron was born unto a simple life beginning in Chorrol. Son to a blacksmith and a barmaid, life seemed completely ordinary from afar. However, as one crept closer to their quiet family home cracks and fractures in the young man's early years became like beacons of trauma left unaddressed and untreated as the boy grew into a man.

Alaron's early and teenage years in Chorrol were a blur of arguments, violent outbursts, and feelings of vulnerability. His mother and father seemed disinterested in raising him as a child and preferred to argue and fight rather than take the time to send him to school, let alone pay for any supplies he would need for the activity. His earliest memories were of watching their arguments escalate to the point of coming to blows. Both combatants could be considered equally matched given their use of tactics. His father preferred brute strength, often simply beating his mother into submission. His mother preferred quick reflexes and agility, tiring the old man out then slashing wildly at him with knives and other objects. These bouts were as even as they could be given the circumstances and though the victor would have been anybody's guess, the only spectator cowered in his room. Forever terrified of the chance that he be pulled into the ring with them.

It didn't take long for Alaron to seek a form of escape from his home life during his teenage years. Missing the opportunity to acquire friends from school he fell in with the street folk. Beggars, addicts, thieves, and thugs became his companions if one could call them such a thing. They took advantage of his desire for acceptance and praise, particularly the thugs and thieves. Alaron was tasked with causing distractions, pickpocketing, and spying for the thieves in particular. Eventually this arrangement blossomed into a sort of tutorship and Alaron became adept in the covert arts of breaking and entering, lockpicking, smoothtalking, and scouting. By the time he was 20 Alaron had left his life in Chorrol behind and moved to the Imperial City.

Within a few years he had made contact with various fences and crime lords in the Imperial City. He was never particularly close to any of them as they all saw him as just another amateur, but Alaron would occasionally run the odd errand for them and established enough contacts within the city so as he could make a career from stealing and raiding as a freelancer.

For the most part Alaron kept the scope of his operations small. Pickpocketing, some burglary, and the odd mugging when his prey was weak and feeble made for enough coin to keep his stomach full and pay the rent. However after a few years there came a time when Alaron's ambition outweighed his skill. Working off a tip Alaron attempted to break into an Imperial Government building under the knowledge that a sizeable portion of the city's annual taxes were bring stored there for a time.

With adept fingers and feather-like footsteps he weaved his way through the building determined to attain his prize. Foolishly he went in without knowledge of the building's layout and frantically began picking the labyrinth of doors that lined the halls looking for the fabled safe room. Glittering gold twinkled in his mind to the point of obsession, causing him to lose track of time. Time felt as though it had only progressed a few brief hours before Alaron felt the cold steel of the morning shift's guard tap his bony shoulder.

The tax office had been a bust, and he later learned no tax money had been stored there, only records. City watch had him under lock and key and with his tools stripped away from him, he had no escape. After a few weeks in prison word had traveled of his thorough locksmithing job at the tax office and he was approached in his cell by 2 strangers. They explained that they could use someone with his skills but needed some additional leverage to help his case and secure his freedom. A bargain was made that if Alaron agreed to give up some information on the Imperial City's crime syndicate to the town watch the 2 strangers would pull strings and produce a pardon for him. Alaron would also be required to perform tasks for his rescuers in exchange for protection given his betrayal to the criminal underworld.

Over the next few months Alaron's freedom was eventually granted and he began work for his new employers, whom revealed themselves to be members of the Penitus Oculatus. Alaron was tasked with breaking into the homes of high ranking government officials believed to be spies for the Thalmor and collect any relevant evidence on them.

As far as the tasks were concerned everything went smoothly. Alaron aided in identifying a Thalmor spy with damning evidence, namely letters divulging classified information. He stayed in a safe house just outside the city with other Penitus Oculatus agents and on the surface things were going well. However not shortly after his triumphant feeling of freedom from a city watch prison cell the slow decay of paranoia began to worm its way into his mind. While on assignment Alaron walked the city streets in terrified silence, eyes darting sporadically as he watched for any hitmen out for his blood. He began lacing his pipe tobacco with moon sugar in an attempt to calm his nerves and reward him with much needed sleep. Again he felt trapped as he did with the city watch, only now his jailers were also his protectors.

Just as his feelings of terror felt as though they would consume him at any moment another escape was offered. A man came to the safe house requesting an audience with him. Hector Sibassius, an officer of the Penitus Oculatus was putting together a group to embark on an expedition to Valenwood. Alaron hardly cared for the details and cared only for the opportunity to be as far away from his pursuers as possible. His exploits and talents in the fine arts of stealth and lockpicking had brought ruin to his life. Now with Hector's proposal to consider, they may be the key to his salvation as well.

Personality: On the exterior Alaron is confident and abrasive. Raised from a life of witnessing abuse and aggression he attempts to coerce others into doing what he wants. He is the epitome of a bully, but with that title comes the inherit flip side of the coin. Alaron preys on the weak and only the weak. When confronted by anyone even moderately more threatening than him Alaron will shy away from confrontation and will even cower if given a solid push.

These traits are only further accentuated in a combat situation. If the situation comes to blows, blades, or bows Alaron will remain confident so long as his opponent is is barely within shouting distance. However with every step closer Alaron's panic grows to the point of tremors should a fight come to an arm's length.

Skills:Alaron's greatest strengths are his skills in lockpicking and stealth.

He can usually talk his way out a difficult situation and is a decent shot with a bow, but not a marksman by any means.

He fumbles with blades and would struggle to do a chin up unless his life depended on it.

Equipment: Naturally Alaron carries with him a high quality set of lockpicks. A long dagger is kept strapped to his belt, more for show and intimidation than anything else. He also carries a simple short bow and small quiver of arrows strapped across his back should he need to keep an attacker at a comfortable distance.

For the expedition Alaron decided to go the extra mile and come prepared with equipment that suited his major strengths. During the time he had to prepare he wasn't made aware of exactly where he might be asked to go, be it and esteemed nobleman's house or a forgotten tomb. In the event of the latter he decided to bring some extra fine sand should he need scout for traps and pressure plates. For the former he decided to make one last trip into the Imperial City for a spare pair of boots, outsoles fitted with very fine, extra soft leather for the lightest step possible. Lastly his trusty tobacco pipe and a small pouch of moon sugar.