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[OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion - Crimson Skies Page 8
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MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
Member
Seen
20 hrs ago
@MacabreFox
OMG YES ALWAYS FOR YOU <3
Awesome :D! I'm thinking of a Stealth Mage, what do you think? Would that fit in well here?
Or rather, what do you need to round out the group?
GM
MiddleEarthRoze The Ultimate Pupper
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
@MacabreFox
I'm not really bothered about rounding up the group, just to keep it as realistic as possible - chance has thrown everyone together, after all. As it happens though, we don't have much in the way of stealth, so a stealth mage would be great!
I'm not really bothered about rounding up the group, just to keep it as realistic as possible - chance has thrown everyone together, after all. As it happens though, we don't have much in the way of stealth, so a stealth mage would be great!
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MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
Member
Seen
20 hrs ago
@MacabreFox
I'm not really bothered about rounding up the group, just to keep it as realistic as possible - chance has thrown everyone together, after all. As it happens though, we don't have much in the way of stealth, so a stealth mage would be great!
Perfect :D I'll start working on something, I should have it finished by Saturday at the latest.
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
With 10 characters, should I even entertain the idea of tweaking Francis the Grumpy Breton Duelist and his stalwart companion, the very-cautious-and-definitely-not-cowardly Renart the Crossbowman for this RP?
GM
MiddleEarthRoze The Ultimate Pupper
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
@Leidenschaft
Definitely entertain the idea. In fact, I'd say you should go as far as making the characters! XD glad to have you on board.
Definitely entertain the idea. In fact, I'd say you should go as far as making the characters! XD glad to have you on board.
Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
Character Name:
Age:
Race:
Sex:
Birthsign:
Specialisation:
Class:
Skills:
Appearance:
Personality:
Backstory:
Spells:
Inventory:
Renart
Age:
33
Race:
Breton
Sex:
Male
Birthsign:
The Lover
Specialisation:
Combat
Class:
Pilgrim - “Hearty folk, (not really) well-versed in the tomes of old. They profit in life by bartering in the market, or by persuading the weak-minded.”
Skills:
- Expert Skill (Marksman)
Journeyman Skills (Mercantile, Spech, Blunt)
Apprentice Skills (Light Armor, Block, One-Handed)
Crafting Skills (Fletching)
Appearance:
Renart has a good face for getting out of trouble and a good face for ending it before it starts. It is somewhat commanding, framed by a blond beard whose mustache does not connect with it. An easygoing smile almost always graces his lips and he chews on something, whether it is a toothpick or a shoot of grain. His body holds the telltale signs of manual labor, but not too much of it if he can help it, broad in the shoulders and thick in the limbs. He holds a quiet sense of confidence about him though he is a lackadaisical man. Even so, he tries to appear less than he is to avoid being noticed- either by undesirable individuals or those looking for him to volunteer for something.
Personality:
Renart is good with words and was always good at keeping a poker-face. He was content with his lot in life, consisting of whiling away the days playing cards and going out on the town. He did his fair share of lying and cheating and it has gotten him into his fair share of trouble. He has a knack for gambling, but when one gambles, they may win but it is a rule that you lose sometimes. With better men, they lined their troubles up and knocked them down one at a time with a vigorous rubbing of palms to get ready for the honest work.
His method was to stay as under the waves as he could so as not to accrue any kind of troubles. Speaking of hard, honest work, he tries not to mess with the stuff. Better to have a boring day and get paid for it than end up bleeding for a handful of coin. After all, what good is gold if you aren't alive to spend it? Renart is a man who is a steadfast friend of the weak if they can pay, a righteous defender if he thinks he can live to see the end of the ordeal, and a loyal companion if it isn't too hard to be. A man with ideals higher than he's willing to reach for, the only time he'll leap to action is if he's badgered about it enough, drunk enough or if it lies in the way of him seeing a lax tomorrow filled with drink, merriment and women.
His method was to stay as under the waves as he could so as not to accrue any kind of troubles. Speaking of hard, honest work, he tries not to mess with the stuff. Better to have a boring day and get paid for it than end up bleeding for a handful of coin. After all, what good is gold if you aren't alive to spend it? Renart is a man who is a steadfast friend of the weak if they can pay, a righteous defender if he thinks he can live to see the end of the ordeal, and a loyal companion if it isn't too hard to be. A man with ideals higher than he's willing to reach for, the only time he'll leap to action is if he's badgered about it enough, drunk enough or if it lies in the way of him seeing a lax tomorrow filled with drink, merriment and women.
Backstory:
Renart grew up in Anvil to a merchant family with holdings as far away as Pelletine and Hammerfell. Appropriately for a merchant's son, he was given lessons in being a gentleman and a trader. His lessons were in navigation, logistics, mercantile, economics and the gentlemanly arts of marksmanship and fencing. He surrounded himself with people of his like, as if his parents would let him be in the presence of scoundrels. His life was a leisurely one, whiling away the days playing cards and other such things and spending his nights on the town.
It was a life of hum-drum leisure and decadence. He thought nothing of it, knowing that his father did tend to meet with some less-than-reputable looking characters at times, but he brushed it off as the intricacies of mercantilism and went on his merry way. All was well, until the town guard barged into their home one night and hauled his father off to jail. This, of course, struck a mighty blow to the de Perceval merchant family. Not as hard a blow as would be struck by the revelation of his father's crimes.
It turned out that Guy de Perceval was engaged in smuggling not only stolen objects and poached skins and meats, but also illicit substances. Moon Sugar and Skooma was what lined the de Perceval manor's vaults with money and it would be enough to topple the de Perceval name knowing that the money was tracked back to the Renrijra Krin. Renart's mother took her own life and Renart, being an only child, was left destitute. None of his friends would take him in knowing the stock he was bred from and the manner in which his family made their money.
He hung his head low and enlisted in the Imperial Legion, desperate for a new start somewhere far away from Anvil. He endured the two months of training it took to become a Legionnaire of the Empire and was sent off to Fort Satternus, named after some hero of the Legion that did... something. His lessons of the Legion's history had gone in one ear and out the other. Legion life went by much the same, if not a little more boring and regimented than that of his former civilian life.
It was one day that he had the idea of playing others for something more than fun. Soon, he was playing cards for a fellow Legionnaire's extra boots, or his leftover rations. People would come to him because while he may have charged more than the Fort's Quartermaster, his product was premium, some of his stock won from the outside world from traders come to Bruma with foreign and well-made wares whenever his unit got their leave.
His days of easy sailing as a Munifex in the good Legion's Cavalry Scouts of the Fifth Legion would come to an end when the annual wargames reared their head in his unit's direction. He managed to capture a camp and seize the supplies of the opposing team and ambush a sizeable contingent marching along the roads. A decisive victory, owed to Munifex Renart and his detachment. He was promoted to Decanus and was second-in-command of his Contubernium under his best friend Quaestor Maricus. Ten men, all having to listen to his say-so. At least while Maricus was away.
Another year went by and it was time for yearly raises. Camp Praefect Miribella, a pretty thing from Skingrad and a woman who appreciated a good pair of Colovian leather boots and Honningbrew Import won from a trader from Falkreath had a few good words to put in for Decanus Renart. He was promoted to Quaestor and put in charge of a different Contubernium, ill-fatedly stationed in Fort Leonhart, a small forward post in High Rock. It was a curse, as war started in High Rock after a bout of political hijinks. The 5th Legion did what they apparently always did; sat tight and didn't meddle in the war unless it was absolutely needed. Things like this happen all the time in High Rock, he was told, and he didn't know if he felt reassured at the calmness of his fellow soldiers or disturbed at the fact these Bretons had such a habit for warring and scheming.
