Hey all, I'm the newcomer to the RP! Had Dervish and Leidenschaft approve my CS which I've posted below. This will also be the last Altmer I play for quite awhile, far too much writing goes into writing the history.
Name: Valsiore Rhulion
Race: Altmer, High Elf of the Sunset Isles
Family Origins:
I was born on the beautiful sunset isles, the third child of a very wealthy couple in the upper echelons of society. However I’ve spent the majority of my life in the Empire. Appearance:
Valsiore has the light yellow skin and golden eyes of the High Elves, with a set of high cheekbones and stern eyebrows that give him almost a royal appearance. His hair hangs to his shoulders and he keeps a goatee grown to cover his chin and give him a ‘distinguished’ appearance. Although his race is long lived, wrinkles have begun to appear on his face, showing that even the Altmer cannot escape aging forever.
Age: 210
Equipment:
I’ve abandoned anything heavy. I’ve got to keep away from the Dwemer. Storm of Alinor – Staff of Sparks with six notches carved into the wood
Hooded Robes
Backpack
Iron dagger
Satchel
Secrets of Dwemer Animunculi Book
The Aetherium Wars Book
Chronicles of Nchuleft Book
Miscellanea: 3 Filled Black Soul Gems
1 Empty Black Soul Gem
2 Loaves of Bread
3 Strips of Dried Jerky
Wineskin full of Alto Wine
200 Septims
2 Potions of Stamina
2 Potions of ‘Magicka’
Favored Skills:
During my long life, I’ve dabbled in whatever the time required. Indeed, the only thing I can be renowned for is my hatred. But I assure you, it is all I need. Moderately Proficient: Destruction – Ten years of brutal warfare have taught Valsiore how to use his magics to kill.
Moderately Proficient: Alteration - Through a variety of instances, this Altmer has learned how to unlock chests, harden his skin, create light, and transmute ore to a more valuable piece.
Moderately Proficient: Conjuration – His studies in necromancy have given Valsiore the ability to temporarily raise corpses from the dead and trap souls of those who stand in his way.
Moderately Proficient: Illusion – Assisting a criminal enterprise gave Valsiore enough experience to fool the average individual with spells like Charm, Courage, and Fear.
Moderately Proficient: Enchantment! – Years of slow work on his staff allowed Valsiore to gain sufficient knowledge of the basics of enchanting. He can ‘recharge’ a weapon or armor and apply minor enchantments or even more powerful effects, provided he is given time.
Somewhat Proficient: Restoration – Working as an on the spot medic during The Great War has taught Valsiore how to heal a wound enough to keep someone alive so they can make it to an actual healer.
Somewhat Proficient: One Handed – During the Great War, there was the rare occasion when Valsiore was unable to cast anymore spells during a skirmish. He thought it best to figure out at least the right way to hold a blade.
Somewhat Proficient : Security – Working as an agent before the Great War taught Valsiore how to reseal simple letters and forge basic documents.
Background and a "brief" history:
My hatred is what keeps me warm. This is how the fire started
Valsiore was born into a noble house on the Summerset Isles, high ranking members of society who wielded vast wealth and prestige. His mother had fought as a battlemage in the Imperial Legion, his father was a member of the Crystal Tower, and his sister and brother both were promising mages, sure signs that the family legacy would continue.
Valsiore was just a babe when the Oblivion Crisis occurred. On the Summerset Isles, thanks to the knowledge of the scholars and their magics, the Altmer were able to keep the Daedra at bay for longer than most of the Empire’s other provinces. Unfortunately, the Daedra eventually broke through the defenses of the High Elves, and burnt the Crystal Tower, the seat of the government, to the ground.
Their hearts heavy and in a fit of bloodlust, the rulers of the Summerset Isles granted extreme powers to the radical political group known as the Thalmor. Valsiore’s father urged against it, citing fears that they’d be unwilling to relinquish them once the crisis was over.
