"A patient man on his knees can rise. A proud man who fights against impossible odds only dies."

Race: Breton

Sex: Female

Age: 25

Family Origins: Wayrest, Highrock

Birth Sign: The Mage

Appearance: Standing at 5ft 6in (1.6 M), Nanine's storm grey eyes are usually flicking about, memorizing and storing images to later recreate in her journal. Her features are what most would describe as noble, a small straight nose, pale lips, luxurious black hair, and generally delicate features. This is only marred by the small scar on her eyebrow, a gentle reminder of a near death experience and the dangers of obsession. Two blue pearl earrings mark her only jewelry, as well cared for as her hair.

In heavy armor her hair is usually kept in a tight braid, keeping it from flying loose.

When outside of her heavy armor, Nani prefers to wear fur lined leather, resisting Skyrim's all pervasive cold. Her hair is kept loose and flowing, as she enjoys showing it off. She prefers soft blues, and most of her cloth reflects that. These clothes show a hardened, muscular figure with little to no fat and no curves. While still womanly, years of hard training and combat have minimized any feminine features.

Equipment:

-Steel Plate Armor

-Ebony Longsword (The Risen Blade): Her family's blade. Inscribed upon the blade is her family's words We Rise. The handle is wrapped with black, worn leather. A battered sheathe of similarly dark leather hides it from the world. Nanine doesn't want undue attention. If someone were to look at it magically, they would see layers upon layers of enchantments upon it. Decades, if not centuries worth of them. They are all designed for preservation, keeping the edge sharp, the blade strong, and keep it from breaking. It is incredibly durable, resisting intense punishment, but beyond preservation it's a normal blade.

-Steel Dagger

-2 Magicka potions

-2 Greater Health potions

-Earrings enchanted with minor magicka

Misc. Possessions:

-An old book of stories from across the world, well worn and endlessly read. Nanine can recite them by heart.

-Two journals, one filled completely with drawings and story ideas, the other less than a quarter filled with them.

-One copy of Enchanter's Primer

-Two quills and two inkwells.

-A small sack filled with petty and lesser soul gems. Nanine uses them to practice.

-One Black Soul Gem. Unused.

-A small sack of various dried fruits and meats, tied to her hip.

Family And Associates

Brulius Tilhart: Father, deceased.
Lelle Tilhart: Mother, deceased.
Fenacois Tilhart: Uncle, presumed dead.
Willnven Tilhart: Brother, missing.

Favoured Skills:

Highly Proficient

Destruction-Her father's quest, and her time in the Imperial Legion as a Battle Mage, both in the Skyrim Civil War and the few years following, have sharpened her, already naturally impressive, skills and power with destructive spells too a deadly point. She is precise and purposeful with her spells. It is rare that Nani misses her target due to her own mistakes.

Conjuration-As with everything, Nani prefers to have an advantage in battle. She finds that there are many ways to give herself and her allies said advantage, from simply summoning another being to fight on her side, to horrifying the enemy through resurrecting their fallen allies or summoning shambling monsters to scare them, Nani can and will use all of these tactics to her advantage, though it has earned her more enemies than friends. Due to the taboo nature of spells such as necromancy, she avoids using it amongst large groups and without warning, lest it cause a panic.

Moderately Proficient

One-handed: Blade-Due to her time in the Legion, and her father's doomed crusade, Nani is no stranger to combat and death. Be it with her family sword or her dagger, she can hold her own in a fight. While she is no blade master, she is well trained.

Heavy Armor-After years of training and using heavy armor, Nani has gotten used to moving in and wearing her armor for extended periods of time, though she much prefers to be out of it.

Somewhat Proficient

Enchantment-Nani became a camp favorite with her fellow Legionnaires, able to increase their protection of their armor or the damage of their weapons, every night she could. She received a seemingly unending supply of Soul Gems, the Legion eager to keep their enchanters well supplied for the war effort, and as such is minorly experienced in enchanting, though she freely admits she needs much more practice (and often leaps at any opportunity to do so)

• Disintegrate: Nani can either cast this with oneas a single bolt (similar to fire bolt) destroying anything metal on a single target, or she can cast this with both hands (similar to fireball) creating a blast that begins to destroy metal in a 15 foot radius. (This spell is essentially a less specific version of the various corrode armor and weapons spells from Oblivion, focusing on metal in general rather than just weapons and armor)
• Thunderbolt
• Flames
• Incinerate
• Summon Storm Atronarch
• Summon Frost Atronarch
• Necromancy: Raise dead: Nani is powerful enough in this spell that she can raise up to a 8 corpses to fight for her (it should be noted that with that many resurrected, unless she drinks a magicka potion she won't be able to cast any more spells, and certainly isn't able to summon other creatures even if she drinks a potion.)
• Soul Trap

History:

House Tilhart can trace it's lineage all the way back to before the times of Tiber Septim. One of the first families of High Rock to declare support for the Emperor of Tamriel, they fought valiantly at his side to unite High Rock. One of their own members even saved the Emperor's life, standing and fighting valiantly at his side as magical fire raged around them, and refusing to retreat or fall despite great wounds. Once the battle was over, their ancestor and Tiber Septim the last two standing, the Emperor bade the Tilhart to kneel. He declared House Tilhart a noble family of High Rock, gave them lands of their own, and an Ebony blade from his own armory. His words inspired the family motto of House Tilhart, and have given them courage and purpose to for generations. "Rise, Tilhart, and fight for you Emperor once more."

Or so the story goes, at any rate. In reality, House Tilhart can only prove two things. One, their family sword is from Tiber Septim's era, and it has very strong preservative enchantments that few modern mages could produce. Two, their family sided with the Septim Empire at some point. Everything else is very likely a story made up by the ancient members of the house in an attempt to build its reputation and influence. Still, every member of House Tilhart, especially Nanine, believes in that story with every part of their being. The family is fiercely loyal to the Empire, almost every single one of its members having served in the Imperial army at some point, and they have supported all of its decisions throughout the various eras. Such a fierce and undying loyalty is polarizing to their local Breton's, however, and has resulted in some questionable practices arising among them.

First is their practice of Necromancy. An open secret, but House Tilhart believes that once the spirit has left the body, there is nothing sacred left. It's just a corpse, ready to be used to further the needs of the house or the Empire. Their retinue's and soldiers are regularly resurrected on the field of battle, rising again to fight on. Knowing how stigmatized the act of Necromancy is, however, the House tends to limit it to their own soldiers and their enemies.

Secondly, anyone who wields The Risen Blade must, upon feeling themselves dying, cast soul trap upon themselves and trap their souls into a black soul gem. That gem will then be used to power the enchantments upon the sword. Dozens, if not hundreds, of House Tilhart wielders have given their lives this way. It is not always a sure thing, after all a black soul gem can be lost in the heat of battle, or someone can die before they even have a chance, but they all try.

