-Basic Information

Name: Kharne

Age: 23

Race: Argonian

Appearance:


Kharne is a rather tall Argonian, taller than any other he had ever met. Maybe he lacked the beaten down slouch his people had outside of Black Marsh? Specific numbers have him at six feet and three inches tall and weighing in at two hundred and forty-six pounds. He lacks the typical head ornamentation of Argonians, instead he has large and strong scales going along his head and down his neck. His scales are a mottled mix of gray, dusky green, and black that blends together, perfect for blending in with swamps. Except his 'underbelly' which is a dark dark cream color. His reptilian eyes, which are normally narrowed with suspicion, are a dark orange red. His size has little fat, a life of labor and fighting doesn't allow such a thing, and the vast majority of it is dense muscle. His tail is much like an alligators, thick with muscle, tough scales and scutes, and being broad enough to be used as a bludgeon. His claws and teeth are like aged ivory, pointed, and sharp, the ones on his feet are significantly larger than his hands.

Personality:

Kharne has a rough history which has fed his mentality. He is almost always suspicious of people who are not Khajiit, Argonian, or Orc. He's especially distrustful of the Dunmer for all that they had done to him and his people. Given his distrustful nature he is secretive of any plans he has. Aside from that he can be....amicable at best, he does know how to deal with people and act the part. Being a suspicious jackass does not bring in the septims after all. Unfortunately even if he is coaxed into relaxing somewhat he's still tense and gruff, always keeping one eye out. The only exceptions to this attitude is around fellow Beastmen and the Orcs, the others ostracized and mistreated by society of Men and Mer alike. Although if anyone pays attention, few do, they'll see he enjoys carving little things of wood and that he seems to really like fighting. A final notice, if he is actually set off with anger he's a lot more bestial than is typically seen outside of Black Marsh and is quite a bit stronger.

-Abilities

Skills:

• Martial Mastery: He loves fighting. He loves training. He enjoys the physicality of it all and that helps keep him alive another day. Hand to hand he is self taught, fighting more like an animal than a humanoid. His pole-arm and cleaver he had more formal training from fellow mercenaries. He is by no means a master, but due to the unconventionality of his weapons and skill, he is better than most he has met.
• Little Armorer: He has learned over the years to take care of his own equipment for the most part, and if he's feeling nice other peoples equipment. He can repair his leather equipment and do the maintenance for the metal portions. Meaning he can polish the metal portions of his gear to prevent rust and bluntness while also making sure his leather equipment doesn't get dry and cracked into uselessness. Rudimentary knowledge in comparison to an actual metal and leather worker.
• People Skills: Despite being an Argonian he is decent when dealing with people who aren't Dunmer. One has to learn how to when you work as a mercenary so you can get better deals. Or when you're dealing with merchants selling long forgotten treasures or just the pelts of bears and wolves. He is able to roughly read the faces and body language of most of the races of Tamriel, the only ones that are difficult to are the orcs and the Khajiit.
• Skulduggery: Given his profession he has had to sneak past enemies, guards, whoever and has had to pick the locks of long forgotten chests or doors. He is no thief breaking the law, but these are useful skills for exploring ruins and enemy camps. Most of this is self-taught but he has come across others who were better than himself and got brief training.
• Survivalist: Completely self taught, through lots of trial and error, he has figured out how to survive out in the wilderness in Cyrodiil. Luckily because of his biology much of his failures were not light threatening, just hours in a bush, or figuring out green wood burns terribly and smokey. His knowledge of plants is based solely around fungus, everything else has gone untouched.

Magic:

• Restoration: Novice level with minimal knowledge. Can cast Heal Minor Wounds to heal himself or allies.
• Destruction: Novice level with minimal knowledge. Can cast Snowball and Flare.

Magic is not his forte and never will be, but he has enough knowledge to keep himself alive...if barely.

