Name: Thorius (or, Thor, Tyr, Tàr, and many other variations depending on the milieu he is attempting to ingratiate himself with.) Justinianus
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Appearance: His hair and eyes are both very dark, whilst his skin was at birth quite pale and has further paled by his time in Skyrim. Often he might don face paints of all sorts on himself. Uusally his face will be cleanly shaven while his hair falls neatly to his shoulders to keep the cold away from his ears.
Personality: Thor is a man heavily influence by the fact that he worships not one but two pantheons, more than ten Gods demanding his attention in sometimes contradictory ways. Combined with his belief that the Gods are speaking to him (be it literally in his head, or through omens he believes he can decipher) this leads to behaviour that at first sight might seem somewhat erratic. However, past the artificial cheeriness brought for by his communing with the pantheon, Thor is a quite dour soul. In his youth forced out of his home, it was the first of a series of tragedies that culminated in his imprisonment. Though now Talos worship is legal in the Empire and he has an opportunity to fight against the true enemy of him and his people, he can't help but feel a defeated man serving his conqueror.

To the surprise of most, he doesn't have any problem with Elves, in fact getting along with them quite well so long as they do not happen to be Thalmor and their lackeys.
Brief Backstory:
Thor was born in the North of Cyrodiil, far enough to be close to Skyrim without being a Colovian pseudo-Nord. His family were merchant elites, bringing him into the curious position of being well educated and privileged without any of the true hereditary might of a noble, merely that which coin could buy. This made his father ceaselessly teach him that he had to be always on guard, for unlike a nobleman, he could only rely on that which coin could bring him. This was he would later learn, a prelude to the realities his family had to face as worshippers of Talos.

A voracious student, Thorius's academic studies were brutally interrupted as the truth of his family's confession was revealed by another merchant family they were competing with, and a raid forced the once proud Justinianii to become refugees.

Thus they fled for Skyrim. Suddenly bereft of funds, the once prestigious family became menial workers in Windhelm. With his family being outlanders that didn't speak the Nord tongue, Thor more and more found himself uninterested in whatever wisdom his father had to espouse. Instead the constant firebrand zealotry roared by the Stormcloaks enamoured him, and slowly Thor came to adopt himself into the Nord culture. While he never forgot his roots and kept the Imperial Gods, he more and more found himself feeling his soul to be Nordic. Before he even went through puberty, he left home and joined the Priests among the Stormcloaks. The teenage Thor would see many battles, both losing and winning among the Stormcloaks. He would mature in their ranks, slowly coming to wield a blade as tending to the wounded and dying did not feel a sufficient calling. He was more and more convinced that the ailing state of both Skyrim and the Empire was a result of their own failings, that the Gods were punishing them with the Thalmor for their inadequacies as he thought he heard their calls.

But he did not have much time to speak on this, as the first hairs on his face came at about the same time that the Empire seemed to wrap up the civil war in Skyrim. So Thor was imprisoned among many other Stormcloaks that went quietly.

Mixed feelings came across him as the new self-proclaimed Empress declared the worship of Talos legal and necessary once more. On the one hand, it meant that in spirit he had won. The Stormcloak cause of fighting for their right to worship one of the Nine divines was successful, even if it wasn't under the banner of the Bear. On the other hand, it meant he had fought for nothing. The woman that brought him and his comrades low had suddenly turned her back on the very same cause that she had fought for when defeating him and his brothers in arms.

Thor was confused, and the only thing that was clear was that he personally had lost. He had tried so hard to learn the blade to fight. He had prayed every day and night to ensure the Gods would be on his side. But still he was defeated.

Thus it was strange when admidst his sentencing, he was granted amnesty on the simple condition of his enlistment into service of the Empire. With little choice, he accepted, albeit warily. After all, was the Empire sincere in its reverence for Talos since mere years ago it had fought its worshippers? Or perhaps the tales of realpolitik were true, that they were merely bidding their time to fight the Thalmor, that Thor was an unwitting agent of the Thalmor? Either way, he was eager to seek revenge.

