[CHAR] The Elder Scrolls: Wars of Fate

[RangerOfTheRit]

Name: Aelystair Sivaeryl (Al to his friends.)
Gender: Male
Age: 30
Race: Redguard-Breton
Backstory: Aelystair Sivaeryl was born to Cyrus Wintersand, a half Redguard half Nord mercenary who worked in Skyrim and found himself living in Cyrodiil, and the Breton, Aeyara Sivaeryl, the great great granddaughter of Maeyson Sivaeryl, The Last Dragonborn and the great great great great granddaughter of Aedyn Sivaeryl, The Hero of Kvatch. His mother is also the aunt Alexus Molotonov. Aelystair was born on a farm outside of Anvil in 4E 305. His father taught him the ways of combat and survival while his mother taught him the ways of magic and scholarly pursuits. In 4E 330, when he was 25, The Great Civil War started, and he joined The PGC. He rose through the ranks rather quickly, now being Commander of Count Cayne’s personal guard. However, when the Hordes of Namira start surfacing in Tamriel, Aelystair was one of the first to become one of Meridia’s paladins, but he had to relinquish all of his military holdings in order to lead The Purified Army, a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Personality: Al is a great Battlemage, having learned combat from a Redguard and magic from a Breton. He thinks of others before himself, his main priority is the betterment of the lives of the common folk of Tamriel.

Gear: (Set up like follows)
Weapon 1: PGC: Steel broadsword enchanted to do fire damage.

Broadsword

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Paladin: Dawnbreaker (reforged)

Dawnbreaker

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Weapon 2: PGC: none.
Paladin: Silver shortsword enchanted to do fire damage and when fighting undead, sends a ripple of a damage undead enchantment.

Shortsword

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Offhand: PGC: Steel shield.

PGC shield

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Paladin: Mithril shield enchanted with a repel undead spell.

Paladin shield

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instead of an eagle, Al's shield has an image of Meridia on the front.

Armor: PGC: leather PGC Commander armor.

PGC armor

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Is covered by a black and red tunic with the PGC coat of arms on it.

Paladin: Mithril armor with the enchantment “Aura” which causes the user to be surrounded by a dome of light.

Paladin Armor

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Items in possession: a backpack with his camping kit, enough food and water for a week in the wilderness and some potions (3 Healing, 3 Magicka, 3 Stamina, 2 Strength and 1 Fortify block) also has a satchel with his gold purse and a book or spelltome or two. He is almost always wearing his black, hooded travelling cloak, even as a Paladin.

Appearance: Al inherited pale skin from his mother but he’s a little tan from living near the ocean. He has shoulder length, light brown, almost blonde hair that he wears in a ponytail and a beard that he keeps neat and trimmed. He has a scar under his left eye and a multitude of scars covering his arms and chest. He’s about 5’11 and rather muscular, but not bulky. He has the build of a fencer or a runner. His eyes are so brown that they look more orange than anything. His teeth are straight and white (there was no magic involved….) and so he prides himself on his smile, albeit silently and to himself.

Special skills: (What do they exceed at? Magic, swordplay, etc.)
Skill 1: Dual wielding
Skill 2: Destruction and Restoration magic
Skill 3: Shieldwork

[beyours elf]

Name: Gaylia Ellifain
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Race: Wood Elf
Backstory: Gaylia was born in a small house near Anvil, an enchanted scene of oceans and golden fields. She grew up in a small community made up of many different races. She grew up a kind soul, helping others wherever she could and loved by many. Her mother was an alchemist who dabbled in magic usage and taught her many useful lessons. On Gaylia's twelfth birthday, her father, a blacksmith, made her a bow and told her that she could place any enchantment she wished upon it. That night, a group of bandits came and raided her village, slaughtering many innocent people, including her father. Gaylia decided to enchant her bow so that any arrow fired from its string could only pierce the armor/skin of those who wish to do others harm. She stayed behind to help rebuild her community, however, fourteen years later, Namira's hordes begin appearing. Tales of The Great Civil War and the supposed attrocities done by these evil creatures quickly spread. Gaylia is determined to stay neutral in The Great Civil War, but she refuses to sit idly by while horrid monsters tear through Tamriel. She agrees to fight alongside Aelystair.