This was the family Nanine was born into, this was the fierce loyalty, purpose, and dedication she was surrounded with from birth. For Nanine there was never any thought in her head. She was going to folow in her father's footsteps and loyally serve the Empire, facing down any foes that dared oppose it. From the rumors she heard her father and uncle quietly talking about, a second war with the Dominion was brewing. Nanine was excited. She too would face down the fury of the elves, and return not only alive, but a hero. The idea burned brightly in her mind as a child, driving her.

As soon as she was able, she was being trained in magic and how to wield it effectively by her father. She has only vague memories of her mother, as she died giving birth to Nanine's brother only a year later. But her father, grandparents, and uncle were there for them. They trained her and her brother, cared for them, and helped shape them into the perfect imperial battle mages. Nani couldn't tell you how many hours she spent in her family's library, studying the tomes of magic. Tomes of how to bend the elements to your will, and of how to summon aid from the Oblivion Planes. She loved it, learning the hows and whys behind all of her magic and power. She delighted in learning about the Daedra and their politics, using their servants to aid them.

Nanine was happy during this time. The training was rigorous, but not unnecessarily brutal. She was surrounded by friends and family, she and her brother were close, and she was going to see the world and help bring order with the Empire when she grew up.

Of course, that all was cast aside and destroyed when the corsairs attacked Wayrest.

She doesn't remember much of the build up to that fateful day, being only five years old and most of her focus on her books. Only her father arguing quietly with her grandfather, her uncle pacing nervously, and the air of tension that seemed to permeate the city. Things were bad. Political upheaval seemed on the horizon, and no one knew who was going to make the first move. That choice was made for them when the attack began.

Of the the attack itself, she only saw the end of it. Flames glowing outside the walls of their estate as she and her brother were hurriedly dressed and packed, servants running to and fro in near panic. Her father and uncle were arguing with her grandparents, gesturing back towards Nanine and her brother in agitation as the latter two stood in their armor, unmovable and unswayed by the words being said. Finally her grandfather cut them both off.

Nanine could barely make out his words. "Enough! You will escape. We will hold them. Now go." Her grandfather handed her father The Risen Blade and without another word, they turned on their heels and headed to the walls, bellowing for the guardsman and retinue. Her father and uncle angrily and despairingly turned, grabbing Nanine and her brother and heading for the back of the estate. By this time her grandparents were on the walls, and the corsairs were at the gate. She can still perfectly recall the roars of defiance from her grandparents and the house guards, punctuated by slamming their swords on their shields.

"For the Jewel of the Bay!"

"WE RISE."

"For the Emperor and his Empire!"

"WE RISE."

"For House Tilhart!"

"WE RISE."

"Against these murderous dogs!"

"WE RISE."

"WE RISE!"

"WE RISE!"

The last surviving members of House Tilhart, and it seemed like of all the nobility in Wayrest, escaped to a small holding on the edge of Menevia, farther than the corsairs would be willing to chase them. Once there, her father and uncle ordered a rest and everyone fell into a deep, exhausted, rest. They had lost their homes, their families, their friends. They all needed this rest now. Nanine and her brother held each other as they lay on their bed, not even bothering to remove their shoes. They didn't know what had happened, why their grandparents were gone, or why they had to be hear. They needed time to rest, process, and grieve. But her father wasn't going to give them that. The next day, her father was up making preparations, sending out what little resources he had. He expected to have an army from their various allies and contacts to reclaim Wayrest within a few months, before the corsairs could have time to unify and dig in.

It took 12 years before they had an army large enough to lay siege to Wayrest. Their old allies in High Rock had turned their back on them, squabbling pettily among themselves. The Empire couldn't send any aid, weakened by the Great War and embroiled in subduing the Nords in Skyrim as they were. All of her father's old legion friends were either stationed far away or long dead, unable to help in anything but spirit. Upon hearing the news that the Empire refused to aid them, her father merely nodded. "If we are not strong enough to rid our home of filthy pirates, then we are definitely not strong enough to serve the Empire. House Tilhart will stand on its own, and prove its strength."

So her father put his head down, and started attempting to make his own alliances, both within and without of High Rock. Mercenaries were hired, peasants were levied, and promises were made to various commanders. Her and her brother's training increased, becoming harsher and more demanding. They had to be ready, her father would always tell them, for the corsairs wouldn't show them any mercy. He put pressure and responsibilities on them, pushing them to grow up fast and be ready even faster. Some would claim he put too much responsibility and pressure, obsessed with reclaiming Wayrest. Nanine and her brother were concerned, frightened even, by the sudden intensity, feverish obsession, in their father's eyes. But they dared not question him about it. That only resulted in ever harsher training and them being screamed at.

When her brother was 16, he was sent to the Skyrim orc holds and Orisium itself. Her father needed someone to rekindle the ancient alliance between the orcs and Wayrest, forging a bond even stronger than before. He couldn't trust anyone else, and gave the task to her brother. Her father was counting on that army to be the elite force he needed. Her brother was never heard from again. Her father didn't even give a day too mourn. He kept pushing, changing his plans and forging ahead with almost a feverish desire. Nanine became even more worried, more concerned, and she wasn't the only one. This was devouring her father, quickly becoming the only thing in the world he cared about. Anytime someone would try to talk to him, however, they would receive a harsh rebuke and be sent onto another task. With nothing left to do, Nanine, her uncle, and her father's remaining retainers could do nothing but go along with the plan and pray for the best.

When her father had deemed gathered enough soldiers and power, he marched triumphantly back to Wayrest. Nanine and her uncle were at his side, less confident about their chances of success. Their army was little more than ambitious peasants, greedy mercenaries, and naive young fools. They doubted that against the ruthless corsairs their motley force would stand much of a chance. Seeing no way to alter her father's mind, and refusing to abandon him, they kept their reservations to themselves, and stuck to tradition, marching with her father. Whatever would happen, they would be by his side. House Tilhart remained loyal, even against impossible odds. When the walls of Wayrest came into sight, her father wept openly. "We've come home, Nani. And now we will reclaim it." They laid siege to the city, set camp for the night, and prepared for a battle at dawn.

They never even got that far.

Corsairs had slipped up the river and landed behind their army. They quietly slipped into the perimeter that her father had set up, killing the guards. Once they had spread throughout most of the camp, they set fire to everything within reach. Mass panic and chaos ensued. The Corsairs inside Wayrest were waiting for the flames, marching out to attack as soon as they appeared. I an hour, her father's army was crushed. Nanine, her father, and her uncle were all taken prisoner with dozens of others before they could even draw upon their magic. They were taken inside the city, and thrown into prison. Surprisingly, they were left with their weapons and armor. Seeing the surprise on Nanine's face, her guards merely laughed. "Where will you go? You're in our city now, girl, and the Pirate-Lord wants to make an entertaining example out of you."