-Equipment

(Depending on their physical ability your character can only carry a certain amount of gear on their person. This includes bags, pouches, sacks and other containers. Heavy armor is heavy, and light armor is light. Take that into account when equipping your character. Arrows additionally have weight and are not infinite. This category is intended to stand on its own and is broken down into three sections, the latter two of which are optional. )

Personal Items:

• Studded Cuirass: A thick leather vest dotted with iron studs. The leather is well worn and well cared for, the black dye is faded to a smokey gray. There are thick stitches here and there from past battles.
• Chain-mail Vambraces: Well worn and well cared for vambraces made of chain with small plates linked along the forearms and one plate on the back of each of his hands that has a leather strip go around his palm. The worn metal is dulled with time despite the care and the leather is partially frayed.
• Leather Greaves: Simple well worn and well cared for leather greaves. The black dye, like his vest, has faded to a smokey gray color. Also like his vest there are numerous stitched lines from past battles.
• Leather Footings: Simple brown leather custom designed for his feet. There's no sole to these bindings, the leather goes from the tops of his feet to his knees and has thin and worn steel plates on the top of his foot and his on his shin. The leather is a deep brown, the color of dark mud, and look new.
• Clothing: Basic cotton shirt that is slightly loose and an extremely pale cream color. His pants, beneath his greaves, are a light gray and barely visible. The belt around his waist is leather with iron medallions every few inches and has empty spaces for his sheathes.

The Lock Box:

• Septims: 326
• Long Axe: A strangely designed weapon. The steel head of the axe is drawn out, making it from edge to spiked tip three feet long. The actual edge of the weapon is eight inches, the secondary edge along the whole underside of the head is sharpened to the grade of a sword. The haft of the weapon is seven feet long and made of a tough hard wood. About two feet from the head of the axe is a slightly narrowed grip guarded by a smaller curved steel blade.
• Cleaver: A three foot long single edged straight blade made of steel with a spike on the spine. The blade is roughly three four inches wide and a quarter inch thick with a curved ebony wood handle. The pommel and the near non-existent cross-guard are both made of blackened steel.
• Iron Dagger: A simple cheap and well used iron dagger that's used more as a multi-tool instead of an actual weapon.
• Pack: A typical pack full of various pieces of gear for travel and camp. Small tent, pitons, length of rope, bedroll, flint and steel, dry tinder, lock-picks, etc, etc.

Stored Items:

• Nothing

Background:
Kharne had been young when he had been stolen from Black Marsh by the Dunmer in one of their typical raids. From there he was taken back to the Dunmer homeland of Morrowind, a harsh and ruthless land. The air felt worse than his homeland, dry and gritty with the flying ash and sand once the coast was left behind. He was used from a young age to run errands, being quite the speedy little hatchling given he was born under the Thief Sign. (Not as good as The Steed Speed but close!). That was his purpose to start with, to bring messages between whatever house he was owned by at that time. They all looked the same to him, Dunmer, Dunmer, Dunmer.

As he got older, and bigger, his 'jobs' changed from messenger to laborer. Moving luggage and goods around the capitol of Morrowind, At least he thought it was the capitol given the size of the place, Vivec. While he was worked with little rest he got to witness the trainers situated throughout the capitol train other people. Granted it was hard to learn that way since he couldn't just sit and listen or watch. He always had to be doing something otherwise he was punished by the lash or a beating. Slaves didn't get to learn after all except the tasks given to them. Which was never how to defend yourself.

It had been roughly ten years since he had been stolen and shackled. Having grown increasingly restless and agitated he eventually killed his handler who arrogantly thought he was a weak and cowed teenager. With rage fueled adrenaline combined with a laborers might, he tore the Dunmer slaver into pieces, used the key he had to unlock his shackles, and fled north west with what little he could steal off the body and his surroundings. He avoided the roads, preferring the wilderness to avoid as many people as he could. Thankfully his scales coloration blended in quite well in the Ascadian Isles portion of Morrowind.

While he moved through the wilderness, hunting the creatures of the island for food, he practiced what he remembered from observing the trainers. Discovering, with his wooden implements, that he was decent with a pole-arm and his fists. Although using his claws felt far more natural. While he wandered the wilderness, learning how to Argonian, he fought many of the local fauna of Morrowind, and ate them too. Granted everything he met wasn't an animal, he ran across people as well. Namely bandits, runaway slaves, slavers, and just travelers.

Bandits were interacted with since he had nothing to steal, he learned some combat from them in exchange for his help with dumb labor. Runaway slaves, which always seemed to be fellow Argonians and Khajiit, were released from their shackles by using lock-picks. A handy skill to have learned from the Khajiit, at least well enough for rudimentary locks. Slavers were ambushed and killed if there weren't many of them. Namely stalking them at day and going in at night to rip out their throats. His meeting of travelers gave him some insight of Morrowind and Tamriel as a whole, he had many questions. He was a young Argonian after all and the youth always had questions. Unless the travelers were Dunmer, he avoided the dark elves as much as he possibly could.