It was on a routine patrol that he and the soldiers under him were caught in a raid on a village, where he would meet his peculiar traveling companion, a man named Engel. They were branded enemies, their Imperial uniforms nothing of a deterrent to aggression. He helped the villagers as well as he could, even earning a victory after half his contubernium and many of the villagers were killed in the battle. Though bloodied and beaten, he was thanked by the villagers and sent off with gifts and goodwill. He did not feel like a hero, as some called him. He felt like a commander who'd done the worst he could've done for the men under his command. And for all his doubts, regrets, and anger he was commended. Given a medal for his bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, he looked at it as something to be disgusted at.
Life in the Legion went on and soon it was time for promotions. Quaestor Renart was bumped up to Praefect Renart, something they said was long due for a man of his actions and mettle. He'd since been doing his best to get past those events in the village, but when he heard that it was burned down some time after he and his contubernium had left, he petitioned the Legate to bring the Empire's justice on whichever nobleman had ordered the sacking of the village. Nothing came of it, the lives lost- the legion lives lost too- were out of their control. It was 'the hazards of working in a Province as turbulent as High Rock.'
He retired shortly after his pending appointment to Praefect had been pushed through. He bid his men farewell after those years of service and wandered looking for any work, selling the odd thing he picks up while playing cards and trading when he can. He met his old acquaintance, Engel, not that long after his retirement and the two began to travel together. After some time of wandering, he came to Kvatch when he heard that he could earn a large sum of money for betting on the fights there. Then, well, things happened.
It was a life of hum-drum leisure and decadence. He thought nothing of it, knowing that his father did tend to meet with some less-than-reputable looking characters at times, but he brushed it off as the intricacies of mercantilism and went on his merry way. All was well, until the town guard barged into their home one night and hauled his father off to jail. This, of course, struck a mighty blow to the de Perceval merchant family. Not as hard a blow as would be struck by the revelation of his father's crimes.
It turned out that Guy de Perceval was engaged in smuggling not only stolen objects and poached skins and meats, but also illicit substances. Moon Sugar and Skooma was what lined the de Perceval manor's vaults with money and it would be enough to topple the de Perceval name knowing that the money was tracked back to the Renrijra Krin. Renart's mother took her own life and Renart, being an only child, was left destitute. None of his friends would take him in knowing the stock he was bred from and the manner in which his family made their money.
He hung his head low and enlisted in the Imperial Legion, desperate for a new start somewhere far away from Anvil. He endured the two months of training it took to become a Legionnaire of the Empire and was sent off to Fort Satternus, named after some hero of the Legion that did... something. His lessons of the Legion's history had gone in one ear and out the other. Legion life went by much the same, if not a little more boring and regimented than that of his former civilian life.
It was one day that he had the idea of playing others for something more than fun. Soon, he was playing cards for a fellow Legionnaire's extra boots, or his leftover rations. People would come to him because while he may have charged more than the Fort's Quartermaster, his product was premium, some of his stock won from the outside world from traders come to Bruma with foreign and well-made wares whenever his unit got their leave.
His days of easy sailing as a Munifex in the good Legion's Cavalry Scouts of the Fifth Legion would come to an end when the annual wargames reared their head in his unit's direction. He managed to capture a camp and seize the supplies of the opposing team and ambush a sizeable contingent marching along the roads. A decisive victory, owed to Munifex Renart and his detachment. He was promoted to Decanus and was second-in-command of his Contubernium under his best friend Quaestor Maricus. Ten men, all having to listen to his say-so. At least while Maricus was away.
Another year went by and it was time for yearly raises. Camp Praefect Miribella, a pretty thing from Skingrad and a woman who appreciated a good pair of Colovian leather boots and Honningbrew Import won from a trader from Falkreath had a few good words to put in for Decanus Renart. He was promoted to Quaestor and put in charge of a different Contubernium, ill-fatedly stationed in Fort Leonhart, a small forward post in High Rock. It was a curse, as war started in High Rock after a bout of political hijinks. The 5th Legion did what they apparently always did; sat tight and didn't meddle in the war unless it was absolutely needed. Things like this happen all the time in High Rock, he was told, and he didn't know if he felt reassured at the calmness of his fellow soldiers or disturbed at the fact these Bretons had such a habit for warring and scheming.
It was on a routine patrol that he and the soldiers under him were caught in a raid on a village, where he would meet his peculiar traveling companion, a man named Engel. They were branded enemies, their Imperial uniforms nothing of a deterrent to aggression. He helped the villagers as well as he could, even earning a victory after half his contubernium and many of the villagers were killed in the battle. Though bloodied and beaten, he was thanked by the villagers and sent off with gifts and goodwill. He did not feel like a hero, as some called him. He felt like a commander who'd done the worst he could've done for the men under his command. And for all his doubts, regrets, and anger he was commended. Given a medal for his bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, he looked at it as something to be disgusted at.
Life in the Legion went on and soon it was time for promotions. Quaestor Renart was bumped up to Praefect Renart, something they said was long due for a man of his actions and mettle. He'd since been doing his best to get past those events in the village, but when he heard that it was burned down some time after he and his contubernium had left, he petitioned the Legate to bring the Empire's justice on whichever nobleman had ordered the sacking of the village. Nothing came of it, the lives lost- the legion lives lost too- were out of their control. It was 'the hazards of working in a Province as turbulent as High Rock.'
He retired shortly after his pending appointment to Praefect had been pushed through. He bid his men farewell after those years of service and wandered looking for any work, selling the odd thing he picks up while playing cards and trading when he can. He met his old acquaintance, Engel, not that long after his retirement and the two began to travel together. After some time of wandering, he came to Kvatch when he heard that he could earn a large sum of money for betting on the fights there. Then, well, things happened.
Spells:
None
Inventory:
Cash: 27 septims
Keys and Lockpicks: None
Tools and Crafting Materials: Extra heads for his bolts, extra shafts, feathers for cutting flights and a knife for trimming flights. A small iron mold for making melting down scavenged metal from the battlefield and making new heads for his bolts.
Clothing and Armor: Clad in a thick green gambeson, and thick black hose descending into a pair of brown Colovian leather boots that look to be of fine make, leather gloves tucked into his swordbelt if not on his hands. He is kept warm by a red cloak and his fine leather gloves are lined with fur on the inside. Atop his head is a simple traveler's hood. He keeps a steel cuirass and a steel skullcap helm with a hinged noseguard packed away in his bags with the arming cap that goes under it.
Weapon and Ammunition: His crossbow was one he won off of a mercenary from Morrowind, a thing of custom make with a stock for extra stability when aiming and a crank that makes the rearming of the string and the reloading process roughly six seconds.
20 bolts for his crossbow
A steel hammer with a pick on the opposite side and a steel buckler
A broad-in-breadth, thick-bladed cleaving knife at the small of his back, blade a foot in length
Potion and Arcane Supplies:
Jewelry, Valuables and Personal Belongings: He stole the standard of the 5th Legion Mounted Scouts Cohort he was gifted during the short time he was a Praefect. He also has his medals tucked away in his baggage.
Books and Documents: His papers listing his commendations, notes of promotion and his discharge papers.
Food, Drinks and Ingredients: On cart: Three bottles of Colovian Whiskey, three bottles of ale,
On horse: A bundle of cured sausages as well as a heel of bread, two fresh apples, and a bottle of mead.
Load Bearing Equipment: A horse and a cart, the horse is for riding, the cart is for carrying his meager supply of wares.
Other: On Cart: Two pairs of Colovian leather boots, seven silk shirts claimed to be from Elsweyr but are really from High Rock, two swords in the Hammerfell style made from steel, a steel sword claimed to be skyforge steel but is really a cheaply made replica.
Keys and Lockpicks: None
Tools and Crafting Materials: Extra heads for his bolts, extra shafts, feathers for cutting flights and a knife for trimming flights. A small iron mold for making melting down scavenged metal from the battlefield and making new heads for his bolts.