Within a day, they had gone from leading an army to being imprisoned in their own city's cells. They were all thrown in individual cells, leaving Nanine alone in a dark prison. She was left four a few hours, till the afternoon, trapped in the dark, muttering prayers to the Bretonian Pantheon for at the very least a quick death. She didn't put up a fight when they came for her, quietly listening as they described how slowly they would kill her and her family if she tried anything as they took her from her cell and into a blinding light. Thrown into a cart with two others and taken through the city. After getting used to the blinding light, she looked at her companions they were her father and her uncle, both alive and relatively unharmed. Nani, relieved and happy, hugged them both as the citizenry around them jeered and mocked.

Her father was quiet, staring listlessly out of the cells of the cart. Nanine's heart ached to see the broken look in his eyes, where once their had been a burning fire. He remained that way till they reached their destination, a crude arena put together in the years they had gone by. The flames seemed smolder in his eyes once more, and muttered something about 'damned pirates ruining our city' as they were taken from the cart, lead towards what they only assumed was their execution block. To their surprise, rather than an executioner's blade, they were thrown into the arena, and it was announced that for their crimes against Wayrest (the three of them snorted at this) they would fight an endless horde of enemies and criminals until they died in this pit.

The first group was five ragged, starved bandits. They could barely walk, much less put up a fight. It saddened and sickened Nanine to kill them in such a manner, as mere entertainment for savages, but it was either she killed them or they killed her. And she didn't want to die in this pit. The next group was more fit, healthier, but still emaciated. Deserters, perhaps. Or maybe a few who had gone against the so called 'Pirate-Lord'. They fell like the others. And so it went, each group coming out to kill them being healthier and better equipped then the last. Nanine and her family refrained from using magic. They didn't need to, and it was an edge that they could use later on. As the gate opened for the tenth time, Nanine and her family suddenly froze. Walking from the other side of the arena was what remained of their houseguards and retinue. These men and women weren't just random peasants or mercenaries hired to fight the corsairs. These were people who had loyally served them for years, some of them even decades. These were practically family.

The announcer's voice boomed across the arena, silencing the crowd. "Welcome to your final event! If you manage to kill the other side, you will get to go free and scamper away with your lives! If not, well, obviously, you will die like the dogs you a-"

"No." Her father's voice rang out, increased by magic, silencing the announcer and the excited babble of the crowd. "We are the last members of House Tilhart, the true rulers of Wayrest. We do not kill our own." The crowd laughed. "You have taken our homes, our lives, and our freedom from us. We have fallen low, and lost much. But we will survive. We will rebuild." Flames gathered in her father's palms, and he brought them together, continuing his speech. People were beginning to get worried, shuffling backwards. The guards were reaching for arrows."We will do what we always do." The flames were burning bright, writhing in his palms as if they were eager to be released. Arrows slammed into him, piercing his armor, as the guards tried to kill them before his spell could go off. Her father stumbled, keeping his voice strong, if pained. "We will rise. And you will fall." Her father shot his fire ball directly at the crude wall to their left, exploding in a hellish inferno.

Nanine ran to her father as smoke and screams rose into the sky, everyone trying to escape in a panic as the wooden arena began to burn. He was fading, puking blood, dying in front of her. He had used up magicka reserves he didn't have, and now his body was paying the price. He pushed her off as she tried to help him, forcing her to stand to the side. As she watched, he pulled the Risen Blade from his sheathe and laid it on the ground, casting one last spell on himself. He fumbled with a pouch around his neck, finally pulling something free. A black soul gem tumbled from his rapidly weakening hands, landing next to the Blade. He looked up at Nanine and smiled, the light rapidly fading from his eyes. "Rise, Nani. Rise." With that, her father fell dead in front of her. The black soul gem shone with inner fire.

She didn't have time to grieve, to truly react to what had happened. Her uncle was yelling at her from the hole her father had made, and the Corsair's were rapidly organizing. She snatched up her father's soul gem and the Risen Blade, and ran for it. She and her uncle sprinted for the nearest city wall. If they could just get away, they could make it. Guards were running to and fro, the city was panicking as they attempted to battle the flames. In the chaos she and her uncle got separated, him leading off a band of guards as she ran on. Nanine barely escaped that city, the fire spreading rapidly and providing enough chaos for her to get out. Nanine escaped along the river, eventually collapsing in a cave and falling into a deep sleep. Getting up the next day, she added her father's soul to the Risen Blade. It was what her family had done for generations, and what her father expected of her.

She picked herself up and started walking away, sobbing as she did so. She didn't have time to properly grieve. She had to leave, before the Corsair's sent out search parties. She could only hope and pray her uncle and others had survived, and would make their way back to the small holding where they had started. Nanine knew the way, having memorized and drawn it as she went, and she was there within a month. There was no one. It was as empty as they had left it, expecting to set up in Wayrest after their victory. She couldn't just leave. Her uncle might still be alive, on his way to the holding.

So Nanine stayed at the empty hold, eating what sparse food they had left. For another two months Nanine stayed there, reading the books in the library, practicing her spells, and slowly eating the food left. When it ran out, she had no choice. If her uncle was still alive he would have gotten to the holding now. He was dead, along with the rest of her family. Nanine didn't cry, having quietly accepted this possibility early into her waiting.

She wasn't going to try to reclaim Wayrest. It was what her father would have expected of her, but he was dead, and so was everyone else. The Tilharts were finished, and the damned pirates were welcome to Wayrest. With no food, no family, no reason to stay in the empty hold, and only the armor on her back and the blade in her hand to her name, Nanine didn't know where to go. The rest of High Rock would only seek to use her against their enemies, as a pawn in their games. She didn't know anything about the rest of Tamriel, and she certainly didn't have any supplies or materials to actually survive a long trip out of High Rock.

With nothing left to do, and her food run out, Nanine fell back on tradition. She joined the Imperial Legion. It took her a month to get to the nearest barracks and recruitment station of the Legion, following the road and direction of the local villages she came across. She spent a sparse few months being trained, as she had already been trained in the art of war by her father, and then was sent on to the nearest front of the Legion: Skyrim.

It was towards the tail end of the war, as the Legion was continuing to make gains against Ulfric and his Stormcloaks. Being a mage of considerable power and no stranger, Nanine was immediately sent into the front lines. She enjoyed it, losing herself in the fight for Skyrim, in the knowledge that she was apart of something bigger than herself, and that she was helping restore order. It gave her a sense of comfort and purpose. She fought all across Skyrim during those months, raining fire and lightning down upon the Empire's foes. One week she would be in Markarth, defending the town from the Stormcloaks. The next she'd be seizing a fort in the wilderness, claiming it for the Empire.