Although Emperor Martin Septim had ended the Oblivion Crisis when he took the form of the Avatar of Akatosh, the Thalmor claimed that they had been the ones who had single handedly saved Summerset Isle. People flocked to their cause, screaming for secession from the Empire that had failed to protect them. Their political power started to grow at an alarming late, and those that were loyal to the Empire began to fear for their safety.
In E4 10, Thalmor agents assassinated Potentate Ocato, an Imperial battlemage and head of the Elder Council, the man that was holding all of Tamriel together. With no heir and no regent, the Empire began to fall into turmoil as men clamored for the throne. With Cyrodiil obsessed with finding a leader, the Thalmor were free to begin their takeover of the Summerset Isles.
It started with persecution. The elite of the High Elves that had been defiant of the Thalmor and their secessionist beliefs found themselves thrown from government and their businesses taken from them. Valsiore’s father managed to retain possession of his seat in the government through a bit of luck and political maneuvering, but when he began to publicly denounce the Thalmor, it became clear that he would be a threat.
Twelve years after the Thalmor had Potentate Ocato killed, the Thalmor finally managed to gain complete control of the High Elf government. A number of influential Altmer who had stood against the Thalmor politics were executed. Soldiers of this new government arrived at their homes and put the entire family to the sword, hanging their bodies in public places so that all would know what would happen to those that would seek to overthrow this new power.
Valsiore’s father was a wary man. Two years before the new government had been established; he had his youngest son sent across the water to Valenwood with his tutor, the mage Alsteris. Only twenty-two and still well supplied with his family’s money, Valsiore passed the time pursuing his studies, gambling, and chasing after pretty Wood Elf girls. He cared little for the political situations going on in his homeland, and the two years he spent in Valenwood before the death of his family are considered his most cherished memories.
When his family was executed for ‘treasonous actions’, Valsiore lost everything. He no longer had the sizable fortune of his family, and within a matter of days a handful of agents arrived, demanding that the Bosmer authorities hand him over. They refused, saying his was a citizen of the Empire and not bound by Thalmor laws. The agents left, but without money Valsiore and Alsteris were forced to seek shelter in the Imperial Embassy with a number of refugees.
Luckily, their time in the Embassy was short-lived. Because they could no longer rely on the money of Valsiore’s parents, Alsteris adjusted his pupil’s studies from ‘intellectual pursuits’ such as the nature of magic and mysticism to more practical applications. Valsiore stopped questioning how magic could change the world and instead began to learn how to enchant basic objects, capture souls of lesser beasts, and transmute minor metals into something more…valuable. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a semi-honest way to make a living, and the two elves managed to earn enough to have a comfortable enough life in Valenwood.
While the two worked though, the Empire was in the midst of a bloody civil war and was unable to put a stop the Thalmor’s growing strength. The Bosmer began to rally around the idea of Elvish supremacy, calling for union with the Summerset Isles (now the Independent Nation of Alinor) and the overthrowing of their ‘Imperial Masters’, who were too busy fighting themselves to actually worry about the rising secessionist tendencies in Valenwood. Eventually, the supporters rallied into militant groups and (with assistance of Thalmor armies) drove out the Imperial Legions and their Bosmer allies. Valenwood declared itself independent of the Empire and joined with Alinor to form the Third Aldmeri Dominion, an alliance of elves devoted to crushing the races of men.
They took everything from me.
With the militant groups having gained control of Valenwood, the borders became closed, as Alinor (and now the Dominion) wanted no contact with the Empire. Smugglers did border-runs, bringing people across the line and into Imperial territory, where they hoped they would be safe from the ‘witchhunts’ that were going on across the Dominion.
Having saved up a fair bit of coin, Alsteris and Valsiore managed to find a smuggler that was willing to bring them across the border, and into Cyrodiil. From there, they were able to book passage via carriage to the Imperial City. The new Dominion was growing in power, and they believed that only safe place that they could flee to was the very heart of the Empire.
Once in the Imperial City, Valsiore was granted admittance to the Arcane University, the center of magical study that had survived the collapse of the mage’s guild. As an Altmer, he was gifted a patience that surpassed that of men, and he spent his time studying and trying to forget the terrible events that made up their past.