Clothing and Armor: Clad in a thick green gambeson, and thick black hose descending into a pair of brown Colovian leather boots that look to be of fine make, leather gloves tucked into his swordbelt if not on his hands. He is kept warm by a red cloak and his fine leather gloves are lined with fur on the inside. Atop his head is a simple traveler's hood. He keeps a steel cuirass and a steel skullcap helm with a hinged noseguard packed away in his bags with the arming cap that goes under it.
Weapon and Ammunition: His crossbow was one he won off of a mercenary from Morrowind, a thing of custom make with a stock for extra stability when aiming and a crank that makes the rearming of the string and the reloading process roughly six seconds.
20 bolts for his crossbow
A steel hammer with a pick on the opposite side and a steel buckler
A broad-in-breadth, thick-bladed cleaving knife at the small of his back, blade a foot in length
Potion and Arcane Supplies:
Jewelry, Valuables and Personal Belongings: He stole the standard of the 5th Legion Mounted Scouts Cohort he was gifted during the short time he was a Praefect. He also has his medals tucked away in his baggage.
Books and Documents: His papers listing his commendations, notes of promotion and his discharge papers.
Food, Drinks and Ingredients: On cart: Three bottles of Colovian Whiskey, three bottles of ale,
On horse: A bundle of cured sausages as well as a heel of bread, two fresh apples, and a bottle of mead.
Load Bearing Equipment: A horse and a cart, the horse is for riding, the cart is for carrying his meager supply of wares.
Other: On Cart: Two pairs of Colovian leather boots, seven silk shirts claimed to be from Elsweyr but are really from High Rock, two swords in the Hammerfell style made from steel, a steel sword claimed to be skyforge steel but is really a cheaply made replica.
Character Name:
Age:
Race:
Sex:
Birthsign:
Specialisation:
Class:
Skills:
Appearance:
Personality:
Backstory:
Spells:
Inventory:
Engel the Carver
Age:
30
Race:
Breton
Sex:
Male
Birthsign:
Warrior
Specialisation:
Combat
Class:
Warrior - “Unafraid of light weaponry, they plow into the fray with little regard for injury. Masters of all melee tools, they put little faith in the magical arts.”
Skills:
- Expert Skill (Blunt)
Journeyman Skills (Marksman, Sneak, One-Handed)
Apprentice Skills (Light Armor, Two-Handed, Hand-to-Hand)
Appearance:
Engel was not a small child, nor was he blessed with height. The same can be said of Engel the man. He is not tall but tall enough, he boasts no astounding bulk, but his body is hardened by toil of the land. Callused hands, thick fingers, nails bitten and dirty. He is not beautiful nor is he ugly. A pair of sad blue eyes are often affixed on some point that is nowhere near, as if remembering something long past and fretful.
Personality:
Engel is a gentle man, a meek and quiet one, who shares his kindness freely with others. He is a good friend, a loyal man and a steady companion. Underneath, he is a spring coiled back in wait for trouble. He yearns to meet each challenge with the violence born into him. He has the mind of a wolf and the soul of a lamb, the clashing of the two making his days on Nirn a storm. He feels right among blood, the struggle between two opposing forces where only one may prevail rages in him. When the fight is done and he sees the truth of what he's wrought, he seeks guidance and forgiveness on his knees with clasped hands before the Gods.
Backstory:
At the age of ten, Engel took a rock and smashed it against Albren's head. Two boys had tried to pin Engel's runt of a brother- Robben- against the Old Tree while Albren took a sharp stick and jabbed it at his stomach. They both ran away, one getting up clutching his nose, the other spitting blood. Albren lay on his back, staring up at the blue sky. He begged his brother not to tell of what he'd done but it was no use. Children are bad liars, as they've yet to learn that too much honesty is like too much poppy-milk.
The children stayed away from him- all of them except his brother- whispering 'killer' at his back. Even after he was washed of his sins and the anger of the act in the river, the names followed him for the rest of his days on. He'd felt different after that, because even as he'd looked the priest in the eye and repented his anger, it tasted of lies. There was no anger, just the thrill of it. Even so, Engel would fight no more and did not trouble himself with the petty things life in the village offered him, even if it was not in his nature to do so.
The smoke of the nobles' quarrels blackened the sky often during the summers and each night he would look out at the stars and wonder what it must be to take up sword and shield and fight. Not for a cause, not to place this lord or that on a chair. But just to test himself against the challenge of life balanced on a sharp edge. There was something in him, something sharp, that pushed him to meet each challenge with the violence written through him. Not the anger of a drunk or the scorn of a lover, but just a thing as natural as breathing.
He'd told this to his brother on the night he'd packed his things and set off to join any army marching for any cause on his fourteenth name-day. Robben just assured him that it'd pass and he believed him, though it tore at him all that night that he hadn't left. The summers went past and like the seasons, Engel changed. He grew with the wheat, tall enough and hard enough from working the land with his father. His brother was still thin and short, though he'd grown too. Engel had almost settled into the life a farmer, the urge to run off and join in the wars diminished little by little each year. It was soon enough that he found a girl, Sybille.
Engel and Sybille married in the village church. Engel built his own farmstead, planted his own fields and even had his own two sons and a daughter delivered into his own hands, rough and wrong as it felt, it too felt good. He'd found a sort of peace in the arms of his wife and his children wrapped up in his own. Soon, there came days when old pains were stirred again by war. His father's crops were burned on the first week of summer. They found him hanged and Engel did not want to think about what they would've done to his mother had she still been alive after the Rockjoint. His wife and children were the only things that kept him firmly in his stead, and also his brother who had arrived on his doorstep, still alive.
He did not know if the bandits that came to his home dressed as the Lord's men were the same that came to his father's, but they'd tried to do the same to his home. He met them at the fringes of his land with some legionnaires under the command of a man named Renart- whose friendship would become invaluable to him, more than the man knows- offered the bandits a share of his crops, offered some of his sheep, and even when that did not work- remembering the words of the priests- he offered them the whole of his livestock if they would leave in peace. But some men only want to burn because they can. He gave them every chance, but when they would not take them, he killed their two messengers swiftly. He was too late though, his house had been burned with his family inside.
The battle raged on for an hour that felt like ten. When he was coated in the blood of a dozen men, he lay down. His vengeance was had. His purpose as a father was unfulfilled and could never be done now. His purpose as a defender of his village was done. He had nothing now, until the bandits came again. His village was burned, his fellows slaughtered and he left in shame while they were busy killing everyone else. He found Renart on the roads shortly after the other man's retirement from the legion. He followed Renart, appointing himself as his bodyguard, and the two roamed. He would kill the highwaymen who tried to rob them of their goods once in a while, a simple life. When they came to Kvatch, his simple life became anything but.
The children stayed away from him- all of them except his brother- whispering 'killer' at his back. Even after he was washed of his sins and the anger of the act in the river, the names followed him for the rest of his days on. He'd felt different after that, because even as he'd looked the priest in the eye and repented his anger, it tasted of lies. There was no anger, just the thrill of it. Even so, Engel would fight no more and did not trouble himself with the petty things life in the village offered him, even if it was not in his nature to do so.
The smoke of the nobles' quarrels blackened the sky often during the summers and each night he would look out at the stars and wonder what it must be to take up sword and shield and fight. Not for a cause, not to place this lord or that on a chair. But just to test himself against the challenge of life balanced on a sharp edge. There was something in him, something sharp, that pushed him to meet each challenge with the violence written through him. Not the anger of a drunk or the scorn of a lover, but just a thing as natural as breathing.