After the war was over, Windhelm seized and the rebellion crushed, she remained in the Legion for another three years, cleaning up the mess that was Skyrim. Forts were reclaimed from bandits, rogue magic users, and Stormcloak holdouts. Caves were cleared of Falmer, Vampires, and even more bandits. Eventually, Nanine felt that she was doing no more good in Skryim, or in the Legion, her purpose there fulfilled. She had moved on from her family's death, and grown into her own person. She left the army, becoming an adventurer and bodyguard for hire.

That is how she got onto this expedition, hired on by Rhea Valerius to help defend the expedition from any attacks.

Personality: Nanine is proud of her heritage and family, at times to the point of arrogance. She is the last of a noble house, and she isn't going to forget it. However, she is also aware that her childhood and experience is the vast minority of all of Tamriel. Up until the corsair siege, she was one of the luckiest, and even afterwards she was considerably fortunate. She tries to keep her pride balanced by practicality, but fails at times.

That pride extends to her sword, of which she is fiercely protective of, to the point of irrationality. She doesn't trust anyone else with it, and sleeps with it at her side. There have been several times where she's risked her life to save the Risen Blade, much to the surprise and incredulity of her allies.

When it comes to maintaining things, (her hair, her books, her equipment, etc etc) Nani is a ritualistic person. She does things a certain way, in a certain order, and it helps her relax. She has enough chaos in her life, she doesn't need extra added by her own actions.

When Nanine is at a difficult decision and can't find the right way to go, no matter which way she looks at it, she'll fall back on the tradition of her family. Emphasis on loyalty and doing what's best for the Empire. It hasn't lead her astray yet, and she prays it never will.

Deeply inquisitive, especially of magic, Nani leaps at the opportunity to learn something new. It doesn't matter if it's an utterly useless piece of information, she will appreciate and enjoy it. She could listen for hours to a potter, a blacksmith, a shoemaker, or any expert on anything. This is part of the reason why she signed onto the expedition, as the Dwemer are an unknown factor to her and incredibly intriguing.

Whenever she's drawing, or focusing on something particularly hard, Nani has a tendency to block the world out and unconsciously plays with her magic. Fire swirls around in her palm, lighting twitches between her finger tips, etc etc. She's not sure what it does, but it helps her concentrate. In general, she finds magic deeply comforting, reaching out to it and her connection with it in times of fear, anger, or worry, soothing herself.

She strives to be cheerful and easy going, having had enough of strife and tension amongst allies in her life to last her until the day she dies. Forever an optimist, Nanine is always looking for the silver lining. The alternative is a dark path that she is scared to travel down.

At times, Nanine will find someone or something particularly interesting, powerful, or beautiful, and strive to commit it to her memory (despite not needing anything more then a glance). This leads to her unconsciously staring at someone or something for minutes on end, attempting to commit every minuscule detail. When asked or prodded about it, she'll snap back to reality and get deeply embarrassed.

Misc.:

-Nani has photographic memory, allowing her to recall people, objects, and places she's seen in perfect detail. She uses this to draw images of events or things she's seen from memory, filling her journals with sights both wondrous and tragic.

-Nani has a large knowledge of the Daedra (from Lord to servant), having studied them extensively as a child.

-Having been at it from the age of five, Nani is very good at drawing and painting when she's got the chance. She prefers to draw things she's seen, rather than from her imagination, recreating them in her journals in flawless detail.

-She wants to write her own book, but is struggling with a story idea and where to start.

-Nanine can't carry a tune to save her life and has a bad singing voice, something she is acutely aware of. Whenever group singing comes around, she contents her self to quiet muttering or humming. Unless she is drunk, that is. Then she will shamelessly belt out the lyrics in her horrid voice, much to the regret of those around her and her own regret after she wakes up.

-Nanine hates pirates (and by extension bandits) with every fiber of her being. They took everything from her, and in her eyes all of them are murderous bastards who only deserve to be put to the sword.

-Nani, despite their inability to aid her father, has utter faith in the Empire. They are the source of Order in Tamriel, and firmly believes that without them being strong the world will descend into chaos.

-Nanine is a very light sleeper, a habit she developed after the disaster that was her father's crusade, and several ambushes by Stormcloaks.

Profile

---

Birthplace



Appearance






Personality



Background

Capabilities

---

Inventory

---

Name: Balphor Revlund
Race: Bosmer
Sex: Male
Age: 28
Birthsign: The Shadow
Family Origins: Elden Root, Valenwood
Appearance:
Balphor maintains a darker complexion on the wood elf skin tone spectrum. He has a lanky, swimmers build, with long arms and calloused hands. His eyes have a bright gold color, his most distinguishable feature. He often keeps his black, collarbone length hair, in a short tight ponytail, normally covered by his helm. He has a large set of scars running down the left side of his cheek to his chin from a wolf encounter many years ago. Over time, it has faded into the three thick lines. His armor is a mix of green and shades of autumn gold, as its years of service have seen some of its shine fade. Small scratches cover the armor, from years of claw and sword contact. Looking closely, one can see that his nose is slightly unevenly shaped, due to part of it being chewed off last year. Though it has since healed, and looks for the most part normal, it still maintains an off putting shape now.
Balphor walks with a slight left sided limp, the result a tussle with a horker years ago, it does not slow him down, but when he walks at slower pace, it is much more noticable. Underneath his armor, but above his clothing, he wears a necklace, with many fangs and claws hanging off of the string, trophies from his years of hunting. He often carries his satchel, a small over the shoulder bag, with only a few smaller items.
Equipment:
Elven Helm
Elven Gauntlets
Elven Cuirass
Elven Greaves
Elven Bow
Elven Sword
Elven Dagger (He kept all of his elven gear after abandoning the dominion, taking it to the local blacksmith whenever it is damaged)
Wool undergarments
35 steel arrows + Large quiver
Misc. Possessions: A Small satchel containing 4 apples, a sack of gold totaling about 800 septims, a bottle of frostbite spider venom, bottle of potent paralysis poison.
Family & Associations:
Father - Deceased
Mother - Deceased
Felnor (childhood friend) - Deceased
Devrin (childhood friend) - Deceased
Favoured Skills:
High Proficiency- Archery - trained to wield a bow since he can remember, Balphor has mastered the art of a bow, learning not only how to shoot, but also to care for his bow and keep it in good condition. His father and his friends in the guard would often get Balphor old practice arrows from the barracks, and give them to him for practice, along with the old long bow his father had hand crafted him. He was taken out often to hunt, learning how to lead his target and shoot where his prey would be, rather than where it was.
High Proficiency- Sneak - from childhood, Balphor has always loved a good game of cat and mouse. This manifested into his love of hunting. He enjoys the wait, the silent stalking, the quiet tension when he sees his target, but they don’t see him, Balphor became addicted to the adrenaline of a good hunt. He only fed into this addiction by following his targets for days, sometimes weeks without them even knowing he was ever there.
Moderate Proficiency - Single Handed Weapons - Though he was was not trained day and night constantly with a sword, like he was a bow, he is still a decent combatant with a blade. He did not receive proper swordsmen training until actually joining the ranks of the Thalmor. He is not trained with maces or axes and as such is incompetent with such weapons. His preference is a dagger, as it allows him the maneuverability to get around his opponents easily, and he almost always keep it dipped in paralysis poison in case.
Somewhat Proficient - Speech - His years working as a debt/tax collector gave him the experience to learn how to talk to people. He did not like having to use force or dirty tactic to get the payment, he’d rather use logic, reasoning, and a bit of deception at times to get people to cough up what they owed. Though this tactic was not always effective, he did learn a few things about how to deal with people, especially when it comes to parting with their money. Not to mention the years of bartering for pelts and game he brought in from hunts, or trinkets brought back from cave explorations with his mother.
Somewhat Proficient - Botany/Alchemy - A skill Balphor has picked up over the years in the woods, he’s learned what good edible berries look like and what the diarrhea inducing berries look like (something he learned the hard way). He has become quite adept at extracting the venom from spiders, and learned to craft his own paralysis poison using canis root, imp stool, and fungal pods.
History: Before his birth, Balphor’s family lived in valenwood, as his father was a high ranking guard. After being offered a promotion to the Dominion guard, his family moved to Elden Root, the capital of the Dominion, where Balphor was born. Balphor would spend much of his childhood attempting to shoot birds out of the sky with his small short bow, posted up in small nests he’d crafted in the tops of trees. His aim, though mediocre at the the time, continued to improve, as his persistence to finally knock one out of the sky kept him constantly trying over and over. When he finally hit one, landing an arrow right in the bird’s neck, he carried the body back into town, and traded it for the most rewarding sweetroll of his life. As a young boy, his mom would often sneak him into dwemer ruins and caves, a tradition to be carried on later when he was older, only he would be assisting on the exploration.