Equipment: He does not need very much. Ritualistic equipment (paints, incense, bones, etc.), a blade, a shield, and ideally some armour to catch the arrows. But he will gladly take anything greater if it is available.
Skills: Thor is not a true warrior, nor is he a true mage. A man learned in both blade and Godly sorcery, he treads directly on the line between these paths. While he calls on the power of the Aedra, he is more than willing to raise a weapon in hand in the instance they do not answer his prayers. While a learned fellow, he still has many gaps in his academic resume. However, in respect to history and religion of any culture and race of Mundus, he will be an expert.

Name: Rela Arel
Gender: Female
Race: Dunmer
Appearance:
Stands at 5'9" with a lithe, athletic build that suggests capacity for a good amount of physical exertion. Certainly more physically fit than several other mages. Her face and body bear deep scarring that look to be the result of claw slashes and weapons.

Typically favors extravagant, loud, and downright gaudy fashions. The contrast between her scarred face and richly adorned clothing produces a jarring effect that tends to catch the casual observer off guard.

Personality:
Living through the twin humiliations of both the Red Year and the Argonian invasion have done evidently little to curb this Telvanni's standoffish, haughty attitude. While not as bad as her House is stereotypically made out to be (translated: she's tolerable enough to be around others), Rela is still nonetheless something of a cold bitch focused on results and achievement above all. Following after that is her research. And coming in last place is what anyone thinks of her priorities.

Rela respects no law but those that can be directly enforced against her. This means begrudging adherence to the Empress's decrees, and nothing else. Necromancy? You'll be next in the collection if you keep asking. Levitation? Why was that law even still in effect?! Breaking and entering? Now you were just taking the piss.

Unbeknowst to most who know her, however, is her longing for better times. In her youth, the Empire had control of Morrowind, and life was better. No Red Year, no ash, no unruly lizards that didn't know their place. It's this sentimentality and desire for order that keep her in the life of a Blade, no matter how much she verbally complains and protests.

Brief Backstory:
Born to a minor branch family attached to House Telvanni at the very end of the Imperial Simulacrum, Rela grew up on the mainland of Morrowind in the waning years of the Third Era and Uriel Septim VII's reign. Her early years were typical for a Telvanni youth: she learned the ways of magic, advanced in her studies, and excelled, becoming Spellwright by the time the Nerevarine prophecy was fulfilled.

To say that the next few years shaped the course of her life would be a horrendous understatement. Rela fought in the Oblivion Crisis, lived through the Red Year, and was only just managing to get her life back together when the Argonian invasion happened. Rela fought. House Telvanni fought. The Argonians fought. Many died. She didn't. The vast majority of House Telvanni's forces in Mournhold fell, along with the city itself. Somehow, Rela managed to crawl through the ash and smoke after the battle long enough to be found.

In the aftermath, Rela was given a promotion to Wizard rank due to the complete absence of any other surviving Telvanni mages, and a laboratory when Mournhold began rebuilding. Many in the House expected her star to keep rising from there. She, on the other hand, had different ideas. Instead of chasing after becoming a Master, Rela delved deep into her magical studies, becoming a recluse. While this disappointed those who promoted her in the first place, it wasn't unheard of at all within the House.

For decades after, Rela's focus was on one thing: extending her lifespan as several notable Telvanni Masters had. Her brush with death three times in the span of barely a few years had galvanized her into accelerating the timetable on this research. She didn't make pacts with Daedra, despite being very well-versed in their summoning. Instead, her path towards a very extended lifespan was through necromancy. Illegal? Who gave a damn? It wasn't as if any Imperial authorities were in a place to care. And it wasn't as if House Telvanni was going to kick up a fuss about forbidden methods.

Eventually, she succeeded. Rela's necromantic magics had successfully reverted her into the prime of her youth, and would keep it that way barring a violent end. By the time she came up for air, it was to her surprise that nearly two centuries had passed. And Morrowind was still an ash-blighted hellhole. She took the time to touch base with the current Council of Masters, confirming that she was still alive and that she was active once more. After finishing with reporting in to the last of the Masters on Solstheim, Rela returned to Raven Rock, where she intended to spend the night before returning to Morrowind. What she didn't expect was a scintillating conversation with a visiting Breton woman, where they'd spent the entire night discussing the intricacies of magic, mace work, and mace work augmented by magic.