He'd told this to his brother on the night he'd packed his things and set off to join any army marching for any cause on his fourteenth name-day. Robben just assured him that it'd pass and he believed him, though it tore at him all that night that he hadn't left. The summers went past and like the seasons, Engel changed. He grew with the wheat, tall enough and hard enough from working the land with his father. His brother was still thin and short, though he'd grown too. Engel had almost settled into the life a farmer, the urge to run off and join in the wars diminished little by little each year. It was soon enough that he found a girl, Sybille.
Engel and Sybille married in the village church. Engel built his own farmstead, planted his own fields and even had his own two sons and a daughter delivered into his own hands, rough and wrong as it felt, it too felt good. He'd found a sort of peace in the arms of his wife and his children wrapped up in his own. Soon, there came days when old pains were stirred again by war. His father's crops were burned on the first week of summer. They found him hanged and Engel did not want to think about what they would've done to his mother had she still been alive after the Rockjoint. His wife and children were the only things that kept him firmly in his stead, and also his brother who had arrived on his doorstep, still alive.
He did not know if the bandits that came to his home dressed as the Lord's men were the same that came to his father's, but they'd tried to do the same to his home. He met them at the fringes of his land with some legionnaires under the command of a man named Renart- whose friendship would become invaluable to him, more than the man knows- offered the bandits a share of his crops, offered some of his sheep, and even when that did not work- remembering the words of the priests- he offered them the whole of his livestock if they would leave in peace. But some men only want to burn because they can. He gave them every chance, but when they would not take them, he killed their two messengers swiftly. He was too late though, his house had been burned with his family inside.
The battle raged on for an hour that felt like ten. When he was coated in the blood of a dozen men, he lay down. His vengeance was had. His purpose as a father was unfulfilled and could never be done now. His purpose as a defender of his village was done. He had nothing now, until the bandits came again. His village was burned, his fellows slaughtered and he left in shame while they were busy killing everyone else. He found Renart on the roads shortly after the other man's retirement from the legion. He followed Renart, appointing himself as his bodyguard, and the two roamed. He would kill the highwaymen who tried to rob them of their goods once in a while, a simple life. When they came to Kvatch, his simple life became anything but.
Spells:
None
Inventory:
Cash: 17 septims
Keys and Lockpicks: None
Tools and Crafting Materials: A whittling knife
Clothing and Armor: He wears a padded-cloth vest over a cloth shirt, baggy trousers bloused into leg-wraps and ankle boots. A brown cloak and a red phrygian cap.
Weapon and Ammunition: A hand-axe, kept looped on his belt opposite of a large knife with a six inch blade. A small collection of six knives hidden about his person.
Potion and Arcane Supplies: None
Jewelry, Valuables and Personal Belongings: His wedding ring, a pressed flower he received those years ago from his daughter. A half-finished carving of a wolf's head.
Books and Documents: None
Food, Drinks and Ingredients:
On horse: A bundle of cured sausages as well as a heel of bread.
Load Bearing Equipment: His horse
Keys and Lockpicks: None
Tools and Crafting Materials: A whittling knife
Clothing and Armor: He wears a padded-cloth vest over a cloth shirt, baggy trousers bloused into leg-wraps and ankle boots. A brown cloak and a red phrygian cap.
Weapon and Ammunition: A hand-axe, kept looped on his belt opposite of a large knife with a six inch blade. A small collection of six knives hidden about his person.
Potion and Arcane Supplies: None
Jewelry, Valuables and Personal Belongings: His wedding ring, a pressed flower he received those years ago from his daughter. A half-finished carving of a wolf's head.
Books and Documents: None
Food, Drinks and Ingredients:
On horse: A bundle of cured sausages as well as a heel of bread.
Load Bearing Equipment: His horse
1x Like
Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
[REDACTED]
MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
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20 hrs ago
[REDACTED]
*HEAVY BREATHING*
Frizan Free From This Backwater Hellsite
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2 yrs ago
<Snipped quote by Leidenschaft>
*HEAVY BREATHING*
YOU KNOW WHAT KINDS OF PEOPLE BREATHE HEAVILY?
HERETICS
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Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
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<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>
YOU KNOW WHAT KINDS OF PEOPLE BREATH HEAVILY?
HERETICS
CLEAVE AND SMITE
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MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
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20 hrs ago
<Snipped quote by MacabreFox>
YOU KNOW WHAT KINDS OF PEOPLE BREATH HEAVILY?
HERETICS
Just wait till you all meet Brona ;)
@MiddleEarthRoze I'm putting the finishing touches on my CS now, just tidying up her back story.
MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
Member
Seen
20 hrs ago
Character Name
Age
Race
Sex
Birthsign
Brona Valerivicus
Age
33
Race
Imperial
Sex
Female
Birthsign
The Thief
Specialisation
Stealth
Class
Agent
Skills
- Expert - Illusion
- Journeyman - Sneak
- Journeyman - Speechcraft
- Apprentice - Marksman
- Apprentice - Security
- Apprentice - Acrobatics
- Novice - Mercantile
- Novice - One-Handed Blades
- Novice - Leatherworking {Craft}
- Novice - First Aid
- Novice - Hunting {Craft}
Appearance
If you happen to catch a glimpse of Brona Valerivicus, which is rare, as she is often using some form of Illusion magick to conceal her identity, you might consider yourself lucky, or maybe not.. However, during one of those quiet moments in her life when she is relaxing in some run down inn, sipping on a mugful of hot apple cider, one can see through the array of magick, and when that happens, one must take precaution in approaching her.
Brona is a bit on the shorter side for an Imperial, standing in at 5’4, she attributes this to her stunted growth during childhood. In regards to her figure, she is rather slim, which helps her move around without making much noise. Her shoulders are broad from time spent wielding her bow, as well as the continued use of athletics and acrobatics.
When it comes to a matter of clothing, Brona wears simple clothes, as she’s busy redistributing the wealth to the poorer folk, and doesn’t have the time or care to divulge in fanciful tastes. For that matter, a simple linen tunic, a pair of leather trousers, and a hooded cloak is more than enough to satisfy her.
She won’t deny it, the fact that men find her attractive, or that she has an approachable face, as her mentor once put it. Her hair is a soft, dark brown color, while her eyes are cool storm-grey. She has a soft jawline, though her chin is round with a slight cleft. As in her choice of clothes, Brona prefers a simple appearance, meaning, she keeps her hair worn in a single plait, and opts to forgo makeup, leaving her to rely on her good looks.
As for the most noticeable facial features, Brona possesses a faded scar on the right side of her chin, where she fell out of a tree as a child. Other than that, her brows are thick in width, but fair. Her nose has a slight hook to it, as she also suffered from a broken nose as a result of a fist fight in her childhood days. If anything, she possesses the common characteristics of an Imperial.
Personality
If one happened to ask Brona where she stood in the world when concerning her views, she would tell you that she stands in the shadows, meaning, that there is no white or black areas, but varying shades of grey. To her, there is no right or wrong, only what is moral, or immoral. But even then, she commits acts that contradict her beliefs. Some may call her a hypocrite, or even a heretic, but that does not faze her. She does what she must to stay alive.
Asides from her Robin Hood-esque persona, Brona is a soft spoken woman, who prefers to keep to herself. She has no need to interact with anyone else, unless they are in need, or if they are her mark. She is concerned with the well-being of her family, and has, and will continue to do anything for them. To her, family is everything, and while she is not religious, so to speak, when it concerns the worship of the Nine Divines, she does maintain a small belief of fate and destiny.
As a vigilante, as she calls herself, she prefers to target the rich who are selfish with their wealth, and are openly disgusted with the poor. In this case, she has no problem in robbing them blind. When it comes to stealing from the rich, although she prefers to call it “properly redistributing wealth amongst the people”, Brona has several ways of taking their money or other items of value. However, she always uses some form of Illusion magick in her tactics. As such, she can intimidate, seduce, or even rely on her physical skills of stealth to take from them, for this, she is dangerous with her way of words. Some would say that she has a silver tongue in speechcraft.