His teens were spent training to one day to follow in his father’s footsteps and one of the elite Dominion guards. He would often go on month long hunting trips with his friends, surviving only on what they hunted and gathered. He would spend much of this idle time practicing his archery, carving targets into trees and walking back a few dozen yards and begin shooting. The sounds of the forest would keep him awake, giving him plenty more time to practice with a new level of difficulty. This would last for about three to four days before he would collapse into his tent for a solid sixteen hour rest. The scars on the left side of his face are from a wolf encounter when he was about eighteen. Balphor and his two friends, Felnor and Devrin, had been tracking a pack of wolves through the woods for almost two whole days when they decided to rest for a short while. Balphor had just fallen asleep when he heard his friend’s cry. He rushed to aid Devrin, who lay lifeless with his neck torn open, and pouring blood into the grass and mud. Looking around, Balphor only saw blood and dragging marks, leading back into the forest, no sign of Felnor. Balphor sat with his dying friend and held his hand as he enjoyed his final breaths, unaware of Balphor still clutching his dagger, scared the wolves were not satisfied with Felnor’s body alone. After his friend peacefully passed over, Balphor grabbed his bow and arrows filled with a blind rage, he began to go to work, setting a trap.
Using his friend’s body as bait, he sat in the tree’s waiting for the predators to return for their kill. It only took roughly two hours for the wolves to return, one them still carrying a piece of Felnor in his mouth. In the light of the early morning dawn, the clearing was quiet as the five wolves began to feast for the second time, unaware of the vengeful predator lurking above. Waiting until all of them were distracted with Devrin’s body, he knocked ad released an arrow, quickly followed by a second taking out two wolves before they broke their attention from the feast. Launching himself from the trees, Balphor landed dagger first onto another wolf’s skull, his foot catching another wolf in the skull as well, breaking its jaw, sending it scurrying away. Balphor and the final wolf circled each other, staring each other down over the bodies of their fallen friends, waiting for the the other to make a move. The wolf pounced first, its fangs bared and claws out, Balphor raised his arms, extending the dagger out to catch the furry beast. Ass the claws tore down the side of Balphor’s face, the dagger sank into the wolf’s chest, and with a swift thrust, to the side, Balphor sent the wolf down to the ground. Balphor was a different person after returning home.
Enlisting in the guard, Balphor quickly found his talents for tracking and people handling being used as a debt collector for the dominion. Those who had not paid their taxes, or were due for a loan payment, and had evaded normal collectors sent to their homes, had someone like Balphor sent after them to collect, one way or another. This business often had a gruesome end, with Balphor forced to return with important family heirlooms, life savings, rent money, and sometimes fingers. Customers knew the risks when they took the loan, somewhat easing his conscious, though he never enjoyed his job. Unfortunately, Balphor’s mother frequently took out loans to pay for her archeological digs and explorations but had recently come up short this last time as it the ruin had not had nearly as big a payoff as she was expecting.
Finding his parent’s bodies, he could not comprehend what had transpired and began to drive himself insane over the murders, trying to figure out what had happened. Unfortunately all of his mother’s research and artifacts had been taken as well. After learning the truth of the events leading up to their death, Balphor fled Elden Root and the dominion seeking a new start, he went back to his roots of living off the land, trying to find new meaning, renouncing the Dominion and seeking to find the missing pieces of his parents murder. Though unlikely, he remains hopeful there might be some clue to what his mother was looking for that put her into debt and got her and her husband killed. Balphor has slowly become one of the most wanted men in the Dominion, now hunting the Thalmor rather than doing it’s dirty work.
Personality: Balphor is an adrenaline junky. He loves the thrill of a chase and the sweet success of catching his prey. His new favorite thing to hunt, are roaming Thalmor ‘diplomats’ and guard’s travelling the land. He occasionally leaves one guard alive, to make sure he sees Balphor’s face, so he can return back to tell the Dominion exactly who it was. He holds more of a grudge against the Altmer specifically, though high ranking Wood elf and Khajiit are still partial to blame, as their governments agree with the Dominion enough to not rebel. Balphor often has night terrors of his parent’s death, giving him insomnia like no other, making him somewhat irritable.
Though he is still holds a grudge, it does not control him entirely. He is a capable socialite, and often spends his night in the comfort of a lady’s bed rather than the cold ground of the wild. Despite his natural talent for getting around unnoticed, Balphor still sees himself above stealing and the killing of innocent people, he is not a thief or assassin nor does he like to be considered one, though there are some parts of the law he is not above (running skooma).

-Nation name
[High Rock]

-History (focus on the years 4E 201 to 205, anything before that is pre-established canon)



-Leadership (type of government, leader, political agenda)
4/5 Kingdoms are a monarchy, with the last being a Republic, although not officially recognized by High Rock’s leaders. The leaders of High Rock all vie to be the loudest voice in the Emperor’s ear to garner favor in his eyes and to hopefully elevate their State’s status in High Rock. This makes High Rock the second most Court Intrigue filled nation, rivaled only by Morrowind and its Great Houses.



