Name: Sindri Rockheart Race: Alovach (reachman) Aged: 26 Birthsign; The Mage Birthday 23rd of Rain's Hand, 4E 142
Appearance: Porcelain skin, hair as black as night, and eyes as blue as the cold Skyrim rivers. She bears a scar on the right side of her face, claw-like marks that run from her ear downward over her jaw and to her throat. Tattoos mark her skin, though only glimpses are visible from beneath her clothing. Beneath, the ink portrays tribal markings and the totem of a wolf.
She wears fitted tunics, layered skirts, and loose robes of earthy or dark shades. A quiver full of arrows rests on one thigh, a satchel full of herbs and supplies rests on the other. A well cared for ancient nord bow is strapped to her back. She often produces simple daggers to clean beneath her fingernails or trim desired supplies from shrubs or the unlucky corpse, though where her daggers are stored is not visible. Too often, Sindri wears feathers, bones, and a nightshade blossom in her hair, the violet petals standing out starkly against the black of her tresses. Bones, beads, and leather adorn her clothing and jewelry.
Physically, her frame is unassuming and average. Standing at 5’9” (175cm), Sindri weighs 196lbs (88kg).
Bio: Sindri was born to a small nomadic clan belonging to what the Nords and Bretons refer to as Reachmen. As a child, she spent much time among the wild people, though her mother -a skilled alchemist- often traveled into the populated holds to trade hard-to-come-by herbs and ingredients. Sindri often joined her, making friends, learning the ways of civilized people, believing herself to be one of them. When she was seven, her mother took her into the mountains and handed her only child into the care of a handful of strangers. Witches in dark robes with terrifying tattoos and skulls bones tied into their hair. Sindri sobbed, fighting against the hand that held her wrist firmly, but her mother shook her head and left Sindri to the strangers.
For years, Sindri was schooled by the group of women, their tutelage merciless and cold. Sindri learned in the shadows the way of the witches. Schools of magic, alchemy, combat, cooking, every skill that would be beneficial to a future witch. The nightmare ended when the group of witches were set upon by a group of adventurers who had been wronged by the actions of the group. Sindri woke in the night to chaos, combat, and slaughter. In the fray, Sindri was discovered by the men, who were confused to find a girl so young and decided that she was a victim.
Sindri was rescued, pulled from the rubble that had been her home and prison the last several years, and was put under watch in a Nordic encampment until those around her were assured she was not a risk. Unfortunately for them, she was. Of the many things the witches forced her to undergo, one was a ritual of transformation that turned her into a werewolf. In the dead of night, she freed herself from her restraints and wiped out the group of men who had slaughtered her people. With the witnesses gone, Sindri fled into the wilds until her bare feet bled, until she came across a clan of nomads who took her in and helped her acclimate to the sunlit world again.
Sindri’s new life became one of repentance and alliance. She’d grown up homeless and sleeping under stars because her people did not trust those who lived in permanent towns and cities. She’d been handed over to powerful witches because she needed to become a powerful witch to survive. Those witches had been slain by men who did not like that these women were powerful and not subservient to their laws. The civilized people saw them as savages and beasts. The tribesmen saw those who lived in cities as puppets and soft.
She would be the bridge. Sindri would try to get each side to see the similarities and the minute differences between their cultures in the hopes of bringing them together. As a more united front, they’d be strong. Less of their time would be spent on bloodshed and territory battles. The witches were not all savages, she tried to explain. The city people were not all weak.
From city to tribe to town to settlement, Sindri traveled, offering her alchemy and enchanting skills in trade, offering herself as a mercenary to those who would hire a woman, mending broken bones and rockjoint to the weary traveler, all while speaking praises of the two sides of her world and promising that the two could become one.
When she fell in step with a group of Imperials traveling through the Jerall Mountains, Sindri explained what she was trying to do, and the Imperials offered to her a chance to do as she was on a much larger scale. Bring the Reach and its neighbors into recognition from the Empire. She did not hesitate to say yes. Immediately agreeing that she would do this for the Reach and the people who lived in its harsh terrain. Though, after a time, she realized she had reason to hesitate; she was a beast, afterall.
Please, she begged. See the big picture. I am under control, I will harm no one. Give me a keeper if you must, have me tested, give your men wolfsbane and silver for reassurance, but so long as I am allowed to hunt deer whenever I need, I will be no danger to this cause, as it is also my cause. Should I fail you in any way, cut off my head, for without this purpose, I have nothing.
We fear no pain, nor the endless night We are all prepared to die When our kin is gone we will gather nigh And raise our flagons high
Mage Skills; Sindri’s mage skills are learned from the Reachmen and the Witchfolk. Raised and schooled in the branches of magic outlawed in the Mages Guilds, Sindri has learned to adhere only to what is socially acceptable in common society.
*Sindri can summon the bloodthorns at a skill higher than apprentice, but because this magic is not widely accepted, she holds it in reserve, resorting to conjurations in which she is less skilled.
Combat Skills; Sindri has had to learn how to survive without relying on magic or her lycanthropy skills, as too often there is bias against both among the civilized people. She is not great at melee combat, but she can survive. She more often relies on honeyed words.
Archery | Adept One Handed (daggers) | Apprentice
Stealth Skills; Sindri’s upbringing in the wilds of the Reach have made her an expert with the local foliage. Once she is removed from the mountain ranges beyond the Reach, her knowledge dwindles. She has an aversion to wolfsbane and belladonna, a wide knowledge of poisons and what ingredients are used within them and which antidotes work best against each poison. Her ability to traverse the wilds unseen and unheard makes her quite sneaky, though on occasion the wind may turn and betray her scent if she is not careful enough.
Alchemy | Expert Sneak | Expert
Other Skills; While many of the Reachmen are illiterate, Sindri herself learned to read and write whilst living in seclusion with the witches, and her studies were furthered once she lived among the city-folk. She was turned into a lycanthrope as a child by the clan of witches into whose care she was given, and taught swiftly to hone this gift and make it a weapon she could use to strengthen her people. So long as she hunts regularly, she is in control, and does not seek to cure herself.
Hеar us, together we will rise, we are all prepared to die When our time has come, and our blood will flow Right down to Hel below
Personality: Sindri is a cold and calculating mage. Often keeps to herself working on her alchemical recipes or practicing her conjuration, because if she can summon a familiar she won't have to get her hands dirty and can focus on other, more important things. She is at home in nature and appears restless while indoors. She is not always friendly, her tongue often sharp, but those of whom Sindri decides is worth her time often see a much warmer side to the Nord. Too often, Sindri wanders into the woods for hours, even days on end, offering no explanation as to her reasons or whereabouts.
Appearance: Sylruna has a youthful and delicate beauty, with smooth, ash-gray skin that glows faintly in moonlight. Her almond-shaped crimson eyes are soft and expressive, giving her a kind and approachable air despite her race's often harsh reputation. Her silvery-white hair is long and braided intricately, falling over her shoulders like a cascade of starlight. She is petite and lithe, standing at 5'3", with a graceful build that belies her strength and agility. Sylruna wears a mix of lightweight leather armor and robes, dyed in shades of midnight blue and crimson, accented with faintly glowing runes.
Age: 24
Skills:
Destruction Magic: Specializes in fire-based spells, with a penchant for creating controlled, dazzling flames to intimidate and disarm foes. Alteration Magic: Skilled in protective spells like Oakflesh and Stoneflesh, with a budding talent in using Paralysis spells. Archery: Proficient with a bow, Sylruna uses her sharp eyesight and steady hand to pick off enemies from a distance. Alchemy: Adept at crafting potions and poisons, she often uses them to enhance her spells or weaponry. Stealth: Her nimble build and quiet demeanor make her a natural at sneaking and gathering intelligence.