Gear:
Weapon 1: Enchanted bow. Arrows can only pierce the armor/skin of those who wish to do others harm. Carries a sheath of white feather tipped arrows.
Weapon 2: A small hunting knife stashed in her boot that constantly glitters gold, which she mainly uses to retrieve ingredients for potions and remedies.
Offhand: Varied types of magic
Armor: Minimal. Mainly consists of leather. Bracers on her forearms that form fingerless gloves ringed with golden designs. She has a split skirt with a multitude of pockets sewn into them, all different shades of brown. Her boots are handmade and well worn.
Items in possession: Her pockets are full of many different plants and potion ingredients. Her bow and arrows slung across her back and her golden hunting knife in her boot. She has a canteen of water strapped across her hips and an already made salve for wounds in a bag beside it.

Appearance: Long copper hair usually tucked back into a braid to show off her pointed ears. She has fair skin with a hue of gold. Her nose is slightly upturned and her eyes are a pale blue that darken with her mood.

Special skills:
Skill 1: Potions. She can quickly make a variety of healing and damaging concoctions.
Skill 2: Strong swimmer. She grew up near the ocean and loves being around water.
Skill 3: Magic/Enchantments. Usually on weapons.

[jumpadraw]

Name: Romionil “Romulus” Adami
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Race:Imperial (Altmer father)
Backstory: (Who is your character? What brought them to this point?)
Romionil Adami has had a very complicated life, and was conceived under very complicated circumstances. His father, Anionil, an Altmer soldier. His mother, Helena, an Imperial diplomat. They met during one of the many disputes between their two kingdoms, and, as his mother would say, ‘it was love at first sight’ , though Romionil had to wonder whether it was just mindless passion. Of course, his father was quite concerned about appearances and tradition, so when he discovered that Helena was pregnant, he was furious, as well as fearful about how his family would react. He sent her away, having the heart to promise to visit every few months, and she settled between Rorickstead and Morthal, making a new life for herself. When the child was born, Helena wanted to name him something traditional, old fashioned, like Tiberius, or Romulus, but wanted to honor her husband in some way. She settled for Romionil, and though she wasn’t pleased with the outcome, she was happy that she was remembering Anionil. Anionil visited infrequently, but as he did, he taught his son skill with magic, as well as the various techniques he had picked up with a blade as a soldier, and Helena taught him of the healing arts and how to talk his way out of almost any problem. One day, when Romionil was only ten, his father’s visits just stopped. At first, Helena was unwilling to believe, and waited almost a year before losing hope. She was never the same. Romionil had half a mind to go looking for him, but knew of the animosity between elves and men. However, in 4E 327, at just seventeen years of age, Romionil left for Cyrodiil. Hoping to become a diplomat and find his father in that way. He looked quite a bit like an Imperial, so he was a little less worried about going there. Of course, he feared that his name would be met with scorn, so he decided to go with Romulus, a more traditional, albeit uncommon, Imperial name. When the war broke out in 4E 330, Romionil was torn. He still had hope that he could help bring peace, but with so many warring factions, he was unsure as to how he could do so. He decided to remain on the fence for the first few years, but eventually joined the PGC. He did believe a democracy could better bring peace to the land, and hoped that with his ability as a diplomat, he would be able to convince Count Cayne to help settle things in a more peaceful manner. He hoped that he could find a middle ground, in which both the Militant and the PGC could be happy with the outcome, and maybe even find a way to appease the Altmer, and, if at all possible, find his father in the process.

Personality: (What are they like? What are their preferences?)
Romionil, being raised for most of his childhood by both an Imperial and an Altmer has adopted many of the main practices of both races. He is normally well mannered, especially at formal gatherings and during large meals around others. Being taught in the art of speechcraft, he always tries to talk things through before resorting to violence. However, being raised in the harsh lands of Skyrim have made him a rather strong fighter, and he isn’t a pushover in a fight. He also finds himself partial to elvish features, and has been raised to see the beauty of the strong features that most elves have.

Gear: (Set up like follows)
Weapon 1: Elven sword
Weapon 2: hunting Bow
Offhand: Magic
Armor: light PGC soldier armor
Items in possession: Backpack, bedroll, four days worth of food, sixty steel arrows, 4 healing potions, 3 stamina potions, two hundred gold (in coin purse), and few few spell tomes, mainly for complex restoration spells, but a couple of illusion ones as well.