Unfortunately he became somewhat infamous in the area as numerous 'upstanding' workers went missing. He discovered that there were now small hunting parties to capture him. He had no choice but to flee the area, which led him to Seyda Neen. A small coastal village that seemed to be a drop off point for Imperial Prisoners. Thankfully a ship was in port dropping off a single prisoner, someone of human origin so he didn't care much. He quickly sold any goods he had, arms and armor, from deceased slavers. Mostly leather gear of varying grades with basic iron weapons like swords, daggers, and bows. With his pack lightened and his purse burdened he set about buying numerous weak fatigue potions, a waterproof sack, and dried foods.

If he was any other race he would not even think to attempt what he was going to do. Instead of going aboard, it was a prison transport ship after all, he clung to the hull of the barge like an oversized barnacle. That was where his potions came in handy, when he fatigued he drank them and ate small snacks. He was used to a lack of sleep so staying awake and subsisting on dried food and potions wasn't affecting him too badly. Granted by the time they reached harbor he was doing much worse, low on food, potions gone, body aching, bloodied from slaughter-fish, it was not an experience he wished to partake in a second time.

Not much changed once he reached the mainland, he learned what he could, traveled by foot, killed slavers and sold their kit for money, freed what slaves he found, and trained as he went. It took him some time, it was slow going, to reach Cyrodiil. He was a full adult by the time he reached the Imperial Province and he had learned much and earned much more. He had become a mercenary, taking whatever job he felt fit him or joining a crew for a short while. While in crews, without Dunmer, he learned more about how to fight which made him realize just how much of a brute he was. He had no real style, but he had power and grace which is why he now wields the weapons he does and the armor he wore allowed him the greatest motion.

With his knowledge fairly set, his ways seemed to work despite his disposition, and he had joined the Fighters Guild to earn extra cash on the side and get training whenever he needed it wherever a guild may be, he moved to the Imperial City. He had heard tales of the place but word of mouth never matched actually seeing it. A massive sprawling circle of a city that seemed to have everything if one had the cash for it.

His ambling bumpkin self wound up in the Arena District of the capitol, a district full of normal people and rougher types like himself. He decided to watch the fights, just to see how it worked, and the result was a bit of a let down. A brick, who the hell threw a damn brick?, decided it all instead of skill and the two combatants clashing. He wasn't all riled up like the citizens though, he didn't even know who was fighting!

But he did decide to go the a tavern to put his feet up, he had been traveling for a long time after all. Unfortunately a rumpus erupted and it absorbed pretty much everyone in the common room. Including Kharne who had been crashed into by a Dunmer man, which set off the Argonians harsh temper towards the Dunmer race. Being rougher than most earned him jail time without a chance of paying off a fine. Now he stewed in a cell, angry and frustrated but gradually working himself down.

Ambition: Kharne has a very simple, albeit lofty, ambition. He is working to become stronger, earn lots of money, and free any Argonian slave he finds. Sometimes Khajiit as well. Either by force or by currency, depends on the other person. He plans to go back to Morrowind, the worst culprits of it in his eyes to free them all.

---

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Name: Darmon Saishir
Age: 36
Race: Redguard
Appearance: Not a large man by any measure, Darmon stands only about 5’5” and is quite lightly built; Though not a warrior by any means, his life being nearly perpetually ‘on the road’ as it were has kept him quite fit…despite his preference for richer food and drink. Like some redguard, his eyes are dark brown to the point of almost looking black though according to various women, at times they glow a deep rich brown, filled with warmth and charm. For practical reasons he keeps his head shaved, though he forgoes any facial hair because as to quote his own mother ‘It looks like you’ve got a half-drowned skeever pelt on your face.’

Like many of his people, he favours the flowing hoods and robe styles native to his home land; though not overly flashy compared to some of his peers, obvious wealth ‘on the road’ draws bandits like honey draws flies.

Personality:
A friendly and outgoing fellow, as any successful merchant should be; he's a man who tries to take work seriously but life, not so much. Growing up a ‘Merchant Prince’ of Sentinel, but spending plenty of time down on the docks, he’s as comfortable drinking in rough taverns with the average folk as he is trading polite nothings with ‘high society’ (though he prefers somewhat more of a middle ground; rough enough to have an actual fun time, but classy enough that people bathe regularly.)