Personality: Sylruna is warm and compassionate, a rarity among Dunmer, with a genuine desire to help those in need. Despite her gentle nature, she has a fiery determination and a mischievous streak, often finding creative and unorthodox solutions to problems. She is fiercely loyal to her friends and allies but holds a deep-seated mistrust of the Thalmor due to their history with her people. While she strives for diplomacy, her sharp wit and stubbornness can sometimes get her into trouble.
Bio: Born in a modest household in Blacklight, the capital of Morrowind, Sylruna grew up amidst the rebuilding efforts after the Oblivion Crisis and the eruption of Red Mountain. Her family, traders by profession, instilled in her a deep respect for hard work and resilience. As a child, she showed an unusual affinity for magic, which led her to train under a traveling mage who passed through her town.
When she was 18, Sylruna's life took a turn during a raid by a rogue band of mercenaries. Though her family survived, their home was burned to the ground. This event ignited her desire to protect others from the same suffering and to fight against those who exploit the vulnerable.
Sylruna eventually made her way to Cyrodiil, where her magical prowess and archery skills caught the attention of the Hidden Militia. Drawn by the chance to make a difference, she eagerly accepted the opportunity to join their cause. While she is new to the organization, her idealism and resourcefulness have already made her a promising recruit.
Now, she faces her greatest challenge yet: helping pave the way for peace and unity within the fractured Empire, all while navigating the perils of politics and warfare.
Wrapped in layers of masks and deceit, what may appear at first to be a noble lady of Rihad like her namesake with her rosy, almost light tones to her tanned and smooth skin, there is far more to her than at that first glance. It starts with the way she bears herself, just ever so distinctly aloof and with a subtle difference to those of the shaded cities. Every step is with a purpose, and a skilled eye can easily tell that it's not because she feels herself to own the very ground she walks upon, but that her mind is focused and determined. It comes with the sudden tensing of muscle that hadn't been obvious before, a woman who seemed rather soft and pampered suddenly revealing a life of hardship with the first tell of danger. With her heritage as a nomad of an Alik'ri tribe, all of this comes rather easily to Khaliya though, who bears the scars of that life plainly beneath soft silks, rough traveling leathers and ever so rarely the pale light of the moons. Small pink tears dot her sides and back where arrows or fangs broke skin, a few savage gashes ever so distinctly forming the shape of a large creature's maw framing her body showing where death nearly took her, and the calluses on her hands and feet tell the story of a young woman who did not have that easy life. But dark flowing ink also shows where she not only survived these encounters, but surpassed them and learned from them to better herself. In the twists and turns of the flowing Yokudan style, her accomplishments are there to be read by any fluent enough in the forgotten language, most prominent of which is the wyrm coiling around her arms up to her shoulders and neck to depict the greater duneripper that nearly took her life. But for all the hidden meanings and openly obvious signs of who and what she is, there is perhaps the most obvious. Despite how often she finds herself in combat or pretending to be someone she's not, there is always that rather girlish pixie-cut style she wears her white-blonde hair in, two long tails of hair banded with small Yokudan charms. And then there is that eerie silver tint to storm-gray eyes that shows her mixed heritage, a woman of many different worlds doing her best to blend in.
Personality
Tempered by a childhood living along the dunes of the Alik'r desert and the few years since leaving those familiar sands for the varied provinces of the Empire, Khaliya can be a woman hard to read at times, and quite straight forward at others. There is a genuineness to her willingness to help at a moment's notice, where she makes herself available to those in need to help guide them through whatever troubles they may have come into. Yet there is also that subtle ulterior motive as she learned while traveling with her people, in that it can always be easier to gain a read on someone when their own guard has come down. It is a subtle cunning in a way that is just barely visible in her eyes as she carefully watches her surroundings, constantly aware of herself as others view her, and the ever evolving way a person can be around others. To that end, who she really is, the quietly energetic and upbeat young woman looking towards an adventure around every corner, can often be masked by the practicality of wearing another face for the sake of learning more. But despite the cloak and dagger routine of her life's task, she still has a good heart and still seeks the best of others. That is because ultimately, she wants only to leave the world a better place than it was when she came to know it, just as her Yokudan ancestors taught.
Skills
Bladed Weapons
Borne of a life among the sands with her nomadic tribe, Khaliya was taught from an early age to familiarize herself with a sword and other manner of weapons to protect the tribe and hunt for it. While her skill with a bow leaves much to be desired, she took up enthusiasm for the sword and over years has become adept enough with it to have been named one of the foremost experts among her people. This was accelerated by her study of the Book of Circles and varied Yokudan legends until she was regarded as the first true Ansei in centuries. Truly Khaliya may have many skills and passions, but it is with a sword that she will always excel.
Armor Training
Almost as a matter of course, with a nomadic life there comes the need to be able to protect one's self with more than just a sword. Even the most skilled swordsman can still be taken out with an arrow to an uncovered head, and the sands of the Alik'r can be all the more deadly for those without the knowledge of how to dress for them while still maintaining protection. Primary for Khaliya and others in the tribe is learning how to dress for the heat of the day and the cold of the night, as well as how to fully utilize the bare minimum for protection against blades, arrows and worse. So it is that she's able to work folds of cloth mid-combat to snare blades when up close, using the cutting power against her opponent or reflexively bunching material up to soften concussive blows. But while she is adept in unarmored combat, she has also adapted quite well to lighter armors such as leather, cloth and even Altmeri/glass. Anything heavier would have been a detriment to someone of her size while traveling, so she remains unskilled in such things.
Escape Artist
Alongside the traditions of her people in song, dance and of course the martial arts of ancient Yokuda, there has also been another aspect of living the life of Alik'ri nomads. Because of how her people are regarded by most Redguards, Khaliya herself has learned the valued skill of masking who she is and wearing another persona like anyone else wears clothes. Names are like masks with histories draped over them, and the right name, the right mannerisms, the right way of speaking can get someone anywhere they want. It's become second nature to adapt to those around her to the point that she can even vanish in broad daylight, simply fading back into a crowd as if she was just another passerby. She also has a remarkable ability to find the quickest exit from a situation, both metaphorically and quite literally.
Infiltrator/Light Fingers
While not endorsed whatsoever by her father or her tribe, Khaliya did manage to pick up a few tricks from some rather unsavory contacts while among the cities of Hammerfell. It became first a game to play with the local Thieves Guild representatives as they communicated what information they had with the elders, and slowly she learned the makings of a good mark, how to read people and their potential wealth, as well as how to make it hers. It came with the ability to casually put her fingers in places they were certainly not welcome all the while with her mark right there oblivious until long after she had left. Her deftness also made her ideally suited for lockpicking, able to intuitively feel out the motions of the tumblers as they fall into place one by one. Of course it's not all picking pockets, locks and dealing in the shadows, as these primary skills in determining who to pick has made her ability to blend into crowds and social strata all the more potent.
Alchemy
While not particularly her forte, there is a degree of understanding of native flora and how best to use them, due in part from a life among the harsh sands of the Alik'r and the desolate eastern reaches of Hammerfell. Her mother also played a large part in teaching her what heals and what harms, focusing primarily on restorative medicine with limited resources.
Magic
Shehai- Second Class Ansei
Where the first spark came from can be argued as to whether it was her Yokudan heritage that she just so happened to inherit this gift, or the long study of the myths and realities of the Sword-Singers, or perhaps more practically when she first properly manifested the blade of light-made-steel. It is regardless, a gift that has not been seen for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years despite being what allowed those first Yokudans to settle Hammerfell and eventually become Redguards. Whether she goes by Ansei, Sword-Singer or even the more esoteric Sword-Saint, the truth of the matter is the same in that she has manifested the gift of the Shehai. First forged out of the battle of life and death she faced in the sands of the Alik'r, it is a weapon of unparralleled quality and might, and forever within her grasp so long as her will remains unbroken. Exactly what the Shehai is had always been debated fiercely of course, with the Psijic Order calling it a unique and unstudied magic native to Yokuda, implying that it may not be exclusive to them. The Yokudans of the First Era called it a manifestation of will, their warrior spirit in blade form. To Khaliya though, it is her make-way for lack of better words. From either hand she can summon the ethereal blades, the shape shifting depending on what she wills it to in the moment, from the curved scimitars native to her homeland to Legionary gladii and even the jagged edges of Morrowind glass.