Because of her choice in craft, Brona doesn’t have any friends, only “acquaintences” or “contacts”. She finds it particularly difficult to open up to people about her inner emotions, and prefers to switch topics when discussions become too serious. For this, some might say that she is a bit immature in her ways for refusing to address serious matters. Yet, this is simply a defense mechanism, for she would rather deal with it internally, than express her concerns or worries externally.
When it comes to her flaws as a person, Brona suffers from a saviour-complex, where she believes that her crimes as a thief, make her a hero, or saviour to those in need. For the most part, this is true, however, those that she helps, are rather afraid of the repercussions of the law if they were to discover how they came into sudden abundance. Brona is also a bit of an idealist, and views herself in a heroic light, and believes those that she helps, should be grateful for what she does. Not to mention that she is also paranoid in the sense that she is constantly worrying if the Imperial guard is going to come around any corner and slap her in irons. Another glaring issue with her, is the fact that she is illiterate. Asides from this, Brona’s deepest fear as an individual, is not leaving a legacy behind, and being forgotten in time.
Asides from her Robin Hood-esque persona, Brona is a soft spoken woman, who prefers to keep to herself. She has no need to interact with anyone else, unless they are in need, or if they are her mark. She is concerned with the well-being of her family, and has, and will continue to do anything for them. To her, family is everything, and while she is not religious, so to speak, when it concerns the worship of the Nine Divines, she does maintain a small belief of fate and destiny.
As a vigilante, as she calls herself, she prefers to target the rich who are selfish with their wealth, and are openly disgusted with the poor. In this case, she has no problem in robbing them blind. When it comes to stealing from the rich, although she prefers to call it “properly redistributing wealth amongst the people”, Brona has several ways of taking their money or other items of value. However, she always uses some form of Illusion magick in her tactics. As such, she can intimidate, seduce, or even rely on her physical skills of stealth to take from them, for this, she is dangerous with her way of words. Some would say that she has a silver tongue in speechcraft.
Because of her choice in craft, Brona doesn’t have any friends, only “acquaintences” or “contacts”. She finds it particularly difficult to open up to people about her inner emotions, and prefers to switch topics when discussions become too serious. For this, some might say that she is a bit immature in her ways for refusing to address serious matters. Yet, this is simply a defense mechanism, for she would rather deal with it internally, than express her concerns or worries externally.
When it comes to her flaws as a person, Brona suffers from a saviour-complex, where she believes that her crimes as a thief, make her a hero, or saviour to those in need. For the most part, this is true, however, those that she helps, are rather afraid of the repercussions of the law if they were to discover how they came into sudden abundance. Brona is also a bit of an idealist, and views herself in a heroic light, and believes those that she helps, should be grateful for what she does. Not to mention that she is also paranoid in the sense that she is constantly worrying if the Imperial guard is going to come around any corner and slap her in irons. Another glaring issue with her, is the fact that she is illiterate. Asides from this, Brona’s deepest fear as an individual, is not leaving a legacy behind, and being forgotten in time.
Backstory
Born in a run-down shack, as is common in the Waterfront District of the Imperial City, Brona lived a hard life, her early years filled with an ever present gnawing hunger. Her parents, Arcantina (mother), and Palentius (father), did their best to feed and care for their four children. As the oldest child, a heavy burden fell upon Brona’s young shoulders. She was left to ensure that her younger siblings were taken care of in their parents absence. As farmhands, Arcantina and Palentius travelled every morning to a cabbage farm on the outskirts of the Imperial City, they were lucky to make it home before dusk. The pay as a farm hand was meager, and having a full stomach every night was a pipe-dream for the struggling family. Asides from Brona, she has two twin brothers, Garius and Marcellus, and a little sister, Oriela. While Brona shares a two year difference in age with her brothers, the age difference is greater with Oriela, that being five years difference.
Garius and Marcellus did their best to mind Brona, but it was hard to do so when their parents weren’t around. She often chided them for playing tricks on the guards, or picking on the other children living in the Waterfront. By the time they reached eight years in age, and Brona ten, the boys’ interests turned to fighting with broken tree limbs. It was then, that Brona had to turn her attention from the twins to focus more on Oriela. She seemed to be a sickly child, for every change of the weather, she developed a cough that they could never seem to be rid of. As time passed, Brona carried on with the charge of taking care of her siblings, until the day her mother fell ill with Droops. With her mother unable to provide income, the greater lack of funds put much stress on Palentius, as well as Brona.
One day, as an entire month and a half had gone by, with still no medicine for her mother, Brona decided to take it upon herself to acquire the funds, and ventured inside the city walls. At first, she spent the entire day in the Market District, sitting on a bench, begging for alms. Of course it was hard for a young girl of fifteen to earn money, for the sympathy at that age was little to nil. As the hours ticked by, she began to grow impatient and irritated at the fact that she had not been given one septim. While her pleas for help were ignored, the dwindling sunlight drew people inside to the warmth and safety of their homes. Crestfallen that she would have to admit defeat, she rose begrudgingly to her feet, when she caught sight of an older Dunmeri man strolling away from the market square. His robes alone suggested that he had some coin about him, for there were intricate knotwork around the hems of his robes. Desperate to obtain even one septim, Brona darted to her feet and followed after the man. She tailed him through the streets, not realizing that the man was intentionally leading her in circles until she ended up in a dead end alleyway. With the man at the end of the alley, he turned suddenly to confront her. She had nowhere to hide, and decide that the best course of action would be to confront him head on.
With trembling hands, and tears in her eyes, Brona reached to the pouch at her hip, and retrieved a rock. She took a hesitant step towards the man, and was surprised to see a smile cross his lips. She had it in her mind, that she would threaten him with his life by knocking him out, but as soon as that smirk appeared, she lost every ounce of confidence in her body. Brona sank to her knees, saddened with the fact that her mother’s health would continue to deteriorate at this rate, possibly face the inevitable approach of death. As a wave of stinging tears blurred her vision, she could only see a grey blob of the man step towards her. Hastily, she wiped away the tears, and struggled to get away from the man, in case he meant her harm, but a cold, iron-like grip kept her in place.
“Dear child...why do you cry?” His voice came, soft and gentle like an early morning breeze across Lake Runmare.
“My mother is sick, and she might die. We have no money for her medicine. I have begged all day for alms, but none have given me a second glance.” She mustered through a lump in her throat. Surprisingly, the hand on her shoulder softened.
“It would do you well to come with me. Perhaps I can help you after all. What is your name, sweet girl?”
“Brona, my mother calls me Brona.”
“I am Runil Devani.” In a twist of fate, Brona’s life turned around, some may say for the better, and others may say for the worse.
Later that evening, as Runil brought Brona back to his home, a small house just outside of the Arcane University, where he proceeded to pour her cup after cup of tea. Therein, he asked her about her parents, her siblings, where she lived, what she desired in life, and numerous other questions. When her eyes began to grow heavy with sleep, Runil set up a place for her to sleep in front of the hearth fire. By the time morning came, Runil woke a sleepy Brona from her slumber, and escorted her back to her parents home in the Waterfront District. There, an ashamed Brona, who thought her parents would surely punish her, listened in silence to the conversation her mother and father held with Runil. As the conversation drew to a close, she felt deep inside that her parents would exact some kind of punishment for behaviour, instead, Runil proposed a question to them. How would they feel if he took their daughter under his wing as an apprentice? At first, Palentius exchanged weary looks with Arcantina, who with her pale skin, and drooping eyes, looked as if they would both say no. That is, until Arcantina gave her husband a heartfelt squeeze of the hand and nodded. To this day, Brona won’t ever forget the words her mother uttered to Palentius.
“Let her go. She has the best chance of all us to have a life.”