Following the secession of Valenwood and the creation of the Third Aldmeri Dominion, there was a sudden peace between the Dominion and the Empire. The borders remained closed, but there were no military incursions or further secession. Rumors of rival factions and uprisings from within the Dominion had begun to leak across the borders, pointing to a possible overthrowing of the recently established nation.
Hoping that as a powerful mage and an ally to a once-great family, he could be of use to some of these factions Valsiore’s tutor, Alsteris, decided that he would return to Dominion territory. He left his charge in the Imperial City to continue his own studies in safety, while he personally smuggled himself back into the lands under the control of the Dominion.
Getting letters across the border and into Cyrodiil was not a simple matter. Alsteris sent word when he could, through a smuggler or traveler, but he never let on just where he was or what he was doing. All Valsiore could be sure was that his mentor was alive and attempting to bring the Dominion down from the inside. It kept the Altmer going through his studies, knowing that something was being done against the men and women who had taken his family from him.
Eventually, all messages stopped coming. It was said that the Thalmor had crushed all of the opposition to their rule within their own territories, and finally unified their conquests. The Dominion was stronger than ever, and Valsiore had lost the closest thing to family he had left.
I thought the darkness could be my ally, but in the end, it’s just you alone.
The disappearance of Alsteris sent the Altmer into a dark time. He grew tired of the Arcane University’s restrictions on certain schools of magic, saying that the Thalmor never had such beliefs. In a fit of rage, he left the University and started heading north. He crossed into Skyrim and made his way to the College of Winterhold, far away from the reach of the Dominion. But he wasn’t fleeing, or putting himself into a self-imposed exile.
The College of Winterhold was much less interested in the activities of its members. Provided they hurt no one, its students were free to study whatever they’d like. It was this freedom that drew Valsiore to its hallowed halls. He was accepted as a student, if only because they didn’t understand how deep his despair went.
The High Elf read up on some of the darkest forms of magic, intent on finding something that would grant him power. Whether he hoped to somehow bring the Aldmeri Dominion down alone, or simply hoped to gain enough power to somehow gather influence enough to point to the growing threat of the mer nation, it can’t be said. What is known is that he studied necromancy, believing that the power to raise the dead from their slumber would grant him strength the likes of which his mentor, a remarkably powerful wizard, had never had. Unfortunately, rage-driven studying of lesser approved arts does not automatically make one an all-powerful being. Valsiore was still but a High Elf, not capable of bringing the Dominion to its knees by himself.
During his studies of necromancy, Valsiore travelled across Skyrim. While he never openly said what he was searching for, there were rumors that he returned to his rooms at the College with abnormally large soul gems. Not the normal grand soul gem that any well-supplied enchanter stocks, but ones of a inky black color. The black soul gems of a necromancer.
Time passes quickly for those blessed with a long life. And the years that the High Elf spent in Winterhold eventually passed into a few decades. Learning the arts of necromancy and the basics of enchanting, the Altmer became a respectable, well-rounded mage. He missed the rising of Umbriel and the siege of the Imperial City, far too intent with his studies.
The walls of the College of Winterhold cannot contain one forever. Eventually, Valsiore was tired of the long hours of study and practicing his art a few miles away from the city. He left the hold, making his way across Skyrim. The locals were distrustful of magic, but he could pick up a few odd jobs here or there, enough to pay for a lodging through the night or for a bit of food.
I don’t like bullies who rule through force. If I can help it, they’ll all burn.
Eventually, Valsiore fell in with a band of criminals that was operating out of the city of Whiterun. Because of its proximity to Cyrodiil, the city was full of trade and commerce, making it the perfect base of smugglers and thieves. Having someone who could unlock a door with a wave of his hand can save you a lot of time when you’d normally have to pick the lock. His magics were invaluable to the group, particularly his knowledge of the spells in the college of Illusion. With the right spell he could turn a city guard into their best friend, or turn someone looking to shake them down into a pile of quivering piss.