Of course it is still no small feat to manifest the Shehai at all, and it is something she is always training in to keep it active for as long as possible. At first she was only able to manifest a single blade and for but a moment, but since her recovery and further practice she has now been able to keep it active for much longer and in both hands, something only rumored of the old Sword-Saints. There is a small matter though in her ascending to Second Rank Ansei, a rite in which she gave up a blade of significant importance to her to go further beyond her limitations. In seeking greater understanding of the Shehai mortal blades now no longer sit comfortably in her hands. Where before she could work a sword as if an extension of herself, it is becoming more and more difficult to hold a sword steady, her hands shaking as if unused to the weight. But for Khaliya it is a minor sacrifice to make when she knows she will always have her Shehai at the ready, and there is still much to learn.
Equipment
Personal Items
A book heavily wrapped in leather and silk Central Tamriel-geared traveling equipment, including fire-starting utensils, a small cookpot and a single bedroll with weather-proof leather tent. Assorted armor/clothing such as traditional Hammerfell Knight armor, light traveling leathers, a hooded poncho, a light furred coat and a set of priestess of Dibella vestments. Assorted lockpicking tools including a series of picks for regional locks, prybars, tension wrenches, a selection of "common keys" and a scroll of disintegrate. A Traveler's Guide to Herbalism, small guidebook to help identify local plants. Small selection of alchemical tools including a small mortar and pestle, and some empty flasks. Small leather fold with Imperial papers within identifying her as Khaliya al-Rihad and a handful of septims
As with many of the Yokudan myths and legends, the woman who would become Ansei did not start out gifted or soft in any way. Her life from birth had been one of the harsh desert sands, born among the nomadic tribes of the Alik'r who for one reason or another rarely visited the shade of the cities. Though in a way her life was a miracle in a way, as it had nearly never happened at all for her tribe's varied conflicts with neighboring provinces and within Hammerfell itself. One of those few who still hold true to the Warrior Wave philosophy, her people have lived a life of hardship for hundreds of years, seeking out any threats to Hammerfell no matter where they may dwell, and destroying them utterly. Whether it be the revered undead or a clan of Orsimer cursed by Malacath with a blood rage. It was the latter that brought her mother to her father, an Altmer woman gifted in restoration and dead set on sharing that gift with any in need of it. Her wanderings had brought her to a clan of Orcs beset by one tragedy after another, and soon she had been wed to the Chief and the thing thought impossible came to their clan. Peace.
But it didn't last long, as their blood boiled from the merest of slights, and eventually one of their clan struck a Redguard merchant down in cold blood, drawing the attention of the Alik'ri tribe. A mission of destruction was undertaken, with the only survivors being the youngest and eldest of Orcs, as well as Terandil of Shimmerene and her two unborn children. Jakir, the chief of the Alik'ri tribe, walked out of the main building of the stronghold a shaken man and gave the order himself, what had transpired between himself and the Orsimer chief remaining secret to this day. Of course, news spread quickly of the razing of the clan's land and soon an army began to draw against the Alik'ri. Little by little they were driven into a pass that was to be their grave until Jakir himself negotiated with the Reachman warleader, and showed that his people had taken in the most vulnerable of the Orcs as well as the Altmer Terandil.
Many tense years passed since that day, and on the eve of the seventh Khaliya was born to Terandil and Jakir, the two having found a love for each other in their time among the sands. Of course her childhood was a rather rough one though, not just for the biting winds of blown sand, or of the merciless sun during the day and the bone-chilling cold of night, but for her older step-siblings Yashar and Roshanara who had been fully adopted by the Alik'r since then. With half-orcs as siblings, she quickly learned to toughen up for the rough-housing of children, and over the years was made all the better for it. While her kin and tribespeople were given towards more martial skills because of their lifestyle, Khaliya found herself gifted in particular with the blade. As others branched and learned more of song, dance, pottery or weaving she did much the same, but always her eye was drawn more and more to the sword.
It was found all the more in the tales of the Ansei and her people's Yokudan history told through the songs of her tribe. Each was a tale of great heroes fighting the demons of their homeland, or fighting to secure a new home which future generations would call Hammerfell. And while most were told their song, dance and copious embellishment, there were a rare few which Khaliya became uniquely suited for. It started as just a whim on a visit to Rihad, she was a fresh teenager and already assisting on the hunts and defense rotas, and her father and uncle had just begun a tale of Frandar Hunding. Normally the tale would be told with a sword-dancer playing out the role of the hero himself as the elders spoke in reverent tones of his many deeds, but for some time her cousin who would have normally performed the role had been working off an injury. So without even asking for permission or waiting for the two to say something against it, she took up the ceremonial swords and simply joined in mid-act.
At first it was simply the usual crowd of spectators, a few elders watching with respect and curious younger passerby who perhaps had not heard the stories told in such a way. Steel caught the light as trailing red cloth painted the strokes of killing blows millenia past, Khaliya putting to work all the practice over the last few years to try and recreate what she had seen. She knew the steps as well as anyone else in the tribe, and she knew the story better than even her father at times, it being a favorite of hers. There was something else about acting it out though. More and more she let the crowd fade and the words guide her hands and feet, until at last she came to a standing rest and felt the heat of dozens of eyes staring at her and the wave of applause. Her performance had drawn quite the crowd with her easy motions, the swords lighter than air in her hands and acting more like an extension of herself than steel and silk. It was certainly a surprise, but she made herself quite scarce after a few stepped forward asking her name, the calls following her family as they headed back to the caravan to count coin and get ready for the night.
But it wouldn't be quite over for her by any means. Over the next few days as they rested and traded within Rihad there came numerous requests both to have another performance with the young sword-dancer and to know her name. Her father was equal parts frustrated and proud, one in having seen his daughter take up an honored role with such excellence, and the other in having to now deal with repeated advances from Hammerfell knights wanting to bring her into their order. Crimson Sands, Opal Watch, Rihadi Wardens, even the Sentinel White-Cloaks, each of them made it a point to try and speak with Khaliya either with or without her father present in order to convince her to give up the nomadic life and become a knight. "One with such skills cannot belong to the sands alone." As they said repeatedly, their goals clear as they sought her only for her skills and the potential glory for their own individual orders. All were of course turned away, and not always by her father. His word was final, but she had found her frustration mounting as the day they would leave Rihad could not come faster.
On the final day her last admirer arrived at the camp, just as they were hitching the camels and packing the last of their goods for the long road. Unlike the varied orders he came not with a grand escort, no banners, no emblems or symbols of office. There was no intent to impress, ingratiate, beg or intimidate for her attention. Instead the aging man presented himself to her and her father as a keeper of the old ways. He was just a man with a book, one that could be of use to a girl with so much potential, as he said of Khaliya. The book itself looked every bit older than the man, wrapped in delicate silks that preserved it from the arid heat and showed that while he himself looked nearly destitute, that it held more wealth than all of Hammerfell to him. It was offered freely with no expectations, the old man merely suggesting that it would be of interest to Khaliya and could help her make her own way some day in the future.