Over the next several years to come, Brona resided with Runil in his home near the University. While she was an unofficial member of the university, as long as she remained in Runil’s company, she was allowed on the premises. In the beginning of her lessons, Runil taught her simple things that did not pertain to magick, such as how to cook a simple meal, how to properly maintain a house, and even how to boil water for clothes, and how to wash them proper with lye. One would think Brona would already possess these skills, but as her early childhood would prove, she was ignorant in most areas. The next step in her lessons were discovering her strong points in magick, if she had any that is. Through each school of magick, Runil tested her, and in each school, she failed hopelessly, until they came to Illusion. There was one glaring aspect that held up her learning process, and for the life of him, Runil could not think of a way to work around it, and that was, her illiteracy. As a mage of any kind, it was dire to know how to read, especially when learning new spells.
However, one path around this most successful. He discovered that if he read aloud each word in the spell tome to Brona, she could recite them back to him as he pointed to each letter on the page. This would take time, surely, and time it did take, for it slowed her learning process greatly. While she could recognize and read letters in the spell tomes after Runil pronounced them aloud, she never caught the hang of reading other books outside of tomes. So, together, they stuck with her reciting spell tomes from memory to teach her new spells. To his delight, Brona had a hunger in her belly to learn all that she could from him. Years passed again, and practicing of the spells on a daily basis became commonplace for her. Yet, she never forgot about her family, and when she could, she found time to visit them.
After five years in Runil’s home, Brona happened upon an uncanny situation in the Market District one evening. As she was heading through the square, on her way to the Waterfront, she noticed a box of crates outside of Divine Elegance, a high-end tailor shoppe. Curious to see what the crates held, Brona checked the square to make certain that no patrons or patrolling guards were present in the area, and cast an invisibility spell about herself. Working quickly as the seconds ticked by, Brona lifted the lid on the crate, and discovered several bolts of fine velvet that came from Anvil. A sudden wave of disgust overcame her, and as the spell wore off, she smuggled one of the smaller bolts onto her person, and made off on her merry way. In her mind, Palonirya wouldn’t miss a bolt of cloth amongst all the other finer items of value in her store. That evening she stayed the night over in her parents home, eager to see how Garius and Marcellus had grown, and how Oriela had turned into a beautiful woman. They relished in her visits home, and they were excited to hear and see of the new spells she learned.
The next morning as dawn broke across the eastern horizon, Brona slipped away from the house, and made her way down to the docks. There, she looked about for wary guards, and also one particular in person, her own father’s childhood friend Caresi. He was a dockhand that helped in unloading shipments with arriving ships, but he also dabbled in selling stolen wares. Those who had stolen goods to sell brought them to him, and he in return, brought them to the Bloated Float Inn. There, Ormil sold them to newcomers for a higher price. Together, Ormil and Caresi split the shares, Ormil takes 70% and Caresi gets the remaining 30%. It’s not a lucrative business by any means, and the wares that are brought to the Bloated Float are limited in supply. When Brona finally located Caresi on the docks during a break in between unloading shipments, she cornered him, and revealed to him the stolen bolt of fine velvet she had stashed in her parents home. At first, Caresi wanted nothing to do with it, he didn’t want to take the blame for Brona if he were found out, so she set off to find Ormil. She had a hard time convincing Graman to let her inside, and to let her speak with Ormil. Eventually the orc relented and shooed her inside, saying something along the lines that she was worse than a fly on dung. Once inside, Brona pulled Ormil to the side, and relayed what she had told Caresi. Hesitant at first, Ormil too, relented, simply because he understood the value of such fine velvet, and if he couldn’t sell it, well it would make a nice early-birthday present to him. However, Brona knew that she needed a cut of the share, and with that, Ormil arranged a new setup with Brona. If she brought him her lifted items directly, the split would be 60-40. To this she agreed.
For the next three years, Brona made it a habit to take a stroll around the city in the evening, looking for wares that were easy to access. With the wares that she brought Ormil, she took the extra money and gave it away to her family, a form of repayment for letting her stay with Runil for the past eight years. In the following year, when Brona turned twenty-four, Runil approached her, and told her that he had nothing else to teach her, she could remain in his home if she wished, so that she could have access to the University, but she decided to take a different path. Brona was filled with piss, venom, and vigor as they say, so, she set out across Cyrodil, eager to put her knowledge of illusion to work. In Bruma, she spent a month playing the part of a traveling bard, her famous act consisted of making herself disappear, only to reappear in a tree, or atop a roof. However, during that space of time, Brona was collecting items, or rather heavy coin purses from the gathered patrons in the crowd. When she reappeared, they erupted into applause, marvelling at how quickly she had appeared in a different place.
In Anvil, she waited outside in the nearby woods, watching merchants travel to and from, their carts heavy with wares. Here, she would tail them from a distance, and when they made camp for the evening, she would rummage through their crates, sifted through their pockets, and make off with their goods, all before they awakened. Now, Brona was no ordinary thief, for through her travels across Cyrodil, she met many poor folk like her own family, and to balance the scales, she would pay them a visit, giving them the money she had pocketed. They were grateful, and a bit hesitant at first, for they had only exchanged a few words with Brona.
And so, her travels took her from Anvil to Bravil, to Cheydinhal, Leyawiin to Chorrol, and Skingrad to Kvatch. She targeted the wealthy that felt they were above the poor, and over time, she learned other tricks of her trade. She became bolder through the years as she picked up a recurve bow, along with a set of two short swords. For a year and a half, Brona focused on bettering her skills in this area, that way, if she were to encounter sticky situations, like she had when she was travelling through the Great Forest. A group of brigands discovered her camp when she was out hunting one morning, and had rifled through her belongings. When she broke upon the clearing where she had camp, they chased her down, only for her to slip away into the many towering trees of the forest.
Through time, she learned many useful skills, such as how to barter for goods, how to pick locks on chests tinkling full of coins, how to bandage her own wounds (to the best that she could), how to wield her short swords, and she became pretty good at firing her bow, not the best, but she was decent. Now 33, in recent days, Brona was on her way back from Anvil to the Imperial City to visit her family when she stopped in Kvatch for a rest.
Garius and Marcellus did their best to mind Brona, but it was hard to do so when their parents weren’t around. She often chided them for playing tricks on the guards, or picking on the other children living in the Waterfront. By the time they reached eight years in age, and Brona ten, the boys’ interests turned to fighting with broken tree limbs. It was then, that Brona had to turn her attention from the twins to focus more on Oriela. She seemed to be a sickly child, for every change of the weather, she developed a cough that they could never seem to be rid of. As time passed, Brona carried on with the charge of taking care of her siblings, until the day her mother fell ill with Droops. With her mother unable to provide income, the greater lack of funds put much stress on Palentius, as well as Brona.
One day, as an entire month and a half had gone by, with still no medicine for her mother, Brona decided to take it upon herself to acquire the funds, and ventured inside the city walls. At first, she spent the entire day in the Market District, sitting on a bench, begging for alms. Of course it was hard for a young girl of fifteen to earn money, for the sympathy at that age was little to nil. As the hours ticked by, she began to grow impatient and irritated at the fact that she had not been given one septim. While her pleas for help were ignored, the dwindling sunlight drew people inside to the warmth and safety of their homes. Crestfallen that she would have to admit defeat, she rose begrudgingly to her feet, when she caught sight of an older Dunmeri man strolling away from the market square. His robes alone suggested that he had some coin about him, for there were intricate knotwork around the hems of his robes. Desperate to obtain even one septim, Brona darted to her feet and followed after the man. She tailed him through the streets, not realizing that the man was intentionally leading her in circles until she ended up in a dead end alleyway. With the man at the end of the alley, he turned suddenly to confront her. She had nowhere to hide, and decide that the best course of action would be to confront him head on.