Appearance: (Detailed description and/or a picture)
As his mother was an Imperial, Romionil has inherited most of her features and, for all intents and purposes, is an Imperial. However, while he does have her tan skin and brown hair, he has inherited a couple of features from his father as well. His skin has a slight tint of yellowish-gold, as do his eyes. He also has rather pronounced cheekbones, and his chin is slightly more pointed than the average person’s. He has a long and nasty scar down his back that continues on to his calf, which he obtained when he was attacked by a dragon as a child. He also has a few on his face and hands from years of struggling to survive. While Romionil is well built and strong, he has inherited his father’s slimmer physique as well, so he appears deceptively thin and frail to many around him. Romionil also wears his hair long to cover the slight point of his ears, as he as learned over the years that it is easier to avoid persecution than it is to embrace it or find those who accept you for who you are.

Special skills: (What do they exceed at? Magic, swordplay, etc.)
Skill 1: Speechcraft/diplomacy
Skill 2: Magic (particularly restoration)
Skill 3: Swordplay

[Shadowman215]

Name: Alexus Molotonov

Race: Breton.

Age: 26

Appearance: He is a six foot tall Breton, toned, but not massive he has a slender frame and build that allows him to be flexible and agile in combat. His hair is short and black with some light waviness to it. His eyes are furious blue, that gives him a striking gaze to any who make eye contact with his tall figure. His face, ignoring his eyes is a soothing one, welcoming al who wish to meet him with a warm smile.

Bio: Alexus was born to a family deep in Skyrim’s mountains, a Breton family who sided with the Empire during the Civil War years ago was not exactly welcome. So they were hidden from the cities, and forced to venture out sparsely just to resupply. However, eventually he grew old enough to venture on his own and see the sights. Which he did, training in both sword and spell, being known as a powerful Spellsword. Hunting down bandits and criminals, usually putting them to the sword for their crimes, all for what he felt was the greater good. He has even slain Dark Brotherhood assassins in single combat. His lineage eventually was discovered however, and the people of Skyrim outcast him, their hatred of the Empire obvious as they had sided with the PGC which had arisen of late. However he supported the PGC as well, and wanted to join their ranks.

That is, until he was confronted by the Daedra Meridia, asking him to pledge service to her in exchange for a set safe haven in the afterlife. His mission: Purge the Undead from this world. He accepted the challenge and was gifted a set of new armor and a brand new blade by his new leader.

He now ventures across the lands, seeking out the cursed and purging them from this life and sending them to the next. His heart true as he struck down the undead wherever they hid.

Recently he received a letter from his mother, saying that he had an Aunt, and a cousin that he should try and find. Telling him he was also a direct descendant of The Last Dragonborn, and now it was another mission for him, find his lost relative.

As of now, necromancers have begun to fear the name Alexus, as it spelled the end of their tyranny over lost souls.

Equipment:

Weapon 1: Enchanted steel greatsword, the sword always will cut clean through any cursed creature

Weapon 2: Enchanted Steel Longsword

Armor: Enchanted Gilded Steel Plate Armor, the Undead do less damage to this bulwark of vengeance.

Items in possession: 3 Mana potions, 3 Health potions, 3 Stamina potions. One or two tomes of each school of magic he has studied.

Off hand: Magic

Schools of Magic that he uses: Restoration, Alteration, and Destruction.

Skill 1: Heavy Armor (He can move well in full plate.)

Skill 2: Arcane prowess, being a Breton, he has a natural talent for magics, his persona skill lies in Alteration and Destruction.

Skill 3: Swordplay

[jumpadraw]