The significance of this gesture wouldn't be understood until far from Rihad, when she unwrapped the silks and stared at the interlocking rings on the cover, Yokudan script showing the title and author as something quite extraordinary. Within her hands was the Book of Circles, and not just some copy done clumsily by Cyrodillic hands or some Scholar who had never held a blade before. It was done in the tradition of the old Ansei, passed from teacher to student with the intent for them to one day write their own. The pages were old and weathered, the ink older than her entire tribe and calling back to another age where their traditions were a way of life to more than just a scant hundred. And there on the first page in the flowing script of a warrior wielding a pen instead of a blade, the name "Frandar Hunding". All of these books were written much the same, the man who had written the first given the honor of the first page of every copy written by every following Sword-Saint. This was to Khaliya, one of the most significant treasures she had ever seen, and her family knew it as well, allowing her the time to study it more than she had ever delved into any book before.
Days turned to weeks on the road, her feet stirring the sands in one rota after the other. Weeks became months, the sword of her father singing along the wind with a fervor of a woman who had realized her life's purpose. Months shifted into years one after the other and Khaliya had read the Book of Circles front to back, practiced every maneuver back to front and almost memorized the sword strokes that were meant for a blade infinitely lighter than the steel she held.
With three, almost four years passing since being gifted the Book of Circles, life had shifted quite drastically for Khaliya. Now sixteen she was leading expeditions across the sands ahead of the tribe, pathfinding for her people to avoid the dangers lurking beneath the dunes. The slightest mistake could lead to the death of dozens, far too many for any tribe, much less one who had made themselves known to seek out and destroy the undead, a taboo among all Redguard. That was why a good eye was often times more valuable than a strong arm, and she had learned all too well the little details that others missed. The way the dunes shift ever so slightly in the distance, ripples across the surface and the occasional breach of stone hinting at the lurking teeth and claws waiting for passing prey. Heat hazes could distort the horizon in more subtle ways, making one think an oasis was far closer than reality, if it was even there to begin with. Of course the haze was the lesser effect of such punishing heat, and she knew that spending too much time on the sands was lethal even under the shade of the main caravan.
So she learned to read the sands, to listen to and feel the winds, taking in all the signs that a skilled navigator could use to find their way to the sea. Yet it was on a day when she was relied upon most that she would be challenged by her greatest foe. Her brother Yashar had been spending the last couple years with her uncle along the northern shores, and Roshanara primarily stuck with their mother and the main caravan in case some danger bypassed the sentries. On this day she was out ahead with a dozen men walking the sands, feeling out a safe route towards Sentinel and avoiding the fringes of Craglorn. The sands had been whipped into a frenzy by westerly winds heated by the sun and driving the dune rippers into a maddened hunger. Each of the western sentry groups had encountered lesser rippers that would have normally never attacked a group like that, and the tribe as a whole knew that soon there would need to be a decision made. Either press on towards Sentinel regardless of the rippers and the approaching sandstorm, or break east and enter Sunforge. The latter had been regarded as a non-starter for years, ever since the conflict at the pass had nearly destroyed their tribe in Craglorn, they had kept their distance from the region and the many Orsimer strongholds that retained a grudge.
Sentinel though… Yashar was likely to be there, but the most pressing issue was that it was still more than three days of hard travel even if the camels were pressed without rest. All that could be done was to continue on with caution, to keep both options open until the very last moment. That was as her father had taught her, to never close a door until sure that it held no benefit. Pressing forward through the gusting winds and darkening skies there was the ever present looming danger of what may lie beneath, Khaliya herself on point and cresting each dune carefully. Little by little they made their way, glancing between the skies above, to the west and east, and in the far distance the banners of their tribe showing them on their way. That was a distraction though and she knew it. The tribe would be fine as long as they focused on their duty, to keep any dangers from the main caravan. Just one last dune before they would enter into the hinterlands where the sand would start to shift to rock and dirt. The wind shifted the sands around this one as it crested high into the horizon, looming like a barrier in their journey and curling towards them as a break against sea-borne winds. Though the closer her party got to the dune the more something seemed off. It was as if the dune had not formed over eons of gentle desert winds but… Too late they realized the danger they had come upon, one that they were trying to deliberately steer the caravan away from. Without hesitation Khaliya ordered a runner back to divert the tribe east and closer to the border to Sunforge. All she and her scouts needed to do was carefully maneuver themselves around the dune and leave marks for those to follow. But as they closed in and began to skirt around, the sands shifted. Great spires of hardened carapace erupted from the peaks of the dune, pitted and scored by years of desert life. A rumbling came from beneath them, disturbing the sands under their feet as the shape of the dune writhed back and forth lazily, and for a fraction of a moment in the darkening twilight of the impending sandstorm, they saw it.
Murderous intent gleaming behind eyes that had seen many tribes such as hers come and go, the shifting of sands across eras and the death of empires. It was a creature as old as the sands themselves and one of the most feared beings in all the Alik'r. To the Forebears within their safe cities and the Imperial travelers, it was just myth and legend, some creature from the Merethic that had long since passed. For her and the other Alik'ri tribes though, they knew it as the Greater Duneripper. A duneripper that had survived through its adulthood to become an elder and like all of their kind, old age was barely an inconvenience. All Khaliya remembered of what was to follow was a whisper under the howling sands as the creature slowly dove into the earth, meter after meter of ancient terror…
Dunefather. It would be several weeks later that Khaliya would find herself in Sentinel, her mother resting beside the bed she lay in and a dull pain all over her body that told her that she had been through something rather significant. Fresh scars lay under the bandages wrapping her entire torso and lower body, flashes of that encounter in the sands and a bright spear of light erupting from her hands in a moment of stress. Her family would take the next few days between her resting to fill her in on what had happened. During the sandstorm that had engulfed the tribe's caravan and the scouting parties, her own had encountered a greater duneripper of significant size, one believed to be the Dunefather himself. That was something of debate among the tribe though, but they knew it to be a rather significant threat and six of their people were dead with several others wounded just as Khaliya had been. What was of particular note though was not their harrowing encounter with the Duneripper or the hastened march towards Sentinel, but in how it had been fended off and sent back into the sands. The survivors of her party spoke of how one by one each of them had been pulled beneath the sand screaming, only blood and cloth remaining as they were picked off. Suddenly Khaliya had been dragged down next, and the duneripper crested from the surface with her clinging on as best she could, sword simply slipping off the carapace of the beast. Everyone had thought her lost as she disappeared into its maw, only for a moment later to hear her voice knowing it to be one of anguish, and instead a blade made of pure starlight erupting from the top of the duneripper's skull and swinging outward. That had been enough for it to drop the wounded woman back onto the sands and retreat, not willing to continue that fight.
Luckily for her the main caravan had hastened to catch up once the sandstorm hit, and that had been when her mother saw the bloodied sands and her daughter barely clinging to life. From there they had set a maddened pace all the way to Sentinel, their rush nearly finding the city guard upon them if it weren't for Yashar there to vouch for them and the state of many of their scouts. But it was all past now, and all she had to do was look towards the future, one that seemed a little strange especially for she remembered little of the event. One visitor in particular though provided some insights, the same elder who had given her the Book of Circles now came to her as she recovered from her ordeal, and just as before he came with a gift free of expectations and once more, he gave her a choice. He sat beside her bed and offered the stories of old Yokuda and the Warrior Waves, some of which she knew already but not in the same ways. There were the same figures of old, the same heroic deeds, but this time a sudden clarity on those myths. Ansei they were called, a word whose meaning had been lost over the eras and merely relegated to the ancient heroes. Gone had been the truth of it, and the myths of warriors of peerless skill losing the why and how. To be an Ansei was to be a Sword-Singer of pre-eminent skill, a holder of the Shehai and one of unshakeable will and righteousness.
And what the Shehai was, it was something she had awakened within herself. The sons and daughters of Yokuda all held this gift within themselves, as the elder told her, but some were more capable of reaching for it than others, and of them there were further separations still. As he taught her of this ancient art, he told her of how she had taken the first step. Through a moment of extreme stress and a display of incredible willpower, she had refused to accept her death and chose to make-way in whatever manner she could. That was when the Shehai erupted from her hands in a display of starlight-made-steel. Try as she might though, she couldn't replicate the same blade she had awoken, only vague shapes clinging to her palms. Even that was remarkable, as all who witnessed it seemed to find their faith in Hoonding there before her, but she would need to steel herself in order to surpass this, and that was a final gift given without expectation.