Three years later, that night would barely register in Rela's mind until an Imperial procession appeared outside her laboratory in Mournhold, with the very same woman telling her she was...recruited? And that was when the comedy that was Rela's life entered a new chapter.

Equipment:

• Enchanted Robes: Fine robes, gloves, and boots colored in garish crimson and gold, enchanted for defense.
• Accessories: Amulet, rings, and circlet enchanted to enhance magicka capacity and spellcasting potency.
• Steel Dagger: Plain knife intended for utility work and last ditch self-defense.

Skills:
Major:

• Conjuration
• Alteration
• Destruction

Minor:

• Alchemy
• Enchanting
• One-Handed

Other:
Voice claim: Erin Yvette

Name: Keirthanil Aldar
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer
Appearance:
Standing at a mere 6'3", Keirthanil is short...for an Altmer, especially one of his social background. His almost perpetually stooped posture, whether standing over a table, sitting at a desk, or simply with his nose in a book or scroll as he walks, does nothing to help this. Owing to large amounts of time spent away from sunlight, the golden hue of his skin is heavily subdued, with his appearance rendered pale enough that, in combination with his strikingly blue (not golden!) eyes, certain former "colleagues" were once bold enough to describe him as looking like a return of the ancient Snow Elves.

As if that is not bad enough, he chronically undersleeps, due more to a refusal to acknowledge the biological need than to any actual insomnia. When he's without assistants or others who will make sure to put food near him that he can absent-mindedly snack on, he'll often undereat as well, both leading to the pale, hunched elf having a noticeably careworn appearance. His robes almost inevitably appear too large for him, as well, especially when paired with the portions of armour that he'll wear when having to fare beyond his precious workshops and libraries, though he insists he isn't nearly as frail as people believe.

Personality:
Fellow mages on the Summerset Isle when they said that Keirthanil was haughty even for an Altmer. Coming from a family of high social class, it isn't unreasonable to say that he views the majority of his fellow High Elves in nearly the same way that they view any of the other races of Tamriel. One of the few saving graces to that is that he at least keeps it mostly to himself—given that he always preferred to work alone, he has never done much talking with others, certainly not enough to get used to issuing them orders or constantly casually insulting them or otherwise expressing any of the internal thoughts he might hold.

The other is that he is genuinely appreciative of anyone that he thinks carries some decent understanding of the study of magic and the world, though that can prove a double-edged sword, as he'll keep going until he finds where the person he's talking to doesn't have any great understanding, or disagrees with his own interpretations and theories, at which point his opinion of them can be irreparably damaged. This appreciation extends to anybody that can help further his own work, though depending on the manner in which he considers that to apply, the appreciation may be more or less hidden from any view.

In spite of his belief in his own natural superiority, and a natural prejudice towards any non-Altmer (and many fellow Altmer besides), it is important to note that Keirthanil does not hold to the sort of orthodox Thalmor-influenced view that non-Elves should be ideally eradicated; indeed, the races of men are crucial to his own long-term goals, something which has led to a powerful enmity towards the Thalmor and the Third Aldmeri Dominion overall, alongside what he considers to be "other insults" they have delivered unto him and his kin.

Brief Backstory:
Born decades before the Oblivion crisis, Keirthanil enjoyed a privileged upbringing within the Summerset Isles; by the time the Dunmer princess Morgiah became queen of Firsthold by marrying King Reman Karoodil, he had already completed his first degrees, and was enjoying life as an academic, both studying more and more and occasionally deigning to teach as well. When the Oblivion crisis began, he avoided engaging in too much direct fighting, though after years of study and practice his arcane skills were more than enough to keep himself protected—notably, he drew the ire of some of the more staunchly law-abiding mages he associated with at the time by flagrantly disregarding the Levitation Act and using the prohibited magic to great effect in avoiding the otherworldly invaders.