The group gained a fair bit of wealth, but it’s amazingly difficult for any criminal group to operate for a long period of time. The city guards eventually closed in on the men and women, and threw over half the group in the cells under Dragonsreach. The remainder fled, some leaving Skyrim altogether. Valsiore and a select few others migrated towards Riften, the ‘other’ commercial capital of Skyrim.
As they had saved up a substantial amount of Septims, the handful of former smugglers were able to startup a small company. Whether it was legal or not isn’t quite clear, there was a fair bit of legitimate business going on, paying insurance for ships, loaning money, and similar things, but there was also bribes, smuggling, and the occasional threat to have Valsiore burn a defaulter to a crisp.
It should be said that the High Elf had ulterior motives for his criminal actions besides the accumulation of wealth. His studies at the University and the College had taught him that mages can gain substantial magical power, but very little political pull. Locking yourself away in a library was a terrible way to gather influence. What was effective were septims, and quite a bit of them. Altmer groups across the Empire were trying to raise awareness about the dangers of the Dominion. They were only a minority group, but coin could help them speak louder.
Because of the quasi-legal status of this new enterprise (and the firmer belief in paying off city officials), Valsiore and his ‘friends’ managed to stay afloat for a longer period of time. They weren’t necessarily rich and powerful, but they were a force in Riften. Unfortunately funding a group to be heard in the Imperial City was astronomically expensive, and the Altmer was starting to think the idea was a skooma pipe dream.
During the year of the void nights, when the twin moons of Tamriel disappeared, a new Jarl assumed control of the city. Jarl Hosgunn Crossed-Daggers was a man to be feared. He raised the taxes of the populace to unprecedented levels, and used his guards to break up any protests. A curfew was implemented, with anyone breaking it spending the night in the cells, and repeat offenders facing the headman’s axe.
Had his mentor still been alive, he would have recommended the two of them flee the city. But the Altmer had grown tired of running. After the first protests against the Jarl’s rule had been broken up with force by the guards, it was clear that the Hold was facing a tyrant. When those who were adamantly against the rule of the man fled underground to the Ratways, Valsiore went with them, bringing with him the majority of his gold.
Jarl Hosgunn had a long rule, over thirty two years, but it was not without its difficulties. People don’t like taxes that take the food from their tables, and they especially don’t like them when they’re used to build a sprawling hold for the Jarl and his ilk. Riften fell from a beautiful capital of commerce to an ugly town, and the populace began to starve and become disease ridden because of the lack of care from the Jarl.
Those in the Ratways spent their time smuggling those with coin outside the city, and then bringing weapons and material in. Valsiore was far from being a major player in this game, it was the warriors of the Hold and those of old families who played the largest part in arming and riling up the locals, but the Altmer did his part. He helped pay smugglers, paid for the weapons, and even had soul gems brought in so he could create minor enchantments to assist the Nords. No songs would be song about him, but there were lives that were saved because of the swords and axes he put in their hands.
In 4E 129, an uprising occurred. The locals who had languished under the iron fist of Jarl Hosgunn finally rose up. It was a short war, but it left much of Riften in ruins. Despite brutal fighting in the streets, in the end the Jarl and his followers were trapped in their wooden palace that had been paid for by the taxes of the oppressed.
They were burned alive when the people set fire to the palace.
Valsiore had built a nice little fortune in Riften. Enough money that he even considered trying to put away the thoughts of the Dominion and their crimes against him. With the rule of Hosgunn and his policies though, that thought ended. He spent almost every septim in helping the Nords keep the rebellion armed and fed. He had almost nothing left to his name. All he had was the knowledge he had helped overthrow a bastard who ruled through force.
And if he could do it once, he could very well do it again.
Spying isn’t a glamorous life. It’s mostly waiting and going through a series of complicated steps just to pass a message.
During his time in Riften’s Ratways, there had been another occurrence between the Empire and the Dominion. The Voidnights had frightened the Khajiits, whose culture placed great importance on the movements of the moons. When the moons returned, the Aldmeri claimed responsibility for it, and convinced two of the Khajiit kingdoms to secede from the Empire and join them.