Three weeks after her awakening of sorts, she embraced her mother and father for what may be the last time, having settled on what she must do with her life. The book had shown her another way of life, anchored her passions into something real. The duneripper had challenged her and through force of will she had not been found wanting. The elder had given her a light along the path before her and signposts pointing the way. With those three she was for the first time filled with determination, something her father Jakir would not stand in the way of, and her mother Terandil would see to it that at least she would have someone to rely upon along the way. Though their hearts ached for it, she was given her father's sword once more, even knowing what must be done with it, and her elder brother and sister would accompany her to provide some much needed assistance when needed, but to also ensure she would never be without a friend. Then with all said and done, she set out for that first step on the road to becoming a true Sword-Saint. It was a simple matter on the surface, to give up her most prized possession to Hoonding and offer it as a blade for those in need. Yet one never does give up their father's sword with ease…
That was two years ago and since then Khaliya has been steadily advancing towards a dream she never knew. The Shehai comes to her hands when called, a blade shimmering and sharper than any she had ever known or ever will know, so long as her will is focused. With the increasing tension in the Empire things have been more and more rough out on the road though, as the growing influence of the Aldmeri Dominion has made people wary of Elves of most kinds, and often distrusting of strangers. She can still count on friends on the road though, and from time to time has made herself an ally of the strangest people across the varied lands. One of those a fellow Redguard of the Blades, who after a long and rather tumultuous journey through the Dragontail Mountains that neither wishes to recount, ended up being owed a favor. Though Khaliya will attest that it was more her being owed the favor, regardless she has found herself surrounded by strangers and being told of a rather bold plan to go and forge diplomatic links between the Mede Empire and Orsinium.
Were it not for her half-siblings Roshanara and Yashar already at the Orcish city, she would have suggested at the least her brother instead. But That appears to be a problem for a different day, and at the very least the Empire seems intent on seeing this one through, hopefully before the Bretons or Nords sack the city again.
Appearance: Sabrina has a somewhat tanned complexion familiar to those of Cyrodilic birth, as well as dark hair. She might be considered by many to be attractive, though she likes to quip that she doesn't consider herself "aggressively so". She has a voluptuous figure which she often keeps under a modest dress.
Personality: Sabrina is very adept at adjusting the way she needs to address people, thanks to her speaking skills. She can be more blunt and crass when speaking to the lower class, or polite and dignified when speaking to the gentry. That being said, those who know her will understand that she is not of a chameleonic type. Though she can be snarky and sarcastic, it's often meant as a sign of affection towards those she trusts. Although she is able to defend herself, she would much rather use words and wit to get out of a problem than dagger and sword.
Bio: Sabrina was born to a father and mother who were respectively a diplomat in the imperial court and a well-connected merchant. As such, she grew up surrounded by a lot of books, which she began to peruse even at an early age. Her father influenced her love for reading, while her mother began teaching her thriftiness and mercantilism. Her father was eventually disgraced for reasons that not even he was entirely certain of, and the family forced out of the Imperial City with the need to start over. As such, she was forced to learn the use a dagger, as well as the ability to speak to those in the lower echelons of society. Her encounter with folks in darker circles at this time also taught her a few tricks of working a lock and a coin purse alike. These skills she learned more so out of curiosity than a sincere interest, and while she does have some knowledge around it, she didn't pursue it as someone in a thieves guild might.
With her mother's wisdom they eventually made their way back up in society. Sabrina eventually went on to make a name for herself in some merchant circles, as well as assisting her father with some diplomatic tasks. Though her father no longer held a position in the imperial government, he still used his skills for arbitration across Tamriel, dealing with rivalries between noble houses and merchant factions. Sabrina would accompany him and continued to hone her skill with her tongue and coin. Her father's old connections with the old Imperial court, especially those on the Elder Council, eventually led to her being confronted by those who wished to assist with the formation of the "Hidden Militia". Though not as patriotic as some of her brethren, she did, as an Imperial, feel an inner sense of duty, and hence heeded the summons when the Empire called.
Auron stands tall at 6’3”, with a slender yet athletic build that reflects his noble upbringing and years of training. His golden-blonde hair is slightly tousled, reaching above his shoulders. His features are distinctly altmer. He has sharp angular features, emerald green eyes, and of course, the pointed ears. He carries himself with the grace and poise of nobility.
He dresses in finely crafted elven light armor, reinforced with leather for flexibility and adorned with subtle gold etchings that reflect his heritage. Beneath it, he wears forest green robes with gold trim. A green cloak, fastened by an emerald brooch, drapes over his shoulders. A leather harness carries his elven longsword, scrolls, and pouches for potions, while a small emerald pendant, a keepsake from his mother hides under his armor.
Personality: Auron carries himself with the grace and poise of Altmer nobility. He’s formal, well-spoken, and sometimes a little too proper, often resorting to the rigid etiquette drilled into him during his upbringing. At first, this can make Auron appear aloof, distant, or even snobbish. He may seem overly critical of others’ “improper” behavior without meaning to. He simply defaults to what he knows. Unlearning these behaviors is hard.
However, beneath all of his nobility quirks, lies a genuinely sweet and caring soul. Auron struggles to express emotions directly but shows his compassion through actions. Auron believes in the ideals of loyalty and honor. His greatest strength is his empathy. He sees the struggles of the people of Tamriel, and fights for them, even if he hides this compassion behind his noble demeanor.
He struggles with guilt over his family’s role in the thalmor’s attrocities, and his believed failure to stop it sooner. He also has trouble saying “I care” without sounding stiff or awkward.
Bio: Born as Auron Falareth of House Falareth, a respected noble house. Auron grew up in Summerset, where power was everything. House Falareth aligned itself with the Thalmor, providing mages and diplomats to support the Dominion’s growing influence. Groomed as an heir to the house, Auron was expected to serve the Thalmor and uphold their authority.
However, during a diplomatic mission to Valenwood, he witnessed the Thalmor’s growing influence firsthand. Their manipulation of the Bosmer and their readiness to execute dissenters under the pretense of “unity.” He was disgusted by their ruthless methods and ashamed of his family’s complicity in such actions. he spoke out, and urged his family to resist the Thalmor’s increasing influence. He was soon labeled a sympathizer for the Empire and forced to flee.
Auron fled Summerset with nothing but his skill, wit, and a desire to atone for the sins of his family. The Hidden Militia found him, where he offered his sword and magic to the Empire, believing it to be the only chance to stand against the Thalmor’s cruelry. Auron fights not only for Tamriel’s unity but also to carve out his own destiny, free of his family’s shadow.
"Well met, mage of Skyrim. The Nords may have forgotten their forefathers' respect for the Clever Craft, but your comrades throng this hall. Here in Shor's house, we honour it still."
-Tsun, greeting the Last Dragonborn before the Whalebone Bridge of Sovngarde
THE CLEVER MEN
While the modern Nords shun magic, true scholars of Nord’s history would realise that the Nordic culture was one steeped in magical traditions. Look no further than the vaunted Thu’um known better as ‘Shouts’ in the common tongue, which is heavily romanticised by the Nords, within the academic circles of magi, Thu’um is classified as magic. But even were we to look for more traditional magic, the ancient nords practice ‘conventional’ magic, from the times of the Dragon Cults to heroes such as Gauldur to archmagi the likes of Shalidor. There is a reason why even today, traditionally a Jarl’s council holds a seat reserved for court wizards. Indeed, while these practitioners of what was called the Clever Craft—fittingly called the Clever Men’ were not the typical wizards who sat in dusty towers shying away from battle, magic used to hold a respected and important place in Nordic culture. Yet another aspect of Nordic Culture that has been lost to time and cultural assimilation.