-Allegiance (you can change this throughout the RP)
A very tenuous thread connects them to the Cyrodiilic Empire, although it will be hard to secede, seeing as the Council of Kings will have to make a unified move to do so. High Rock is not the most unified of Provinces, to be sure.

-Military

Kingdom of Jehanna –

Grand Duchy of Northpoint –

Kingdom of Daggerfall –

Principality of Camlorn –

Corsair Republic of Wayrest –

-Culture/society

The overall society of High Rock is feudal in nature, with powerful heads of state like Kings and Dukes holding the reins, landowners supplying much needed trade goods for the market and economy to the Lords and the Lords, in turn, supplying the reigning ruler with men for the armies. This model of society can be applied to most of High Rock, with Wayrest being the only exception.

Despite this heavily boiled down model of the society of High Rock, it is to be said that the culture is hardly as simple as this. The culture of High Rock has always been one where only the ambitious thrive and are subject to the whims of those strong enough to take their power. Such examples are the five remaining states after the Warp in the West. The royal families of each State are the victors of many wars, and hold their place as the strong among the strong.

Wayrest is the most readily apparent and most recent example, behind Jehanna. The many pirates that fancied themselves good enough captains to lead a State convened to topple the royal family of Wayrest and install their own government. When all was said and done, there was still a leader to choose. Through the most transparent examples of High Rock’s true nature, a series of blackmails, assassinations and open bloody feuds were fought in the streets, the courts and the sea. Out of the smoke stepped one man strong enough to govern, and that was then-Captain Ambrose Mackin, to be renamed Pirate-Lord Ambrose Mackin in light of the position he had earned by slitting throats and doing what needed to be done to secure his place, going from lowly Reachman exile, to sailor, captain and now Pirate-Lord.

High Rock: The land where Paupers become Princes.

The lion appears as the hereditary symbol of many Breton kingdoms. A popular legend told of fierce lion prides aiding Breton freedom fighters as they rose up against their Ayleid overlords. The Daggerfall Covenant of the second era featured the lion on its banners. Today, the nostalgics of High Rock propose to reintroduce the lion banner in commemoration of Ferrand Bellemont, the first Breton high king crowned in many centuries.

History

---

• Kingdom of Daggerfall
• Camlorn Principality
• Duchy of Northpoint
• Kingdom of Jehanna
• Republic of Wayrest

People

---

• High King Ferrand Bellemont of Daggerfall
  
  • Gregory Bellemont of Daggerfall, Ferrand’s heir and Protector of Wayrest
  • Vivienne of Grennsmark the “Iron Lady,” Field Marshal
  • Argyllien Direnni of Balfiera, Captain of the Direnni Levies
• Grand-Duke Beralt Courtois of Northpoint
  
  • Count Aethelwulf Aethelwulfing of Hardwall, Beralt’s Field Marshal, Captain of the Hardwall Levies Lord
  • Hesse Arnault of Farnorth, Captain of the Farnorth Levies
• Ingvar Half-Hand, Captain of the Iron Brothers
• Hossenfar of Gradskeep, Captain of the Blackguards

• Everard III the Bastard of Wayrest, self-proclaimed King of Wayrest, Captain of the Grey Host, and rumored leader of the Blackhound Brotherhood Brigands
  
  • Mathieu the Whisper, court nightblade to Everard and master of disguise
  • Sir Roderic the Bull, Captain of the Company of the Bull
• Narcisse Septim-Vincens, Prince of Camlorn, Everard’s Captain of the Camlorn Levies
  
  • Duke Egan Provell “the Rock of Shornhelm,” Everard’s Field Marshal
  • Count Darren of Stonemoors, Captain of the Stonemoors Levies
  • Lord Aelfged of Ram’s Rest, Captain of the Ram’s Rest Levies
• King Frithjolf Broken-Shield of Jehanna
  
  • Hrolfr Iron-Arm of Jehanna, Frithjolf’s heir and Field Marshal
  • Antoinne of Jehanna, Frithjolf’s second son and spymaster
  • Duke Hawkwood of Farrun, Frithjolf’s captain of the Farrun Levies
• Blood-Red Nate, Leader of the Defenders of Wayrest and Leader of the Southwood Brigands
  
  • Snorri Splitfoot, Leader of the Quickfoot Brigands
  • Lightsleep, Leader of the Cracktusk Brigands
  • Cammen Goring, Leader of the Steelhead Brigands
• Old Man Yor, Commander of the River Watch of Wayrest
• Engel Merkiller, Commander of the Forest Watch of Wayrest
• Chieftess Red-Crow Eats-Them-Whole, Crow-Wife Clan
• Chief Rockgulper, Broketeeth Clan
• Ruccat gro-Schin, Captain of Orc volunteers

Politics

---

Military

---

• 2,070 of Ferrand’s personal levy
• 500, Ferrand’s retinue
• 1,567, Grennsmark Levies
• 800, Direnni Levies
• 2,234, Northpoint Levies
• 1,700, Hardwall Levies
• 1,030, Farnorth Levies
• 2,000, the Iron Brothers
• 2,000, the Blackguards

• 500, the Grey Host
• 1,000, the Company of the Bull
• 2,300, Camlorn Levies
• 1,021, Egan’s personal levies
• 920, Stonemoors Levies
• 807, Ram’s Rest Levies
• 740, Frithjolf’s Retinue
• 246, Hrolfr’s Band
• 120, Antoinne’s Band
• 780, Farrun Levies
• 45, Southwood Brigands
• 37, Quickfoot Brigands
• 24, Golden Plains Brigands
• 40, Steelhead Brigands
• 400, River and Forest Watch
• 700, Crow-Wife Clan
• 890, Broketeeth Clan
• 100, Orc volunteers

Culture and Society

---

Meg is average in both height and weight, though she is on the short side for someone with Nord blood in her veins, tending more toward her Imperial father in terms of both height and looks, both no taller than 5'6. She could be called the wiry sort, her body strong from living an active life since childhood, with no extra fat on her limbs. Her skin is tanned from birth and a little rough from both the sun as well as the winter weather she's travelled in. Her slightly wavy and dark brown hair touch her shoulders, usually tied back to keep out of her eyes.

Her face is rather angular with high cheekbones and a strong straight nose with the slightest hint of a curve at the tip, set over a wide mouth more prone to smiling than frowning. Her left cheek sports three scars from scratches she received when she was a youngster, but it's hard to tell due to the green double line warpaint she likes to wear. Her eyes are a bland sort of green and are usually lined with black, making them appear darker than they actually are.

As for her clothes, Meg tends to favour comfort and agility. She dons a faded dark tunic, brown woolen trousers, leather gauntlets and knee high sturdy brown boots. For colder days she has a thick green cloak which also suffices as a blanket. She isn't much for jewellery, but she does wear a gold ring passed down to her from her mother as well as an amulet of Mara around her neck. The latter for the time being is kept hidden under her clothes as while she’s not actively looking for romance, it has sentimental value for her.