The loss of even more territory to the elves had angered the Empire. Whereas during the loss of Valenwood the Empire was in the midst of a bloody interregnum over who would be the new Emperor, now they were united once more. Groups of Bosmer and Altmer were given more consideration on the dangers of the Dominion, and more Blades agents were dispatched to spy in the Dominion.
During the thirty-eight years before the Great War, Valsiore was busy. As the survivor of one of the most powerful houses in the Summerset Isles, he had intimate knowledge of much of the High Elf society. He traveled back to the Imperial City, and then to Hammerfell, where he was part of an Altmer group meant to instruct Blades agents about the ways of the High Elves. There wasn’t much action involved, but he was an important piece in establishing a spy network that was meant to crisscross the nation of Alinor.
It wasn’t all fancy clothes and attractive women with oddly suggestive names though. A lot of the work was exceptionally boring, no matter how vital it was. There were months were Valsiore simply waited in a hovel not far from the border to Valenwood, expecting a word from an agent that could come at any time. Communication across the borders was a difficult affair, and weeks could pass before someone found a trustworthy person to carry word. Luckily, he had a long life, and the waiting didn’t drive him mad or force him to go courier.
In 4E 171, a Thalmor ambassador arrived in the Imperial City with a gift. He demanded the Empire abandon its worship of Talos, disband the Blades, and turn over a large portion of Hammerfell to the Dominion. When the Emperor refused, the Elf presented the gift. Over a hundred heads of the Blades who had formed the Valenwood and Summerset Isle spy network.
The Great War had begun.
Ten years. Ten years of war. And even then my thirst for blood wasn’t quenched.
While his time before the Great War had been long decades of slow activity, the Great War gave Valsiore a lifetime of activity in only a few years. The Dominion invaded Cyrodiil almost immediately, giving the Empire little chance to move its Legions into appropriate defensive positions. They needed time to get their soldiers ready, so bands of Imperial faithful were formed to harass the army that had moved into Cyrodiil through Elsweyr. As a mage, Valsiore was welcomed into the group, although his loyalty was questioned because of his race.
Although Leyawiin fell almost immediately because of its proximity to Dominion camps in Elsweyr, the guerilla groups were able to harass the army as it marched to Bravil. Using hit and run tactics, they managed to slow the march, but they weren’t able to stop the Dominion forces from besieging Bravil before forces of the Imperial Legion could arrive. The city fell, and all of Southern Cyrodiil was in the hands of the Dominion.
There was talk of staying in the Dominion controlled territory and harassing the supply lines of the Empire. Make it difficult for the elves to even stay in Cyrodiil, bleeding them dry in the very territories they thought they were done with. At first, Valsiore backed this idea, but when a second army from Valenwood marched through the border, they decided to head to the west. They had already lost southern Cyrodiil, they refused to let Kvatch and Anvil fall into the hands of the mer bastards as well.
Surprisingly, the Aldmeri army had no interest in the cities. They cut through Cyrodiil and arrived in Hammerfell, forming up with an army that was already present in order to face the Redguard and Legion forces present in the province. Valsiore and the guerrilla group he fought with stayed in Cyrodiil, as there was still an Altmer force in the province, and that meant the Imperial City was in danger. The Redguards were notoriously brilliant fighters, and they would have to handle themselves.
The group returned to their original plan to harass soldiers in conquered territory. They burned supply wagons, executed patrols, and caused problems in the cities that were conquered by the elf forces. For the most part, they were successful in harassing the Dominion. The Imperial City stood tall while the war waged in Hammerfell.
Despite gains in Hammerfell, the Aldmeri forces were fought to a standstill. They defeated many of the Legion forces present and conquered most of the coast, but were too weak to continue their advance. In a bid to end the war, the high command of the Dominion refocused their efforts to conquer Cyrodiil. This time, their armies managed to conquer the capital, and sacked it ruthlessly.