-Frost-Weaver, A. (4E 165) Rediscovering the Ancient Nords: Reclaiming the Lost Arcane Heritage of Skyrim. Haafingar, Solitude: Shalidor’s Folio
Destruction - Master The school of magic which concerns itself with dealing damage to all forms of matter, most commonly by wielding the elements. For the ancient clever man, frost magic is the primary way they practice the Destruction school, as anyone who had gone to ancient Nordic burial sites can attest to, by virtue of facing down draugrs slinging frost spells at them. Arnvidr, following this tradition, specializes in frost magic.
Conjuration - Expert Sometimes known as the art of summoning creatures and items from another plane. The ancient Nord mage makes great use of conjuration, as evidenced even today by Draugr Scourge who summons frost atronach, to Shalidor who made Conjuration part of the test in Labyrinthian, even before it was acknowledged as a mainstream magic school. Post the Dragon Cults era, aside from summoning daedric creatures, nord mages also bound spectral weapons when they need to get into close combat, for Clever Men might be wielders of magic, but as Nords, their sword-arm is not something to be scoffed at. Arnvidr is able to bind weapons from Oblivion, with a quality comparable to Ebony, able to turn raised creatures and banish summoned Daedra. Although Arnvidr is also capable of summoning daedric creatures, he is only Adept at it and his true skills lie in Necromancy. Necromancy—as evidenced by the draugrs—has been a part of Nordic culture, and though its usage dwindled after the era of the dragon cult, while Nords view necromancy negatively when used on them, if used against one’s enemy, it is a tool to achieve victory, nothing more, nothing less. The College of Winterhold itself does not ban necromancy practices and thus was one of the subjects Arnvidr studied. With the recent Empire-wide ban on necromancy, Arnvidr has stopped using them in compliance, but the skill remains.
Alteration – Expert The Magical School that ‘deceives’ reality to bring about an alteration of its rules. For the ancient Nord mages, alterations are often used to complement their fighting prowess, by transforming their skin to be as hard as ebony or to conjure a shield, or other defensive utility. Arnvidr focuses on these very aspects, focusing on the battle application of Alteration School rather than its more mundane uses such as mineral transmutation.
Restoration – Adept Restoration spells heal, restore, and fortify the body's attributes and abilities, cure disease, and protect it from other malign influences. While healing is its primary purpose, as a culture steeped in battle, the Nord magi of old often focused more on using restoration to fortify their body or to protect them in battle by creating wards. Arnvidr is an adequate healer, having skills in restoration in the rank of an apprentice, but he mostly uses them to fortify his body in battle.
Two-Handed – Adept There is perhaps no image that is seen as the quintessential Nord of a warrior wielding a great axe. From Wulfharth to Ysgramor there are no ends of iconography of Nord heroes depicted with an axe, and thus the axe holds great significance in Nord culture. Even as magi, the Clever Men in old Nord culture were still a warrior, often trained in the use of at least a single weapon. For Arnvidr, that weapon is a great axe.
Enchanting – Expert One of the two-part duties of the essence of being a Clever Man. In ancient Nord culture, while remarkable warriors in their own right, their real role is to be the one who changes the tide of battle, primarily with their superb craftsmanship of weapons of war. When we are talking of Nord craftsmen, there is, of course, the famed Ahzidal who is said to be the first human who mastered elven enchanting. But even after the Dragon Cult Era, this practice of Nord craftsmen being also master enchanters remains, as seen from the famed Wuuthrad, the axe of Ysgramor, is known to be an enchanted axe from fragments that had been discovered and studied by enchanters. Arnvidr possesses various magical daggers enchanted with various effects for utility use, as well as the ability to create expert-level enchanted items.
Smithing - Expert The other half of the essence of being a Clever Man. Enchantment is only as good as the durable weapons or armour they are used on, and is enhanced by the inherent quality of the items. Thus, a Clever Man was often both enchanter and smith, typically imbuing the forge with magical properties, such as using fire salts to kindle the flames. Arnvidr is able to work with common materials and exotic ones such as ebony, glass, and moonstone. He carries an Ebony Shield enchanted with the effect of fortifying its wielder’s blocking skill.
Thu’um The ancient magic art of the Nords, practiced by warriors called the Tongues. Arnvidr had always thought that Thu’um is a vital part of Nordic culture, and Jurgen Windcaller banning its use for battle was what started the downfall of the Nords. Despite the knowledge of shouting having been lost except to the Greybeards, there are enough records of legends describing shouts, as well as some people who at one point learned with the Greybeards but left High Hrothgar. After finishing his apprenticeship in the College of Winterhold, Arnvird dedicated his research to discovering how Thu’um works in the theory of modern magic. He tracked these Ex-Greybeards, poured over records of legend, and scoured Nordic ruins for ancient tomes or other secrets. Eventually, he managed to learn Thu’um on his own and published an academic paper on it.
Available Thu’um: Become Ethereal (2 Word), Ice Form (1 Word), Whirlwind Sprint (1 Word)
PERSONALITY
Arnvidr is someone who can be described as a rather ‘traditional’ or ‘conservative’ Nord, having great regard for Nordic tradition. However, he is also someone who sees the current Nord culture as watered-down Nordic Culture, and that most have no idea about the actual culture of the Nords that has been lost. The culture of the Nord’s golden age. This could range from something that is easily accepted by many Nords, such as restoring the veneration of Shor and the rest of the Nordic pantheon, Kyne instead of Kynareth, and so on. But it could also be something that causes many Nords to raise their eyebrows, for example, Arnvidr sees the Greybeards as a blight on the Nordic culture, stripping away the use of Thu’um from the Nords as how Kyne originally intended them. Though he is rather passionate and opinionated on these topics, rather than a firebrand, he typically discusses them with the calmness of an academic.
BIO
Arnvidr was born in 4E 136 in Winterhold, Skyrim. His father is a local smith and his mother a tavern wench. Though Arnvidr took well to smithing like his father, he was always a curious child, enamoured by the College of Winterhold that was shunned by many in Winterhold after the Great Collapse 14 years earlier. His parents discouraged his wishes to enrol at the college at first, however, after managing to learn some enchanting on his own, Arndvidr enchanted his father’s forge to produce higher quality weapons and armour, along with providing minor enchantments. The enchantments he put on the products his father sold were nowhere close to the quality of enchantment done by the College of Winterhold, but it was cheaper, sold as part of a ‘package deal’ and local nords trusted his father more than the mages of the College. Thus, they were able to attract different sorts of customers than those that came to the College, those that did not need serious enchantment, merely for a bit of utility or novelty, eventually making his family’s shop the most successful smithy in Winterhold.
Arnvidr's parents acknowledged the merit of his enchantments, and when eventually mages from the College came, offering a spot of apprenticeship, they gave their blessing and Arnvidr enrol in the College of Winterhold. In the College, Arnvidr studied magic, focusing on the Destruction school, as well as furthering his study of Enchantment. He graduated from the apprenticeship in 4E 159, before achieving mastery in the Destruction School two years later.
Afterwards, as a senior member of the College, Arnvidr focused his area of research on the ancient Nords and the magic they wield, including Thu’um. It is during the course of his research, delving through ancient tombs, that he picked up some skills in wielding an axe from the mercenaries he hired to protect him. It is also in his research into ancient Nords, that he truly came to appreciate the ‘True’ culture and history of the Nords. In 4E 164, Arnvidr finished his research, culminating in proving his hypothesis of Thu’um being an application of tonal magic principle by learning the Thu’um through the lens of arcane paradigm. His dissertation, ‘Applications of Tonal Magic Principles in Discovering an Arcane Paradigm for the Thu’um: New Evidence from Literature Review and Archeological Findings’ was published as an academic tome, before a year later he published a book under the title of ‘Rediscovering the Ancient Nords: Reclaiming the Lost Arcane Heritage of Skyrim’, more for the cultural zeitgeist, focusing on the lost magical tradition of the Nords he had found over the course of his study.