Equipment:

• Skyforge Steel Sword- The sword was given to her by her father. It used to be her mother's sword, although she had not bought it either, rather it was handed to her as a reward during her years with the Companions. Whilst the sword is quite old, it had been well taken care of and Meg is quite diligent in making sure it remains that way.
• Banded Armour- Just like her sword, this armour is a hand-me-down from her mother as well, procured ie stolen from someone killed during her years of adventuring as a Companion. It's quite old and not in the best condition, but Meg still wears it for sentimental reasons along with the obvious protection.
• Hunting bow and quiver with 20 iron arrows

Misc. Possessions:

• 50 septims. 25 septims are kept in her satchel, while the remainder are in a small, tight pouch at her belt.
• Satchel containing some apples, carrots, some salmon and rabbit meat, and a couple of ale bottles.
• A second smaller satchel containing herbs which she uses to make restoration/healing potions as well as a mortar and pestle.
• 10 lockpicks

Family and Associations:

• Falen Corvus- Father
• Ylva-Mother, deceased
• Marne- Stepmother
• Sylven- Half-brother
• J’raij- friend/travelling companion- deceased

Favoured Skills:
Highly Proficient

• Sneak- Having spent most of her childhood doing exactly that, Meg is quite skilled at keeping stealthy. Whilst this was mostly used for entering and exiting places silently, she found it quite useful when having to sneak up on bandits and the like.

Moderately Proficient

• One Handed Blade- Meg is more of an offensive fighter with her sword rather than defensive, striking whenever she sees an opening, hoping to land critical hits wherever she can. As she doesn’t like to use a shield, she’s had to learn to parry attacks as well as countering them.
• Lockpicking- A skill she had picked up in Riften as a child, Meg’s education in this skill was furthered when she left Whiterun and began the ancient art of treasure hunting, with aid from her Khajiit friend. Practice makes it perfect, but she still has ways to go.
• Pickpocket- While Meg hasn’t resorted to this in years, she spent a good deal of her childhood pocketing things that didn’t belong to her and as such… old habits die hard.

Somewhat Proficient

• Archery- Using a bow is something Meg had to teach herself after leaving home. It was easier to keep the farmers she escorted alive and unwounded if she could shoot and incapacitate enemies before they came so close that she had to resort to a sword. While she is no master of the art, she has an eye for hitting her target.
• Speech- Meg isn’t too shabby at haggling over prices she thinks she may buy for a little less coin, and she does occasionally manage to defuse heated situations with her words.

History:Megana, better known as Meg, was born to a Nord named Ylva and an Imperial named Falen. Her mother was originally from Riverwood though she had moved to Whiterun at a young age, joining the Companions in her youth. As for her father, he was a deserter from the Imperial army. Seeking refuge in Skyrim he found a haven in Riften, where it was easy for him to keep his head low as he engaged in selling his sword for coin. Fate had planned that Ylva and Falen would meet; both had been hired on a treasure hunting mission near Morthal. As they felled draugrs and ghosts in this mission as well as future ones, it became apparent that the two had taken more than a liking to one another, and it wasn't long before they married at the Temple of Mara.

Meg's birth followed approximately a year later. Raising a child obviously slowed down their life of adventure, and unlike their carefree days they could no longer simply rent a room at an inn and waste gold with a baby. So, the couple decided it was time to settle down in Riverwood where Ylva's family house was ready for the taking, seeing her old parents had passed on to Sovngarde years before. For his part, Falen was quite happy with this new relaxed life, working as a tanner at the blacksmith's. Ylva on the other hand was restless with a life as a mother. She loved her daughter as most mothers do, but staying still in one place just wasn’t her. When Meg was old enough that her father could easily take care of her, the Nord warrior decided to once more lend her sword to the people of Whiterun Hold, taking up different quests. Alas, her final fight was against a coven of witches, and whilst she did kill most of them, in the end she lost her life.

Falen took his wife's passing hard. For a good few months he did little more than drink and sleep. Thankfully by this time Meg was old enough to fend for herself, but she was still just a child. It took her falling ill and nearly passing away to break Falen out of his stupor. Regretting the way his grief had overtaken him and nearly killed his daughter, he decided he needed to leave Riverwood and head elsewhere. Selling off most of their belongings for gold, some of which they used to buy a horse, the pair left the settlement with their few remaining belongings. Falen had decided they would be moving to Riften. He knew some people there and the city was familiar; it would be easy for him at least to adjust to the change. The journey wasn't too strenuous, but the many times Falen had to unsheathe his sword reminded him he was still quite proficient at wielding a blade. Perhaps it was time for him to return to his roots?

So it was that Falen was once more hired muscle for various shady folks. It was not safe to take Meg with him on his various daily visits, so he would leave here either at the Temple of Mara. While she was an obedient child for the most part, staying all day at a stuffy temple wasn't fun at all. She took to sneaking out of the temple, making her way through the city and taking in the various sites. Sometimes she would steal a fruit or two from the merchant’s stand. Other times she would sneak her way into the orphanage where she would play with the other children until chased out by the old hag who looked over them. In all her adventures, Meg did keep away from the Ratway; while it set her curiosity on edge, she didn’t know how to swim and she hardly wished to drown.

It was around this time when Meg came across her first Khajiit, having actually snuck out of Riften itself. J’raij was supposedly a young merchant selling his wares just outside the city walls. Meg had heard more than enough negative rumours about the cat-like people; they were sneaky thieves, they ate weird things that made them lose their minds, they were no better than scum. However, she felt no such disdain for the merchant, much to his amusement. Used to being looked down as less than second class, it was an interesting change of pace for the young trader. Much to her glee, J’raij decided to teach Meg the art of lockpicking and pickpocketing. It seemed a little odd and she was averse to it at first, but he convinced her that some people had too much money and it was actually a good thing to relieve them of some of their gold.

Unfortunately for Meg, the Khajiit merchant wasn't there for more than a few weeks, having been seen as a nuisance and subsequently chased away with threats. This brief time was enough for her to learn that her father and the rest of the folk weren't quite right about the cat-like people. Feeling rebellious and saddened that her friend had been forced away, Meg once more began her rounds around the city, finding amusement in interacting with the less savoury folk in Riften. Whilst some found her rather irritable and would readily skewer her if they had the chance, she did come upon others who were rather eager to teach a youngster the art of picking pockets and lockpicking. When they realized she already had an aptitude for the latter, they began to send her on various errands to unlock doors.

The day came when Falen finally caught wind of what his daughter was up to in no less way than having to stop her from breaking into one of his client’s house. It occurred to him that he should have realized what was going on with Meg much sooner than he actually had. Worse than this realization was that he had failed his daughter yet gain. Not wanting a life of thievery for his daughter, Falen made the hard decision to return to Whiterun Hold, though this time his destination was Whiterun, where he would attempt to find a legitimate law abiding job that would allow him to keep a closer eye on his daughter. By this time Meg was already nearing thirteen years of age and had quite a mind of her own. She did not appreciate being taken away from Riften, and though she couldn’t stop her father from taking her, she took every opportunity to remind him that she wasn’t content.