Fleeing alongside refugees, Valsiore and the survivors of the guerilla group enlisted in Emperor Mede’s army, which was marching south to retake the Imperial City. While two other armies held the Dominion forces at bay, the Emperor marched into the capital in the Battle of the Red Ring. Trapped in the city with no way to flee, every Thalmor soldier was put to the sword. Their army had been annihilated, and some, like Valsiore, saw this as proof the tables had been turned and the Empire could win the war.
Unfortunately for these optimists, the Emperor ended the war. Signing the White-Gold Concordat, Emperor Mede agreed to almost the exact same terms that he had been given during the ultimatum. Valsiore was furious. The Dominion stood stronger than ever while the Empire had been substantially weakened.
Hammerfell rejected the peace treaty, and in an attempt to preserve the peace, the Emperor renounced the province. The Redguards, without Legion support, continued their fight against the Aldmeri Dominion.
Furious at the Empire, Valsiore and others dismayed at the Emperors decision rode out of Cyrodiil so they could fight alongside the forces. It wasn’t a walk in the park to get the humans to accept a High Elf in their ranks, but without Imperial backing, the forces of Hammerfell needed all the help they could get.
During this fighting, Valsiore reached perhaps his darkest point. He was angry at the Empire, which now stood weaker than ever before. His only outlet was fighting the Thalmor, for whom he still harbored a brutal hatred. Since he was an Altmer and thus had a cultural knowledge of the Thalmor (more than say, a human) he was allowed to work with the interrogators in order to pry information out of the captured soldiers.
Valsiore made a deal with the men he worked with, he would happily help pry the information out, but only if, when he demanded, he was allowed to ‘deal’ with the prisoner. On very rare occasions, when a ranking wizard of the Dominion was captured and imprisoned, the interrogators would finish their duty, and leave the two Altmer alone. When they returned, the wizard would be dead and Valsiore’s rage would subside. For a time at least.
They never thought to check his bag for a filled black soul gem.
It was another five years of hard fighting, but the Redguards were victorious. Signing a separate peace treaty with Hammerfell, the Dominion was forced to give up all of its gains in the country. It was proof to Valsiore that had the Empire continued the fight, they could have crushed the Thalmor. For if the Dominion focusing solely on Hammerfell could be defeated, how could they have hoped to continue the fight against the entire Empire?
The souls speak to me from the black. They ask me if I regret it. I. Do. Not.
Angered at the Empire’s refusal to continue the fight, and at the end of the hostilities in Hammerfell, Valsiore went into a form of seclusion. He returned to the College of Winterhold, which was now a hated landmark in Skyrim, as it was blamed for the collapse of the city of Winterhold. The passage wasn’t easy, as the memory of the war was still fresh in the minds of the Nords. They hated him because he was an elf, and distrusted him because he was a mage.
Despite the ten years of fighting, Valsiore’s hatred of the Thalmor wasn’t extinguished. The whispers from his black soul gems haunted him, reminded him of the nation that still stood strong.
To help ease his mind, Valsiore began work on crafting a staff. It took time, hunting down the appropriate and ensuring he had the proper knowledge, but it occupied him. Years passed as he studied enchanting, working on minor projects for the local Nords to help hone his skills. The Empire was reeling from the war, and dislike of the Altmer, even those who were Imperials, was at an all-time high. He had little reason to leave the comforts of the College.
Using one of the black soul gems containing the soul of a Thalmor wizard, Valsiore finally finished his staff. It had taken years of meticulously crafting to create it, for he had worked slowly, less he ruin it and be forced to start from scratch. It was far from being a masterpiece, for he wasn’t a brilliant enchanter, but it would serve his purpose. With a dagger, he carved six notches into the wood, just where he would hold it. He had a local who was skilled in woodcarving carve the name “Storm of Alinor” into the staff.
You would trust in the strength of your sword arm to stop these Dwarves?
When the civil war broke out in Skyrim, Valsiore figured he was safe within the walls of the College of Winterhold. The city was but a shadow of its former self, and neither the Stormclocks nor Imperials had any real use for it. No trade flowed through it, and it wasn’t as if the mages there were loyal to anyone’s cause.