His charming and outgoing nature, and good looks also has a tendency to make him rather popular with many of the women that he crosses paths with..and very unpopular with quite a few of their husbands/fathers/fiancees etc; he’s also fond of ‘justifying’ his actions by saying ”If the man was better at his duties as a partner, the lady wouldn’t have found me nearly as interesting.”

This philosophy has gotten him run out of numerous towns and establishments over the years.

---

Abilities

Swordsmanship - While he’d be the first to admit he’s no Arena Champion or Companion when it comes to swordplay, Darmon is certainly skilled enough to defend himself from the usual lowlifes, cutthroats or irate spouses he sometimes encounters.

Archery (Crossbow) - Like his swordsmanship, it’s not anything special, but he’s a good enough shot to both defend himself and keep fed between towns.

Hand-to-hand - Not every altercation can, or should, be fought with a live blade. So to keep his face un-broken and his neck off of a headsman's block, he’s a fair hand at fighting with his hands…though he generally does his best to leave if he can.

Merchant Prince - His actual job is all about the deal, finding what folks want, what they might have that you want and then talking and bargaining until both parties reach a happy agreement; it seems simple, but like most things that seem simply, they often rarely are…but the challenge of it is something Darmon enjoys.

Sleight of hand - He was taught by an ex-Thieves Guild man he knew in Sentinel as a boy, and over the years he’s learned a few new tricks in his travels. Though largely used as an ‘ice breaker’ in social moments, what he knows has saved his skin on a few occasions.

Alchemist - Another thing learned for its practicality for someone travelling the length and breadth of Tamriel. Though he only knows a handful of recipes by heart, he knows them quite well, though some more than others.


Magic: None

Equipment

Personal Items

• Typical clothing for a man from Hammerfell
• Saishir Family signet ring
• The Lock Box:
• Steel dagger

Stored Items

• Legion surplus crossbow
• Bolt quiver (12)
• Scimitar
• Trading Catalogue
• Travel Bag

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Background

Born the second son and third child of the head of the Saishir Trading Company, Sentinel’s third largest trading firm, he was born into the sort of wealth that most only find amongst Tamriel's nobility. That said, unlike too many of said nobility, his father wasn’t one to let his children become spoilt, idle layabouts that leeched off of the hard work of the folks that worked for Saishir Trading.

To his father’s credit, he also did his best to mould his children into jobs that most suited them. In Darmon’s case, his ‘itchy feet’ as his mother would put it and an easy and charming personality made him best suited to be one of the company’s point men, travelling Tamriel, searching out new products to bring to Hammerfell, buyers for goods coming the other way, making friends and contacts, in both high and low places.

By fourteen Darmon was travelling with his brother on the Sentinel to Anvil run, making friends, opening talks with other trading companies, and by sixteen he was setting off inland, eventually making his way as far as the edges of Morrowind and Black Marsh. At twenty his tiring, but freewheeling, life hit a bit of a hiccup as it was decided that he should be married to cement ties between his family and one of the noble houses of Sentinel. While a drag, he knew the young woman he was to marry and had always considered her a friend.

Though everything else proceeded as planned, all was not without issue. After some awkward confessions on the wedding night, Darmon and his wife Chan came to a few agreements and settled into ‘married’ life, with a lovely woman named Kiarsa as their servant and nanny once their son Limdon was born. While he spends much of his time on the road, both for his job and just because he enjoys the travel, he does his best to return home regularly to keep up with his family.

Currently he’s been in the Imperial City for a few days, overseeing some trade negotiations between Saishir Trading and the Imperial Trading Company. With his dealings having gone well, he decided to spend some time with a lovely lady while most of the city was off at the Arena for the big bout; sadly their plans fell apart rather quickly after the bout was cancelled suddenly and the lady’s father returned home sooner than expected, drunk, angry and with her equally drunk and unhappy fiancee in tow…though Darmon would swear to the Divines that he didn’t know the lady in question was already betrothed.

The two men were in no mood to debate such semantics, so he found himself dropping off a second story balcony and running, most likely for his life. Knowing he couldn’t run forever, he made the fateful decision to try and hide from his pursuers in a local place called ‘Daggerfall Dan’s’. Rushing through the door, he had just enough time to see a breton kid go crashing into a table of off-duty guardsmen…before several hundred pounds of angry, who’d been closer than he realised, hit him from behind.

Ambition

As it stands? He’d like to wrap up his dealings in the Imperial City, he’d had a couple of meetings planned for the day after the big match in the Arena, and then begin making his way back to Sentinel, partially update his mother on things and partially to see his boy.