As they journeyed, Falen decided it was high time to teach Meg how to handle a sword. Not only did he hope for her to be able to defend herself, the best defense being offense, he also hoped it would help keep her mind from the bad habits she had picked up in Riften. Though she was stubbornly against it at first, an encounter with bandits taught Meg that her father was truly looking out for her. From then on, she took his word seriously and learned from him in earnest; it wasn’t long before she upgraded from killing skeevers to full grown bandits. She was lucky to have taken so well to the sword, wielding it with an ease that reminded Falen of Ylva. It was due to this memory that the night before they arrived in Whiterun, he gifted her with her mother’s old Skyforge Steel sword.

Whiterun was quite a different for Meg. It took her quite a while to get used to a place that was mostly all Nord with the occasional Imperial, Breton or Redguard. As far as she could tell, there weren’t even Argonians in Whiterun. While she was overall disappointed in what the city had to offer, she inherently knew it was probably for the best. As she was now old enough to contribute in bringing in gold home, she would head to the farmers around Whiterun and aid in harvesting their crops as well as other menial tasks, including helping with transportation of goods. This was much more pleasant to Meg, further allowing her to develop her skills with her sword. She was also given a chance to meet interesting new faces, including, much to her delight, more Khajiit merchants and travellers passing through the way. There was always a little inkling of hope that she might see her friend J’raij once more, but alas his face was never among those she saw.

Life continued onward as it usually does, becoming something of a mundane ritual. Whilst Meg wasn’t as unsatisfied as her mother had been with the settled sort of life, she did feel as if there was more to life that carting cabbages around the hold. Once she reached her twentieth year, she decided it was high time she left her father to see the rest of Skyrim, and perhaps further in the future, Cyrodiil as well. Falen had finally moved on and was now courting a lady named Marne; Meg reckoned there would be children coming soon enough, giving her the perfect excuse to leave. Her father was saddened that she was leaving, but she was now old enough to make her own decisions. He gifted her with Ylva’s old armour as a goodbye present, telling her that her mother would want her to have it.

Protected and armed, Meg started off on her own adventures… which weren’t as impressive as she had been hoping for. Most of them were bounties for bandits, which while dangerous was not exactly what she had in mind, along with the fact that anyone else who had the same bounty would contest for the gold. It was becoming somewhat lackluster when one day a chance encounter with what seemed a roadside robbery became something more. Robber killed and left for the beasts, Meg’s attention had swiftly turned to the victim. She was quite shocked when she recognized the face under the hood. It was her acquaintance J’raij, whom she hadn’t met in more than ten years. He didn’t recognize her at first as she looked quite different. Tales of the past however are hard to forget, and it wasn’t long before he remembered who she was.

As it turned out, he was not a merchant per say. J’raij was a hired thief, though he found himself something of a tomb raider these days. In the same manner she had become enchanted by the khajiit as a youngster, so true did it prove even as an adult. The only difference now was that Meg could actually do more than just learn tricks; she was well trained in picking locks, sneaking about, archery and, of course, using her sword. The khajiit seemed to realize that rather than an amusement, the young woman was actually something of an asset to have along.

So began the partnership between Meg and J’raij, which lasted for a good two years. During this time Meg traveled throughout Skyrim, visiting places she had only heard of. To say she was having fun would be an understatement. Despite the dangers that ravaged both over and under land, she found herself more than content with life as a tomb raider. It also seemed Meg was developing some sort of feelings for her Khajiit companion. She had always liked and respected him, but this was something different, something she had only heard tales of in taverns, or when her father would speak fondly of her mother.

Alas, that sort of tale was not for Meg. An unfortunate accident during one of their underground explorations occurred when an unseen trap was triggered, causing a huge rockfall. J’raij found himself stuck and unable to move. As if it couldn’t get worse, the noise attracted a couple of nearby draugrs. While Meg managed to free herself and fell both of them, she was not able to save her friend and companion. Wrought with grief, she managed to free his corpse from the rubble before dragging him out of the crypt, where she buried his body.

Unsure of what to do now, Meg returned to Whiterun to stay with her father and his new family. Falen was quite concerned, recognizing the look on her face as one that had been on his so many years earlier. While his wife wasn’t too pleased to have an extra person in the house, Falen wasn’t about to get rid of his daughter when she was clearly upset about something. Nevertheless, Meg didn’t stay by her father for more than a couple of weeks, opting to sleep at the Bannered Mare instead. She had enough gold to stay there for ages if she wished, and it was better than being fussed over whilst being given the stink-eye by her stepmother.

It wasn’t long before Meg began to feel the urge to leave Whiterun once more. She was no longer the careless adventurer from before, but after five years of a traveler’s life, she couldn’t go back to staying put in one place. While she still grieved for her lost companion, she knew time would be a healer, and perhaps another grand adventure would be a balm as well.

Personality:
To an outsider, Meg would seem like a rather down to earth and easy going sort of person, a good listener with a decent sense of humour, not shying from drinking, cussing or singing tavern songs. And while that isn't far from the truth, there is quite a bit under the surface that she keeps hidden from the rest of the world, or at least those who aren't very close to her.

Though kindhearted and friendly, a part of Meg is paranoid and untrusting towards people. Life has taught her that most people are only nice to you because they want something from you. So while she genuinely does wish well for others, there is always a niggling part of her that is doubting others and their intentions, sometimes causing her to overthink situations and come up with wrong conclusions.

That being said, when Meg finds herself close to a person, she becames rather biased and stubborn in her opinions about them, whether she is right or wrong. Even if they hurt her, it will only take a few kind words before she finds herself having forgiven them. Having grown up by her lonesome with literally only one person she called friend has made her rather possesive of the people she likes; there's always a fear in her that she may end up losing the people she cares about, and ultimately left alone.

One thing that can be said for Meg is that she had strong work ethics. If she is getting paid for something, she will do the job to the best of her ability, as quickly and as efficiently as she can. As such, she doesn't enjoy people messing around when it's time to get down and do work, even if she tolerates it to a certain degree, keeping quiet rather than making a fuss. In the same manner, she can be a little impatient when folks make much ado about nothing.

Miscellaneous:

• Race doesn't really play any part in Meg's perception of people; she deals with them as they act and not as they look.
• It’s easy to tell when Meg is pleased- if she’s standing there will be a big grin on her face; if she’s sitting her legs will be shaking with excitement.
• While she is something of a tomboy, Meg is also secretly a romantic, waiting for the not so perfect someone.
• Drinking too much turns Meg into a sobbing mess who spouts all sorts of nonsense and personal secrets. User discretion is advised.