The book gained him some following and fame, now somewhat known as a battlemage of sorts, who fashioned himself like the ‘Clever Man’ of ancient Nords, in 4E 167, he was approached by an agent of the Imperial Legion, who had been looking for new recruits for a ‘Hiden Militia’ due to rising tension with the Dominion. Not wanting to not be able to walk the talk, Arnvidr accepted. Despite his reservations about the Empire, he did recognize the threat the Aldmeri Dominion posed and believed that currently, a united Empire was for the better.
Appearance: A young adult Argonian, Alexios has forest-green scales and gold-yellow eyes. His head is free of horns, quills or spines, allowing him to wear helmets. Due to rigorous legion training, he has built up a strong muscular athletic form. He almost always wears his Amulet of Akatosh. When he isn't wearing his legionary panoply, Alexios has homespun Colovian-styled plain clothes in wine-red and gold with a wine-red tied woolen cloak.
Skills: One-Handed - Expert Even before joining the Legion, Alexios often sparred with his father in the yard. In some ways, he ended up more of a swordsman than most of his cohort.
Two-Handed - Adept Alexios also trained to use a long spear to deal with mounted combatants or larger foes.
Block - Expert Sword-and-board is the Imperial Legion's bread and butter. The Cyrodiilic shieldwall is just as famed as their battlemages.
Heavy Armor - Adept Heavy Armour use comes as naturally to legionaries as sword-and-board.
Light Armor - Adept However, Alexios prefers to use a combination of both heavy and light armour for a balance of protection and mobility.
Athletics - Expert Alexios would have left the Legion if he couldn't manage the rigorous training exercises. Fortunately for him, he excelled instead.
Provisioning - Expert Another skill drilled into him by his father, Alexios knows more than most legionnaires (despite it being in their training manuals) about cooking meals and rations for different situations.
Armorer - Apprentice Having recently been promoted to Lieutenant, Alexios has been taking lessons with Legion quartermasters and smiths on ways to maintain the effectiveness of his squad's equipment wherever they may be.
Personality: As typical of his Colovian upbringing, Alexios is disciplined and to-the-point. His humour at times can be somewhat dry, but he does possess one. He may seem unapproachable at first, but lends himself to be a stern yet caring comrade. He is an adherent of Akatosh, and believes fiercely in his doctrines of strength through endurance.
Bio: Born an unnamed hatchling in 4E 145 to poor Argonian immigrants, Alexios' birth parents gave him up for adoption to an affluent Colovian couple who were unable to bear children of their own. His adoptive mother Alaia was a seamstress, and his father Regulus was a retired Legate from the Imperial Legion. Soon after, they made their home in Kvatch a summer house after buying property in the Elven Gardens District of the Imperial City. As the balance of influence between Colovians and Nibeneans had tilted in favour of Colovians since the rise of the Mede Dynasty, the Sintarus family enjoyed respect within the community. Alexios' early childhood was peaceful, and he spent a lot of time with both parents. His mother would often make him new outfits as he grew, constantly taking Alexios' measurements, while Regulus took Alexios out on rides through the Imperial Isle.
When Alexios turned 13, his father thought him old enough and started to teach him skills from his Legion days. Most of Alexios' days soon consisted of being trained and moulded by his father, in order to follow in Regulus' footsteps and become a successful career legionary. The training yard, the bruises from sparring, the nicks from cooking, the ringing from his father's shouting: all of these became normal for Alexios. Alaia was the one to hold and comfort him after especially harsh days. For a while, Alexios struggled and starting at school made it no easier. Even though he's not the first Imperialised Argonian, it was still difficult for him to find friendship and support amongst his peers. Once, he was bullied on account of being adopted by Imperial parents: the other children called him a 'Trophy-Scale'.
He graduated when he was 18 and immediately enlisted in the Imperial Legion. Over the next five years, Alexios grew distant from his father but wrote often to his mother (whenever he could manage) and she would have care packages sent to him. Under the Eighth Legion, Alexios spent a lot of time in the field. His cohort were charged with rooting out renegades and bandits who had grown too strong and numerous in various regions. On one skirmish, the outlaws had taken refuge in an abandoned mine and rigged countless booby traps. When his commanding officer was crushed by falling logs, Alexios took quick charge of his squad. Barking the order for a shieldwall, the squad fended off arrows from cowardly bandits and their battlemage retaliated with fire and lightning. Under Alexios' leadership, the legionaries not only survived but apprehended the last of the outlaws.
Alexios was promoted to Sergeant for his bravery. However: he insisted that he remain in command of his squad, given the bonds he and his comrades had forged over time spent in the field. Together, they continued to bring honour to the Eighth Legion with their deeds. After recently being honoured with the rank of Lieutenant, Alexios and his squad remained tightly knit. Now, charged with joining the retinue of the diplomatic mission to the Reach, Alexios and his legionnaires remain battle-ready for whatever comes their way.
Compiled by Lieutenant Alexios Sintarus Midyear 3, 4E 168
As requested, I have prepared a report on the combat readiness of my squad for your approval. Like most squads, we number 9 legionaries strong (myself included).
The legionaries under my command are as follows: Rex Serici - Frontliner Victoria Avitus - Frontliner Samuel Avitus - Frontliner Morak gro-Akarok - Linebreaker Lucien Vautrine - Archer Ilia Helvus - Archer Blinds-And-Heals - Field Alchemist Sindariel - Battlemage
We are outfitted mainly in medium-weight chain and leather armour, with the exception of Morak who prefers to be in plate armour. In prior combat, we've often used a smaller variation of hammer-and-anvil (Morak, of course, being our hammer). However, given the terrain and irregularity of our mission, I've prepared the squad with more adaptable strategies. I also hope that with our new auxiliary Blinds-And-Heals, we'll see our combat effectiveness double as long as he can gather materials for tinctures and poisons. Sindariel often runs short on magicka mid-combat, so I've tasked Blinds with working up mixtures that will help her continually cast for longer.
In summary, I believe we are prepared and ready for this escort mission. I await your word and/or approval.
Appearance: As a Cathay-Raht, Kiffar will never have an easy time blending into a crowd. Standing at a full three meters and change in height, with a broad, powerful physique, he towers over kin and strangers alike. Orange fur, striped with black and accented by cream, make him stand out all the more- for even amidst his fellow Cathay-Raht, commonly darkly hued, he is unusual. Eyes of an icy blue give his stare a disconcerting level of intensity, let alone the unwavering nature of a feline gaze.
Beyond the natural gift of size, he is well muscled by a life of hard training and effort, with a fair share of scars beneath the veil of his pelt- enough to suggest a life of violence, though not so many as to imply he does not know how to duck. So far as gigantic tiger men go, he may yet be considered handsome, despite the beginnings of grey sneaking through the orange and cream around his chin, brows and whiskers.
Age: 36
Skills:
Path of the Warrior:
One Handed - Expert - Swords, Axes, Daggers Two Handed - Expert - Great Swords Unarmed - Master - Khajiit Has Hands If You Want Problems Thrown Weapons - Adept - Javelins, Axes, Daggers
Path of the Thief:
Sneak - Adept - Hides in Bushes. Smacks Things. Alchemy - Novice - Cannot brew himself, but a Master of identifying other brews Light Armor - Novice - Prefers to go Unarmored Speech - Adept - Surprisingly Charming
Path of the Mage:
He Is Orange. Magic Is Hard. Kiffar Does Not Magic.