He shared in the horror of his people at the destruction of the Crystal Tower, though unlike many of them he at least had sense enough to avoid it, his studies into the nature of Mundus and the Aurbis making it clear that the tower would prove an obvious target to the Daedric entities invading their world. In the rebuilding, he devoted himself even more heavily to his studies—the rising of the Thalmor and establishment of the Third Aldmeri Dominion passed him by, as during that time he was slightly more focused on research that could extend his own life; rather than falling to Mannimarco's necromantic conceits, he managed to dig out of the libraries copies of Psijic research into the arts of life extension, as well as some writings from a provincial Telvanni mage who seemed more concerned with skin diseases than anything else, and various other options. He also had to be quite careful with his methods, as he didn't wish to reduce himself to a sapient whirlwind of unbound magicka.

After finding himself successful and devoting himself to ever-more obsessive study of the nature of reality, eventually realizing that decades had passed, he learned of the various events that had passed him by from some of his servants, between the dissolution of the Summerset Isles' monarchy, the prominence the Thalmor had taken, the renaming of the land to Alinor, and the fall of his own family and the seizure of their main holdings by the new government, which was perhaps the most insulting thing they could have done to him. He was, at least, smart enough to remain quiet about it, returning to his work in the universities and aiming for a position within the College of Sapiarchs alongside some of his former peers who hadn't lost themselves in their work and studies for decades. Of course, he continued his own studies into reality on the side, his theories on the distinction between Anuic and Padomaic spirits, and whether Lorkhan was truly as villainous as typical Altmeri mythology portrayed him, growing wilder and wilder as the years went on.

This, unfortunately, would be his downfall within the society of the Third Aldmeri Dominion; the Thalmor, knowing of his existence but as of yet not having managed to locate him, were looking for any opportunity they could find to remove him like they had the rest of his family. When he inevitably found himself embroiled in an argument with the Sapiarch over the sphere of Applied Phrenology, one which progressed to deadly levels as he challenged the other mage to a lethal duel and immediately began firing off spells, he was quickly set upon by a force of Thalmor agents, though they were unable to apprehend him. He quickly left the country, settling north of Anvil with a new workshop and the most important tomes from his library. Back home, he was officially declared Apraxic, with a bounty placed upon his head. Despite his location being rather openly known, none of the death squads or bounty hunters sent his way able to get the better of him.

Of course, this wouldn't stop an agent of the reformed Blades from getting through to him, gaining him a short audience with the new Empress to discuss the nature of time and how it might be disregarded; in return for essentially free access to imperial magical facilities, an official stipend, and the freedom to conduct his studies as he would, he agreed to act as an agent of the Blades himself, whereupon he quickly found himself sent to Hammerfell alongside some of the new sovereign's other...goons.

Equipment:

• Semi-armoured robes: Robes befitting an academic and accomplished mage of the Summerset Isles; he keeps them in good repair, though in recent years he has been forced to supplement them with light amounts of armour, though he is in good enough physical condition that it doesn't hamper him much.
• Accessories: While they are rarely necessary for proper pursuits in the field of magic, one is at time forced to engage in battle—enchanted jewelry and the like that enable one to forego the proper preparations and streamline the process of casting to ensure spells are used at their most efficacious and safest for the caster are a necessary conceit for travels such as Keirthanil now engages in, and with the remains of his familial wealth he has acquired more than enough to suit his current position.
• Steel-reinforced staff: A walking staff is important—it aids in locomotion, it can be used to fend off wild animals or brigands, and with the proper reinforcements and enchantments can even be crafted into a potent tool for spellcraft!
• Satchel: Full of books, scrolls, loose paper, writing materials, certain magical materials and alchemical ingredients. Nothing surprising for a mage such as himself.

Skills:
Major:

• Conjuration
• Alteration
• Restoration
• Mysticism
• Alchemy

Minor:

• Light Armor
• Enchanting
• Speechcraft
• Illusion
• Blunt Weapon

Name: Verius Sanctian, formerly Saniren-Verak

Gender: Male

Race: Akaviri (Vampire)

Appearance:

I can assure you
I'm not dodging the question
Of the Tsaesci's look

Personality: Verius is a proverbial fish out of water from a very different era. He could ramble all day about much things have changed, and has particularly a lot to complain about regarding the state of the Blades compared to the old Dragonguard. However, he's nonetheless very dedicated to his duty as a Dragonguard and is overjoyed to be able to serve a Dragonborn Emperor once again. Just don't mention the Morag Tong or Dark Brotherhood to him- in his painted eyes, both of those organizations need to die a horrible, horrible death.