Name: Morthaz
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Race: Orsimer
Backstory: (Who is your character? What brought them to this point?)
Morthaz was raised in a small Orsimer settlement on the outskirts of Skyrim. His life was simple, and while they were not well loved by others, they were happy. Morthaz, or Morz, to the few friends he had at that time, lived a good life, working hard during the day, and relaxing during the evenings. Occasionally, through the thick clouds and fog, Osimer could view the many constellations and stars shining brightly above. In a perfect world, this is how Morz would spend the rest of his life. However, as he would soon find out, the world was not a perfect place. Late one night, as Morz lay on his back looking at the stars, his village was attacked. Bandits, armed with crude weapons and thick fur armour stormed his village, lighting the longhouse on fire within minutes and slaughtering all who tried to escape. Morz tried to resist them, to push them back, but failed. He would have died that night, but luck was with him, or perhaps it was a curse rather than a blessing. A swing from one of the bandits sent him falling to the ground, bleeding and unconscious, but he survived. Out of everyone in the settlement, he and only he survived. He spent some time wandering, seeking some way to get his revenge. Last time they caught him unawares, but this time, this time he would be ready. If he had left when he wanted too, he probably would have lost his life. Before he could do so, though, he was confronted by a man, probably in his sixties or so. Morthaz was only sixteen, but already the man could see potential in the young orc. He promised to help the orc get his revenge to make him more powerful than any opponent he would ever face. Morthaz eagerly agreed to listen, and the old man began to teach him. At first, it was normal combat techniques, how to weld his warhammer, how to parry incoming blows, how to defeat those with faster and lighter weapons than his, and that sort of thing. A few months into training, though, the training began to shift. It was gradual, but unmistakable. The old man began to teach him prayers and dark rituals to Daedric gods, and Morthaz was already to far into training to turn back. If this was what he needed to do to avenge his fallen family, then he would do so. Finally, when he was just 24 years old, the last test came, the test to determine if he was ready. Morhtaz was presented with an innocent and completely helpless man. He was told by his teacher that while this man had never even drawn a sword to defend himself, there was more to him than Morthaz could see. Morz had done everything, but he wouldn’t become a tool for this old man. He couldn’t bring himself to follow through. He killed the old man, and as the blade pierced him, he laughed. It wasn’t out of shock or surprise. No, the old man was laughing as if Morthaz did exactly as he suspected. Morthaz released the captive and left the small hut of his teacher, turning to face the bandits. It took him months to track them down, but when he found them, they stood no chance. He killed almost all of them, but couldn’t bring himself to do so before asking the bandit leader one question. He had to know why he had done it. Why, of all placed he could have attacked, he chose a small settlement in the middle of nowhere. The bandit looked confused for a moment, but realization soon dawned upon him. All those years ago, he had just been an ordinary bandit, under leadership of a different person, but he still remembered the attack. He explained that they were offered an immense amount of gold just to kill a few orcs up in the mountains. They did it, no questions asked, but the bandit couldn’t help himself from returning. He did so a few years ago, and in the exact location of the village, there was a mine, probably packed all sorts of precious resources. That somebody could cause such great harm for nothing more than gold, even an immense amount, sickened Morz. He had lost what little faith in humanity that he had. His duty to his people was done, but he was still filled with rage, with a want of vengeance. Soon, he heard of rumours of the dead rising, and turned to investigate these findings. He learned of a plot to bring pain to the world, a plot of one of the Daedric princes, and soon he joined his ranks, becoming a Death Knight.

Personality: (What are they like? What are their preferences?)
Morthaz has absolutely no faith in humanity or other people. He always sees an ulterior motive behind others, some hidden agenda driving people to do what they do. He rarely shows mercy in combat. Because he survived, he was able to destroy the entire group that killed his friends, his family. To leave one of his own opponents alive would be foolishness to him, not mercy. He finds little joy in the world around him. All of that was drained out of him long ago. At this moment, he wishes for nothing more than to bring harm to all around him.
Gear: (Set up like follows)
Weapon 1: Daedric Warhammer, enchanted with absorb health.
Weapon 2: Fists
Offhand: N/A
Armor:Daedric armor, enchanted with fortify stamina and resist poison.
Items in possession:Morthaz has no real need to carry food or a bedroll, as he knows how to live off the land. Other than a few days worth of rations and some gold, he leaves room for more important things to him, that will actually serve a purpose during a fight, He has four potions of health, to fortify strength potions, two stamina potions, three potions of poison.

Appearance: (Detailed description and/or a picture)
Like most Orsimer, Morthaz has a large figure, and just his sheer size makes him an intimidating figure. His skin is a very dark shade of green, almost gray or black. His teeth are pointed and sharp, but his tusks are small and less pronounced than most other Orcs. Morthaz also is covered in multiple scars both from when his settlement was attacked and from through various training exercises and battles. Some of the more noticeable ones are the deep gashes along his forearms, and many nasty ones beneath his left eye, which he obtained while fighting a frost elemental.
Special skills: (What do they exceed at? Magic, swordplay, etc.)
Skill 1:Two Handed Weapons
Skill 2:Block
Skill 3:Wearing and using heavy armor properly