Personality: Kiffar is a simple man, of simple drives. While it would be incorrect to call him stupid, he does not make a habit of concerning himself with intellectual matters, believing them best left to others with wiser heads than his own. He believes that there are very few problems that cannot be solved with either violence or flirting, and he vastly prefers the former option when possible. On his own, he is prone to aimless wandering- But with proper direction, he can be a terrible tool of brute force... So long as he remains fed and entertained.
Bio:
Kiffar, the Vast Born a Cathay-Raht, destiny marked Kiffar for war, to be used by his people as an instrument of brutality, in defense of their home, or in pursuit of their goals in other lands. Even amidst his kindred, he grew to be large, powerful limbs lending him speed and strength fit only for violent use. The Cathay-Raht were once described as large and fast enough to do battle with werewolves, and Kiffar is a breathing example of that truth. They named his Kiffar the Vast, and he did battle in their charge.
Kiffar, the Manesguard So great we're the actions of Kiffar the Vast, in the years of his youth, that honors were extended to his family- To come to the city-state of Torval, to be of the kind of the Mane. Kiffar was to serve as warrior guard, to be bastion and claw to the Mane himself, and he took this duty with pride. For ten years did he protect and serve the leader of his people. For ten years, he bore the palanquin upon his shoulders when his master sought to wander his realm. For ten years, they named him Kiffar the Manesguard.
Kiffar, the Unbound War came to Elswyrr in the fourth era. War came, for leadership was lost. Assassins came in the night for the Mane, and like ghosts, evaded the watch of his guard. The Mane was slaughtered in his bed, and Kiffar knows only that the deed was done in the wake of his master's refusal to back the Thalmor. He believes, knows in his spine, that it was they who brought blades in the night. But this belief does not rid him of blame, and of guilt. The Manesguard failed in their charge, and were reviled for their failure. The whole of them were removed of their posts, as war began in the sands of Elswyrr, and vanished to wander, shamed. They named him Kiffar the Unbound, and he left his home forever.
Name: Meen-Lah Race: Argonian Appearance: Meen-Lah is well, rather well built for what one may think of an Argonian. Standing at a Six foot one and often seen wearing heavy armor and seemingly wearing a skull of another Argonian of some sort as a helmet, Meen-La's horned appearance often gives one pause. Her scales trend towards a slightly brighter shade of green than average for her Argonian kin.
Age: 28
Heavy Armor (Expert) Heavy armor. The only correct kind of armor. Allows one to be able to simply shrug of blows and weapons from most sources noticing it just about as much as one would notice a mosquito bite. What better way to simply just plow through ones foes? Two-Handed(Expert) Simple. Effective. Sure, smaller weapons may be faster, but speed can only do so much against something that is faster. As long as you can get in one good hit with a warhammer, why bother with anything else? She much prefers her warhammer. Speech (Adept) You don't lead a band of mercenaries and bandits without some way of being able to control them. Unexpectedly, Meen-Lah prefers not using intimidation and violence against those who are with her. It breeds nothing but contempt and fear only works so much. Building up loyalty and camaraderie works much better to her. She may not be charming the socks off of any imperial noble, but when it comes to leading or encouraging a small group of people? She's fairly good at it, she thinks. If all else fails, good old intimidation is always something to fall back on. Archery(Adept) Sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor. One learns to do many roles in a life as a mercenary and bandit. She's not the best archer in Cyrodill, but giving an opponent an opening volley can vastly increase ones success of victory in an engagement. Its easy enough to just drop the bow and grab the blade if close range is needed. Block(Adept) Mitigating damage so one can fight longer? Definitely. While she vastly prefers just plowing through attacks and letting them bounce off her armor, she isn't stupid. Sometimes using her weapon as a shield to deflect or parry is a good idea. Smithing(Apprentice) She's not a master smith by any means, but maintaining ones equipment is always a good idea lest it ends up failing you at a critical moment. One-handed(Apprentice) A back up weapon is always good. A simple longsword is hers. Enchanting(Apprentice) Most Argonians have an affinity for magic. Meen-Lah has never really picked up that habit. The only practical use she really picked up from her mother, was that of enchanting. While she can't really trap souls herself, she does know how to use soul gems and at least theoretically could enchant items and weapons if she has one.
- Steel Armor Armor that Meen-Lah has had for years. Its weathered and seen its fair share of battles. Its decorated in feathers and some broken parts have been replaced with trophies from her various endeavors across the years. - Steel Warhammer. Her trusty weapon. Its sturdy, lovingly taken care of but the head of the hammer is lightly stained red. Like her armor its decorated. - Bone Helmet. Where this actually came from is a mystery, but she'll give you a story about how it was either her old nemesis, the incompetent leader of the first band of raiders she served with, or some other similar story. Its an authentic argonian skull, though so make of that what you will. It has numerous feathers and decorations on it, giving her the appearance of having both large horns and feathered hair when worn. -Steel Bow and arrows: A bow made of good, sturdy steel. Doesnt see much use, but she has it. -Steel Longsword: A sword she carries as a backup weapon. Like the bow, doesn't see much use.
Personality: Meen-Lah is scarily well adjusted for a person whose business entirely revolves around murder, violence, and crime. She's not outwardly violent or blood thirsty, in fact one could call her surprisingly practical, well spoken, and level headed. While she certainly loves the rush of adrenaline battle gives her and never shies away from activities involving physical prowess, she has never once really let it cloud her judgement or chased that high. To do so would make her worse off for it. Shes friendly enough to others, and treats most people politely and with respect. So much so one would be hard pressed to find the first thought of her is hardened criminal. She spends her free time reading books, chatting away at a bar or somewhere with the locals regaling them with either exaggerated endeavors or just straight up lies.
This isn't to say she's a saint, however. Meen-La is something of a control freak and does not like it when others tell her what to do or attempt to question her authority, supposing she has it. Many newcomers in the group found themselves on the receiving end of her warhammer to be taught a harsh lesson about who was in charge many a time. This is only really kept in check by her knowing theres a time and place for everything as well as where she stands in the current pecking order so it shouldn't be too much to worry about, for now. To say nothing of her lack of care for killing, pillaging, and other criminal acts and her sometimes over eagerness and unbothered attitude towards fighting and more deplorable acts.
Bio: Born in Blackmarsh, Meen-Lah was a fairly stereotypical Argonian for those that were born there. Her naming day came and passed, and she was like most argonians simply living in the present as those kin to the hist and the marsh do. Even so, Meen-Lah always had a particular penchant for getting into trouble. Notably getting into fights for no reason and when she was sixteen she quickly found her place among a group of Argonian raiders who had no trouble raiding Dunmeri lands even after the war supposedly ended.
This, was her first 'family' as it were. A rough group of Argonian roughnecks who raided, pillaged, and plundered for their own gain. She didn't have a problem with this, the only problem she really had, was that she wasn't the one doing the leading and they were all rather...incompetent. Over eager, perhaps was the word she'd use for them. She ended up rallying some of the others behind her and challenged the leader to either step down as their leader or die.
He choose poorly, and after a duel she'd end up taking his head, skinning it, and wearing his skull as her own helmet, decorating it with feathers and protective symbols.
She'd go on to lead this band across Cyrodill taking contracts, engaging in banditry of her own. She'd allow others inside her little group be they mer, man or beast so long as they respected her authority and pulled their weight.
Eventually though, after a good decade or there abouts, did the imperials finally catch up with her merry band. Her only regret, if she had one, is that she didn't die in battle. The damn imperials wanted her alive, for some reason. After languishing in prison for a few months, they approached with a particular offer. In return for serving this little group, she'd at least get some partial freedom and a pardon for her more...heinous crimes so she could avoid execution.
Thats one version of the story, anyways.
The thing with Meen-Lah is that every time you ask, some details change. Small things that make a lot of difference. Or she'll tell you something else entirely. It can be assumed there;s some truth to her talking about her history or her stories, but overall, its best to take them with a grain of salt. The broad strokes are true, though. She is a criminal, and has done some very bad things in her time.
