*In between gasps* I…got it…done…critique away! *Falls over*
Name: Zaskar
Race: Argonian
Family Origins: Born to two Naga parents, who died just before he was hatched, Zaskar was raised by a merchant caravan, consisting primarily of Khajiit, with a handful of other races (most notably, at least concerning Zaskar, a Wood Elf, and a Redguard).
Appearance: Zaskar looks like your typical Naga, for the most part. Black scales cover him from head to tail, he’s long limbed with an equally long tail, he stands at 8 ft exactly, and he has an unusually large amount of teeth in his head. However, his eyes look decidedly unnatural. They’re larger than normal, and devoid of color. You can still clearly see the pupil, but the difference in color between the iris and the rest of the eye is almost indiscernible. His head has no feathers or horns. It is a smooth surface of scales.
Age: 29
Equipment:
-A long bow, with notches down half its length, specially made to suit his size. As such, it is much larger than your average bow.
-A Dwemer sword.
-An Elven dagger
-Leather armor
-Dwemer arrows
Misc:
-5 minor health potions.
-5 minor mana potions.
Favored Skills:
Highly Proficient
-Archery: Always a knack for Zaskar, his natural talent was transformed into deadly skill under the tutelage of his teacher, Colas.
Moderately Proficient
-One-handed: Amar, a Cathay-raht, insisted that he learn to defend himself from any attackers who get to close.
-Sneak: On the opposite end of the spectrum, Shivani supported the idea of ‘they can’t kill you if they can’t find you’
-Alteration: Derik, a master in this class of magic, was only able to depart some of his knowledge to Zaskar before they were unable to continue lessons.
-Unarmed: Amar also advocated being able to kill an enemy without a weapon. Especially if you have claws and a large mouth full of sharp teeth.
Somewhat Proficient
-Destruction: He has managed to pick up a little of this magic here and there from spell books, but not much.
Background:
Zaskar’s parents were Naga banished from their tribe. They ran to Skyrim, and when they reached the land of the Nords, they joined up with a Khajiit caravan needing guards. When asked where they came from, and what they were, his parents answered readily enough. However, when asked as to why they left, they only gave the basics. Any details were evaded or bluntly ignored. Overtime, the rest of the caravan learned to not inquire about it. For the most part, they got along well with the rest, if they were a bit isolated and distant. About two years after this, the caravan was attacked by bandits while they were camping in a Hammerfell desert. Zaskar’s parents burst from their tent (which they had been spending an ever increasing amount of time in over the last several months) at the alarm and rushed to defend the caravan. They were successful, but at the cost of their lives. When the rest of the group went to check their tent and divide up everything inside of it (for they had left no one specific to give it all too, and were not close enough to anyone for a safe guess on who they would want to get it), they found an egg. Or rather, the remains of an egg. In the midst of the fighting, Zaskar had hatched.
After several minutes of deliberation, the caravan leaders decided they couldn’t just leave the hatchling alone in the desert. Since no one knew anything about how Argonians named their children, they named Zaskar as they would a Khajiit child. While the entire caravan, if they so desired, would participate in raising him, four main care takers were selected. Amar a Cathay-raht and a guard of the caravan, Shivani an Ohmes-raht and a scout for the caravan, Colas a Bosmer archer, and Derik a recently picked up Redguard Alteration master. For the next 20 years of his life, these people would guide and shape Zaskar. This was his childhood, wandering around with the caravan, seeing more places when he was five than most people see in their entire lives. He displayed magical talent early on (specifically when he nearly burned down Shivani’s tent with sparks from his fingers and when he briefly created a light above his head in the middle of the night), and Derik began teaching him almost immediately after that. His concept of home wasn’t a stationary building, but rather an ever moving train of wagons. As he grew steadily larger and became more proficient with weapons and magic, he began to take on more defensive duties in the caravan.By the time he was seventeen he had reached his full height and couldn’t effectively use any of the bows Colas had. Luckily for Zaskar, they were passing through Bosmer, and were able to have one specially made for him, the one he carries to this day.
The years that the Aura existed above the lands are remembered bitterly by Zaskar. For the most part, when the Civil War erupted in Skyrim, the caravan had avoided trouble. But there was no avoiding the Aura. Overtime, the caravan began to become more and more divided. Some people began worshiping the Emperor. While others, Zaskar included, remained free of his influence. The end result was inevitable. One too many hot words were exchanged over the Emperor, one night in a forest in Cyrodil. Weapons were drawn and used in anger, and the caravan collapsed. The fighting rapidly dwindled from two sides battling to a confused free for all. Zaskar remembers little of it, just a blur of snarling and screaming and blades crashing together. He is unsure if there were any survivors other than himself, but he does know that the people closest to him are dead. He took the Dwemer sword from Amar, the Khajiit’s pride and joy. It wasn’t far from where he had fallen, his shield finally succumbing to axe blows. From Shivani he took her elven dagger. She had tried to run and got stabbed through the back for her trouble. Colas was beheaded, and Derik was impaled upon a spear.