Long glory was wife to the all the knights of the dragon-banner, who knew no other and were brothers before beyond many seas and now were brothers under the law named the blade-surrender of Pale Pass. And having vampire blood these brother-knights lived for ages through and past Reman and then kept guard over his ward, the coiled king, Versidue-Shaie. The snake-captain Vershu became Renald became the protector of the northern west when the black dart was hooked into Savirien-Chorak.
-Remanada

Brief Backstory: Saniren-Verak was born to an Akaviri family during the reign of Reman III, with both of his parents being members of the Dragonguard. He followed in his parents' footsteps and became a member of the Dragonguard himself. However, several years after joining the Dragonguard, Reman III was assassinated and the Dragonguard were reorganized by Versidue-Shaie. Saniren-Verak was among those chosen to continue serving the Potentate, and just as some of his colleagues did, believed that atonement for their failure to protect the Reman dynasty would require many lifetimes. It was during this time that just as Snake-Captain Vershu changed his name to Renald, Saniren-Verak changed his name to the pseudonym Verius Sanctian, drawing inspiration from the small amount of Imperial blood in his heritage.

Shortly after Savirien-Chorak and his line was wiped out, Verius was targeted by assassins while in the Reach. Wounded and outnumbered, he fled into a Nordic ruin and hid inside a sarcophagus. Unfortunately, the coffin he chose was warded against undead to ensure its inhabitant remained dormant, and the wards reacted poorly to his vampire blood, and once he closed the lid, the wards trapped him and put Verius into a deep slumber. Even more unfortunately, the sarcophagus' original occupant was still in there with him.

Contained by the sarcophagus' magic, he remained inside (along with the slumbering Draugr) until 4E 203, when one of the Forsworn now occupying the ruin pried the lid open looking for loot. Verius' first impulse was to head to the nearest river and wash the smell of Draugr out of him, and his second impulse was to take refuge in Sky Haven Temple. Unfortunately, the traditions and dress of the Dragonguard had changed slightly in the thousand or so years since, and he was immediately taken prisoner by the local Dragonguard garrison.

During his involuntary stay at Sky Haven, Verius learned just how long he had been sleeping- another Dragonborn Emperor appeared, Renald and his remaining subordinates joined him and were renamed the Blades, all of the prophecies in Alduin's Wall had come to pass, Cyrodiil was once again ruled by ordinary mortals, the Thalmor now held a massive grudge against Tiber Septim and the Blades. For his part, he spent much of his internment complaining about how the Blades had forgotten the old Akaviri magics and about all the historical errors in the 2920 book series, having a minor existential crisis about the possibility that he spent 324 years serving the culprit who wiped out Reman's line and inflicted upon the Dragonguard their greatest shame, and ranting about how serving the Dragonborn should take priority over crusading against dragons. Fortunately, when the Dragonborn visited the temple, she was willing to give Verius a chance.

Equipment: Verius wears the gilded steel armor of the old Dragonguard, along with a sword and shield. In contrast to the more Akavir-styled armor and katanas of the Blades, the Dragonguard equipment of his time is much more Cyrodiilic in design.

Skills:

If you attack us, you will meet talons.
If you strike us, you will eat spikes.
If you injure us, our wounds will close.
If you anger us, you will burn.
If you run from us, we will pounce upon you.
-To Smite with Dragon Claws

In addition to being a skilled swordsman, Verius is a disciple of the old Akaviri magical combat arts once practiced by the Dragonguard. His techniques emulate the power of dragon and manipulating fire, and include forming weapons of fire to strike foes, a fire breath that is admittedly a pale imitation of the Thu'um, and the ability to very briefly give himself elements of a dragon's physiology, be it protective scales or wings to leap great distances.