Safe from the whims of the Imperials and Stormcloaks, the mages continued their studies in the halls of the College. A fair portion dropped their personal projects and set about studying the dragons that were now ravaging Skyrim. The beasts hadn’t been seen in thousands of year, and they weren’t about to let this new opportunity go to waste. Valsiore was with the best of them, hunting down odd references in books and examining the bones of freshly killed dragons (courtesy of the Dragonborn).
When an expedition of the College discovered the fabled Eye of Magnus in the ruins of the ancient Nordic city of Saarthal, Valsiore jumped the dragon ship and started investigating the Eye. It was the most social he had been in years. The Eye was, in short, a fountain of limitless magical energy. For some, that meant the College of Winterhold could be restored to its former glory, while others thought of the possibilities of siphoning magical energy, the races of Tamriel could create technology not seen since the Dwarves. There was even a camp that discussed utilizing it as a weapon, and the High Elf was a part of it.
In the end, because of the sheer power of the Eye, they resolved to keep it safely locked away. Well, floating in the main chamber of the College at least. They would continue to study it, but would make no moves to harness its energy. The sheer amount of magicka stored within the Eye was frightening, and many considered it best if it remained untapped.
Tired of the political bickering that he had been a part of, Valsiore resolved to leave Skyrim. The roads had finally become safe enough to travel with the Dragon Crisis and civil war having ended, so he was able to find a wagon heading south. He decided to return to the Imperial City, to the Arcane University which, even after all these years, had remained the center of magical learning in Tamriel.
As he resumed his studies in the Imperial City, Valsiore was coming to the conclusion that he was getting old. Over two hundred now, he had spent two thirds of his life crossing Tamriel and trying to find ways to undermine his former homeland. And so much of his life had revolved around being consumed with the Thalmor and their atrocities. He should be thankful, he lived in the greatest Empire the world had ever seen. They had entered a time of peace, and ever since the auroras had remained in the skies, internal strife was a thing of the past. Everything was fine, what was the point of being so consumed with hatred of the Dom-
What in Oblivion?
When the spell that had enchanted all of the Empire was finally broken, Valsiore was conflicted. On one hand, he decidedly was not happy with his mind having been controlled by someone, particularly a human. On the other, the spell would have reunited the Empire, and possibly even caused the fall of the Dominion. It’s a difficult choice, choosing between hatred and freedom.
Luckily, Valsiore did not have much time to dwell on the issue. Not long after the breaking of the spell, the Dwemer returned from their ancient slumber. Garbed in their golden armor and wielding their unmatched technology, the Dwemer warmachine broke the Imperial Legions’ lines time and again. The forces of the Empire in Skyrim were swept aside in no time at all.
While the Imperial City’s forces prepared itself for a siege, Valsiore removed a handful of books from the Mythic Archives and quickly fled the city. The Dwemer had crafted technology that was still running thousands of years after they disappeared and after hundreds of scavengers had picked them apart. They had removed their collective consciousness from Mundus with their knowledge. The forces of men had little chance in open war. It would take brains to win this war. Brains and courage. And luck. A very large dose of luck.
Fighting Style:
Nords in front of me, if you’d please. Valsiore is a versatile mage on the battlefield. He can throw fireballs if he has the vantage point, strength the soldiers with Illusion magics if the line begins to falter, and raise the dead to fight once more. Unfortunately he only wears simple cloth robes and isn’t particularly fast, so he has to stay far away from anyone wielding something worse than a sharp pointy stick.
Personality:
Guerrilla fighting, dark magics, and a cold war have all taught me one thing. You should never forget your manners. Although he is far from being the well-spoken gentleman of High Elven society he once was, Valsiore makes a point to be as polite as possible, as it’s what separates him from the rabble. 210 years crisscrossing half of Tamriel has made him a bit world-weary, especially when he has seen the greatest power in Tamriel fall from grace. That said, he still has a fire burning in his heart against the Thalmor, and he remains a ferocious force when it comes to those he regards as enemies.