With trembling hands, and tears in her eyes, Brona reached to the pouch at her hip, and retrieved a rock. She took a hesitant step towards the man, and was surprised to see a smile cross his lips. She had it in her mind, that she would threaten him with his life by knocking him out, but as soon as that smirk appeared, she lost every ounce of confidence in her body. Brona sank to her knees, saddened with the fact that her mother’s health would continue to deteriorate at this rate, possibly face the inevitable approach of death. As a wave of stinging tears blurred her vision, she could only see a grey blob of the man step towards her. Hastily, she wiped away the tears, and struggled to get away from the man, in case he meant her harm, but a cold, iron-like grip kept her in place.
“Dear child...why do you cry?” His voice came, soft and gentle like an early morning breeze across Lake Runmare.
“My mother is sick, and she might die. We have no money for her medicine. I have begged all day for alms, but none have given me a second glance.” She mustered through a lump in her throat. Surprisingly, the hand on her shoulder softened.
“It would do you well to come with me. Perhaps I can help you after all. What is your name, sweet girl?”
“Brona, my mother calls me Brona.”
“I am Runil Devani.” In a twist of fate, Brona’s life turned around, some may say for the better, and others may say for the worse.
Later that evening, as Runil brought Brona back to his home, a small house just outside of the Arcane University, where he proceeded to pour her cup after cup of tea. Therein, he asked her about her parents, her siblings, where she lived, what she desired in life, and numerous other questions. When her eyes began to grow heavy with sleep, Runil set up a place for her to sleep in front of the hearth fire. By the time morning came, Runil woke a sleepy Brona from her slumber, and escorted her back to her parents home in the Waterfront District. There, an ashamed Brona, who thought her parents would surely punish her, listened in silence to the conversation her mother and father held with Runil. As the conversation drew to a close, she felt deep inside that her parents would exact some kind of punishment for behaviour, instead, Runil proposed a question to them. How would they feel if he took their daughter under his wing as an apprentice? At first, Palentius exchanged weary looks with Arcantina, who with her pale skin, and drooping eyes, looked as if they would both say no. That is, until Arcantina gave her husband a heartfelt squeeze of the hand and nodded. To this day, Brona won’t ever forget the words her mother uttered to Palentius.
“Let her go. She has the best chance of all us to have a life.”
Over the next several years to come, Brona resided with Runil in his home near the University. While she was an unofficial member of the university, as long as she remained in Runil’s company, she was allowed on the premises. In the beginning of her lessons, Runil taught her simple things that did not pertain to magick, such as how to cook a simple meal, how to properly maintain a house, and even how to boil water for clothes, and how to wash them proper with lye. One would think Brona would already possess these skills, but as her early childhood would prove, she was ignorant in most areas. The next step in her lessons were discovering her strong points in magick, if she had any that is. Through each school of magick, Runil tested her, and in each school, she failed hopelessly, until they came to Illusion. There was one glaring aspect that held up her learning process, and for the life of him, Runil could not think of a way to work around it, and that was, her illiteracy. As a mage of any kind, it was dire to know how to read, especially when learning new spells.
However, one path around this most successful. He discovered that if he read aloud each word in the spell tome to Brona, she could recite them back to him as he pointed to each letter on the page. This would take time, surely, and time it did take, for it slowed her learning process greatly. While she could recognize and read letters in the spell tomes after Runil pronounced them aloud, she never caught the hang of reading other books outside of tomes. So, together, they stuck with her reciting spell tomes from memory to teach her new spells. To his delight, Brona had a hunger in her belly to learn all that she could from him. Years passed again, and practicing of the spells on a daily basis became commonplace for her. Yet, she never forgot about her family, and when she could, she found time to visit them.
After five years in Runil’s home, Brona happened upon an uncanny situation in the Market District one evening. As she was heading through the square, on her way to the Waterfront, she noticed a box of crates outside of Divine Elegance, a high-end tailor shoppe. Curious to see what the crates held, Brona checked the square to make certain that no patrons or patrolling guards were present in the area, and cast an invisibility spell about herself. Working quickly as the seconds ticked by, Brona lifted the lid on the crate, and discovered several bolts of fine velvet that came from Anvil. A sudden wave of disgust overcame her, and as the spell wore off, she smuggled one of the smaller bolts onto her person, and made off on her merry way. In her mind, Palonirya wouldn’t miss a bolt of cloth amongst all the other finer items of value in her store. That evening she stayed the night over in her parents home, eager to see how Garius and Marcellus had grown, and how Oriela had turned into a beautiful woman. They relished in her visits home, and they were excited to hear and see of the new spells she learned.
The next morning as dawn broke across the eastern horizon, Brona slipped away from the house, and made her way down to the docks. There, she looked about for wary guards, and also one particular in person, her own father’s childhood friend Caresi. He was a dockhand that helped in unloading shipments with arriving ships, but he also dabbled in selling stolen wares. Those who had stolen goods to sell brought them to him, and he in return, brought them to the Bloated Float Inn. There, Ormil sold them to newcomers for a higher price. Together, Ormil and Caresi split the shares, Ormil takes 70% and Caresi gets the remaining 30%. It’s not a lucrative business by any means, and the wares that are brought to the Bloated Float are limited in supply. When Brona finally located Caresi on the docks during a break in between unloading shipments, she cornered him, and revealed to him the stolen bolt of fine velvet she had stashed in her parents home. At first, Caresi wanted nothing to do with it, he didn’t want to take the blame for Brona if he were found out, so she set off to find Ormil. She had a hard time convincing Graman to let her inside, and to let her speak with Ormil. Eventually the orc relented and shooed her inside, saying something along the lines that she was worse than a fly on dung. Once inside, Brona pulled Ormil to the side, and relayed what she had told Caresi. Hesitant at first, Ormil too, relented, simply because he understood the value of such fine velvet, and if he couldn’t sell it, well it would make a nice early-birthday present to him. However, Brona knew that she needed a cut of the share, and with that, Ormil arranged a new setup with Brona. If she brought him her lifted items directly, the split would be 60-40. To this she agreed.
For the next three years, Brona made it a habit to take a stroll around the city in the evening, looking for wares that were easy to access. With the wares that she brought Ormil, she took the extra money and gave it away to her family, a form of repayment for letting her stay with Runil for the past eight years. In the following year, when Brona turned twenty-four, Runil approached her, and told her that he had nothing else to teach her, she could remain in his home if she wished, so that she could have access to the University, but she decided to take a different path. Brona was filled with piss, venom, and vigor as they say, so, she set out across Cyrodil, eager to put her knowledge of illusion to work. In Bruma, she spent a month playing the part of a traveling bard, her famous act consisted of making herself disappear, only to reappear in a tree, or atop a roof. However, during that space of time, Brona was collecting items, or rather heavy coin purses from the gathered patrons in the crowd. When she reappeared, they erupted into applause, marvelling at how quickly she had appeared in a different place.
In Anvil, she waited outside in the nearby woods, watching merchants travel to and from, their carts heavy with wares. Here, she would tail them from a distance, and when they made camp for the evening, she would rummage through their crates, sifted through their pockets, and make off with their goods, all before they awakened. Now, Brona was no ordinary thief, for through her travels across Cyrodil, she met many poor folk like her own family, and to balance the scales, she would pay them a visit, giving them the money she had pocketed. They were grateful, and a bit hesitant at first, for they had only exchanged a few words with Brona.
And so, her travels took her from Anvil to Bravil, to Cheydinhal, Leyawiin to Chorrol, and Skingrad to Kvatch. She targeted the wealthy that felt they were above the poor, and over time, she learned other tricks of her trade. She became bolder through the years as she picked up a recurve bow, along with a set of two short swords. For a year and a half, Brona focused on bettering her skills in this area, that way, if she were to encounter sticky situations, like she had when she was travelling through the Great Forest. A group of brigands discovered her camp when she was out hunting one morning, and had rifled through her belongings. When she broke upon the clearing where she had camp, they chased her down, only for her to slip away into the many towering trees of the forest.