Gathering what supplies and arrows he could, he stumbled from the ruins of the caravan. He hadn’t known where he was going, but he knew he couldn’t stay among the dead. It hadn’t taken him long to reach a fort. It took him even less time to slip up and mention to the Imperial soldiers that had stopped him that he disliked the Emperor right at that moment. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, they hadn’t kill him. Rather, they threw him in a hole in the ground. Literally, it was a small cell with only a trap door opening. When they closed the door, it only left a small sliver of light shining through. Too make matters worse, there was a wizard among them who put an enchantment on him. It nullified all of his senses except sight. For the duration of his imprisonment in that cell, Zaskar couldn’t smell, hear, feel, or taste anything. Not even the meals they gave him regularly. He had been grateful for that. It hadn’t looked particularly appetizing.
Zaskar doesn’t know how long he remained in that pit. The meals came periodically, but he had no way to tell if they came once a day or three times a day. The passage of time was made even more meaningless by the fact that he couldn’t feel pain, and couldn’t see anything in his cell. Eventually, being driven slowly insane by the utter lack of, well, anything he began to doubt that he existed. This was all just a prolonged dream of someone or something. He decided that if he was given sight in this near pitch black, he could reaffirm his belief in his existence. So he tried to cast a temporary Alteration spell on his eyes. Just long enough to let him see in this darkness. He lost control of the spell, and what should have been temporary resulted in a permanent change in his eyesight. It alleviated his fears, but only for a short while (it seemed to him at least. After all, he had no way to tell time). Soon he began to doubt again. However, before he could turn to more drastic means, the door to his cell was thrown wide open. Luckily for Zaskar, it was nearly pitch black outside. The heroes had just stopped the Aura, and chaos was raging outside.
A mob had attacked the fort, seeking to strike back against the Emperor. They had made it in with some help from some traitorous troops in the fort, and they were currently freeing all the prisoners and killing anyone in an Imperial uniform. Zaskar crawled out, and picked up a blade. All around him, chaos had been happening in utter silence. Men battled and died, their sounds never reaching his ears. The spell had still been going, clinging to him like a disgusting parasite. Luckily for him, the wizard who had enchanted him was right in front of him, having retreated from the angry mob and tripped over one of his fellow soldier’s corpses. Zaskar didn’t hesitate. The first thing he felt when the spell ended were hot blood pouring down on his hand, the screaming of the wizard as he died, and the stench of blood. After finding where they had stashed his gear, Zaskar made his way out of the fort that night.
The next few years of his life were spent learning to deal with his new eyesight, and wandering, looking for a new purpose. He picked up bits and pieces Dwemer metal while wandering in their ruins. He always liked the ruins better, despite their danger. They were darker than the outside world, and hurt his eyes far less. What little metal he found he had melted down into arrow heads, and those turned into arrows. It was pure bad luck that found him in *insert name of Hammerfell city we’re in*when the Dwemer conquered it. It was the purpose they created for him that he stayed in the city. He helped the rebellion as best he could, using his unique abilities to their fullest.
Fighting style: Zaskar typically stays at a range, firing arrows at opponents. Even when he’s out of arrows, he prefers to avoid being noticed by the enemy, trying to sneak behind them to slip a sword between the weak points in their armor, or slit their throats. He typically uses his Alteration to protect himself from attacks, and his meager destruction skills only when he has little choice.
Personality: Due to being raised primarily among a caravan of Khajiit, Zaskar has halfway picked up their way of referring to themselves in the third person. Sometimes he’ll unconsciously say ‘this one’ or his own name when referring to himself in one instance, and then switch back to ‘I’ and ‘me’ in the next. Likewise, unless you’ve done something major to make him like you a lot, he won’t stick his neck out to save you. Sure, if an enemy was trying to bash your skull in from behind, he’d shout a warning and fire an arrow at said enemy, but if you were about to be shot at by a Dwemer firing squad, he’d stay out of the way, rather than tackling you to safety. Other than that, he’s a fairly friendly and laid back individual. Due to his long imprisonment in near total darkness, and his subsequent loss of a measure of sanity, Zaskar has come to believe that as long as he kills something, he exists. He doesn’t have to kill something every day, and can even go weeks without this reaffirmation of his existence, but the longer he goes without killing something to prove he exists, the less moral inhibitions he has on who or what he’ll kill to prove it. He is also a strong believer in the idea that ‘blood can only be repaid with blood’.
Misc. Details: Do to his screw up with the spell while imprisoned, he can see in almost complete darkness. If there’s a source of light, he can see pretty well in it. However, he’s blinded by anything brighter than the dull glow of glow mushrooms, and even those hurt his eyes. Because of his, he pretty much constantly has an Alteration spell over his eyes during the daytime(and when the moon is too bright), dimming the things he sees way down, so he isn’t blinded.