Through time, she learned many useful skills, such as how to barter for goods, how to pick locks on chests tinkling full of coins, how to bandage her own wounds (to the best that she could), how to wield her short swords, and she became pretty good at firing her bow, not the best, but she was decent. Now 33, in recent days, Brona was on her way back from Anvil to the Imperial City to visit her family when she stopped in Kvatch for a rest.
Spells
- Illusion
- Shadow
- Mute
- Torchlight
- Fearful Gaze
- Enthralling Presence
- Dominating Touch
- Chameleon
- Calming Touch
- Seductive Charm
- Touch of Fear
- Touch of Rage
- Void Gazer
- Inspiring Touch
- Captivate
- Alluring Gaze
- Beguiling Touch
Inventory
- 119 Septims
- Two Iron Short Swords
- Recurve Bow
- Quiver of 14 Iron Arrows
- Two Iron Daggers
- Set of 12 Lockpicks
- Leather Gorget
- Leather Bracers
- Leather Gloves
- Leather Breastplate
- Leather Boots
- Red Tunic
- Leather Trousers
- Woolen Socks
- Black Wool Cloak
- Leather Rucksack (In which she carries items not readily on her person)
- Roll of Linen Bandages
- Needle and Spool of Thread
- Candied Pears
- Hard Bread
- Water Skin
- Tankard
2x Like
Frizan Free From This Backwater Hellsite
Contest Mod
Seen
2 yrs ago
Thieves, daedra summoners, LITERAL DAEDRA...
THERE AREN'T ENOUGH HAMMERS IN THE WORLD TO SMITE ALL OF THE HERESY IN THIS ROLEPLAY
THERE AREN'T ENOUGH HAMMERS IN THE WORLD TO SMITE ALL OF THE HERESY IN THIS ROLEPLAY
2x Laugh
Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
Thieves, daedra summoners, LITERAL DAEDRA...
THERE AREN'T ENOUGH HAMMERS IN THE WORLD TO SMITE ALL OF THE HERESY IN THIS ROLEPLAY
With Engel being the only other religious person in this cast, I'm sure Altmer Paladin and Religious Psychopath Murderer will get along in purging the unclean.
GM
MiddleEarthRoze The Ultimate Pupper
Member
Seen
5 yrs ago
@Leidenschaft
First of all, great characters! Impressed you got two of them done so quickly. They're both great, but you may want to add or change some things in the skills section. For both Engel and Renart, they don't have many skills - I've mentioned on the OP how many you can have in each section, so feel free to add some. For Renart particularly, I think Speechcraft would come in handy, as it's often learnt hand in hand with mercantile. Also, what with the mention of tools for fletching in his equipment, I'd make that a skill as well. Then he'd be able to make bolts on the road.
For Engel, again, you may want to add some more skills in. It's optional, of course, but it may come in handy. Ah, also I'm wondering if it's realistic for him to be an expert in one-handed without any training, at just the age of 30. Of course, if Renart has given him some tips as they've travelled, that'll sort that problem out easily.
For the both of them, there skills of 1H/2H and Blade/Blunt will be together as one skill, so that opens up another slot for you. When one learns how to wield a one-handed blade for instance, they learn the one-handed technique and the blade technique simultaneously. Therefore, we've made it the same skill. For Renart, it'll be One-Handed Blunt as one skill, and for Engel it'll be One-Handed Blunt and Two-Handed Blunt as separate skills. It's explained more in the first OOC post, take a look if you haven't already.
Anyhoo, once you've looked all that over, you can stick them both in the characters tab! Welcome aboard, Schaft.
@macabrefox
Brona looks awesome! Likewise with schafty, her skills will be paired together - One-Handed Blades. Other than that, I can find no faults with her. Into the character tab she goes!
Feel free to join us on the discord for some shitposting. :)
First of all, great characters! Impressed you got two of them done so quickly. They're both great, but you may want to add or change some things in the skills section. For both Engel and Renart, they don't have many skills - I've mentioned on the OP how many you can have in each section, so feel free to add some. For Renart particularly, I think Speechcraft would come in handy, as it's often learnt hand in hand with mercantile. Also, what with the mention of tools for fletching in his equipment, I'd make that a skill as well. Then he'd be able to make bolts on the road.
For Engel, again, you may want to add some more skills in. It's optional, of course, but it may come in handy. Ah, also I'm wondering if it's realistic for him to be an expert in one-handed without any training, at just the age of 30. Of course, if Renart has given him some tips as they've travelled, that'll sort that problem out easily.
For the both of them, there skills of 1H/2H and Blade/Blunt will be together as one skill, so that opens up another slot for you. When one learns how to wield a one-handed blade for instance, they learn the one-handed technique and the blade technique simultaneously. Therefore, we've made it the same skill. For Renart, it'll be One-Handed Blunt as one skill, and for Engel it'll be One-Handed Blunt and Two-Handed Blunt as separate skills. It's explained more in the first OOC post, take a look if you haven't already.
Anyhoo, once you've looked all that over, you can stick them both in the characters tab! Welcome aboard, Schaft.
@macabrefox
Brona looks awesome! Likewise with schafty, her skills will be paired together - One-Handed Blades. Other than that, I can find no faults with her. Into the character tab she goes!
Feel free to join us on the discord for some shitposting. :)
2x Thank
Frizan Free From This Backwater Hellsite
Contest Mod
Seen
2 yrs ago
1x Laugh
POOHEAD189 The Abmin
Admin
Seen
33 min ago
Glad to have ya'll :)
Leidenschaft Relax, only half-dead
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
@Leidenschaft
First of all, great characters! Impressed you got two of them done so quickly. They're both great, but you may want to add or change some things in the skills section. For both Engel and Renart, they don't have many skills - I've mentioned on the OP how many you can have in each section, so feel free to add some. For Renart particularly, I think Speechcraft would come in handy, as it's often learnt hand in hand with mercantile. Also, what with the mention of tools for fletching in his equipment, I'd make that a skill as well. Then he'd be able to make bolts on the road.
For Engel, again, you may want to add some more skills in. It's optional, of course, but it may come in handy. Ah, also I'm wondering if it's realistic for him to be an expert in one-handed without any training, at just the age of 30. Of course, if Renart has given him some tips as they've travelled, that'll sort that problem out easily.
For the both of them, there skills of 1H/2H and Blade/Blunt will be together as one skill, so that opens up another slot for you. When one learns how to wield a one-handed blade for instance, they learn the one-handed technique and the blade technique simultaneously. Therefore, we've made it the same skill. For Renart, it'll be One-Handed Blunt as one skill, and for Engel it'll be One-Handed Blunt and Two-Handed Blunt as separate skills. It's explained more in the first OOC post, take a look if you haven't already.
Anyhoo, once you've looked all that over, you can stick them both in the characters tab! Welcome aboard, Schaft.
@macabrefox
Brona looks awesome! Likewise with schafty, her skills will be paired together - One-Handed Blades. Other than that, I can find no faults with her. Into the character tab she goes!
Feel free to join us on the discord for some shitposting. :)
Changed some skills around and added fletching in there. The reason I wanted Engel to be expert in one-handed, which is now blunt as his expert skill, is because he was described as eerily good at killing. I figured he'd know his way around weapons and find them a bit intuitive. I changed the expert skill to blunt, so that he's an expert with his axe-knife dual-wielding combo. Also added speech to Renart's skills.
1x Like
BurningCold Magical Bastard
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
@Leidenschaft I don't think you're supposed to post in the characters tab until the GMs approve your changes.
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