To forgive is to accept.
To forgive is to accept.
To forgive is to accept.
To forget is to reject.
To forget is to reject.
To forget is to reject.
[OOC] Fruits of Contention - Wayrest
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From left to right:
Dame Alannis Ervette, Breton, Knight of the Dragon champion
Finnr Many-Friends, Nord, pirate defector
S'riracha, Khajiit, brawler
Gherken gra-Umar, Orc, messenger
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Odessa Richton, Imperial, information broker
Splitfoot, Dunmer, bandit boss
Aurelia Direnni, Altmer, Order of the Hour matriarch
Ander, Nord, thief
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For NPC consideration;
48 | ♂ | Solitude, Skyrim | Nord
_______________________________________________
Portrait Artist, Cartographer, Poet
_______________________________________________
Endurance (Major) Personality (Minor)
▼ S K I L L S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Artifice - Expert
► Speechcraft - Adept
► Tailoring - Adept
▼ W E A K N E S S E S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Mysterious Illness - Who am I?
► Addiction - Just one more...
► Physically Weak - Physically Weak
▼ E Q U I P M E N T
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► 1 Preserved Peacock Feather
► Selection of Oil Paints and Brushes
► Rolls of Parchment
► Portable Easel
► Sewing Kit with Selection of Threads
► Sample Selection of Fabrics
► Journal of Handwritten Poetry
► A Small Sketchbook and Charcoal Pieces
► Business Ledger
► Coin Purse - 183 Septims
► Dried Meat and Fruit Selection
► Bottle of Alto Wine
Njal the Peacock
48 | ♂ | Solitude, Skyrim | Nord
_______________________________________________
Portrait Artist, Cartographer, Poet
_______________________________________________
Endurance (Major) Personality (Minor)
══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════
What one would notice at first glance, is that Njal is incredibly pale - even by Nord standards. His skin occasionally just about as transparent as that of a newborn fish. There have been rumours circulating as to whether the man is actually a vampire - his palor being only one reason. The second that his features, despite him approaching his middle age, are still rather youthful. His long, raven locks don't do anything to dispel such rumours, nor do the smudge-like bags under his eyes. He has never grown or worn a beard, and has in fact an exceptionally androgynous appearance. He is thin, slightly gaunt and stands at a modest and unimposing 170cm.
Njal carries himself carefully, stepping softly at all times to the point he is naturally near-silent - like a dark, but otherwise nonthreatening spectre. His mannerisms are softer still, his voice whisper quiet and hit motions languid. To the opposite effect, Njal dresses rather flamboyantly. Usually in higher-than-usual gentleman's heels. His shirts are often decorated with ruffles, he has an array of colourful hats, and occasionally feathers or other strangely fascinating materials adorn the rest of his androgynous form. He is the very essence of bohemian and untamed spirit.
Njal carries himself carefully, stepping softly at all times to the point he is naturally near-silent - like a dark, but otherwise nonthreatening spectre. His mannerisms are softer still, his voice whisper quiet and hit motions languid. To the opposite effect, Njal dresses rather flamboyantly. Usually in higher-than-usual gentleman's heels. His shirts are often decorated with ruffles, he has an array of colourful hats, and occasionally feathers or other strangely fascinating materials adorn the rest of his androgynous form. He is the very essence of bohemian and untamed spirit.
═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════
There is a charming innocence about Njal that is rare in Nords, and is perhaps one of the many reasons he has thrived in Breton society. He is seemingly immune to the judgement of others, and his genuinely gentle nature tends to catch people of guard. Smiling comes naturally to him, and it is not unusual for him to laugh quietly at his own comments during speech. He is not without the ability to somberly dissect a conversation.
His general absent-mindedness means that it is very likely that he flips between absolute irreverence and then to deep and meaningful speech, wistfully applying romance to the melancholy of a situation, or making a joke at an inappropriate time. The deteriorating disease that has gripped his mind has made him forgetful, and although he spends much of his time entirely lucid, sometimes reality slips away from him, and he can become frustrated or emotional as a consequence which can be incredibly difficult for his peers to handle.
His general absent-mindedness means that it is very likely that he flips between absolute irreverence and then to deep and meaningful speech, wistfully applying romance to the melancholy of a situation, or making a joke at an inappropriate time. The deteriorating disease that has gripped his mind has made him forgetful, and although he spends much of his time entirely lucid, sometimes reality slips away from him, and he can become frustrated or emotional as a consequence which can be incredibly difficult for his peers to handle.
═══════ H I S T O R Y ══════
Born in Solitude to a fairly affluent, yet politically and socially insignificant family, much of Njal's upbringing was normal. Unlike many Nords, however, he was able to be properly schooled in Solitude at the Bard's College. Unfortunately, despite having a decent handle over the written word and poetry, music was not his forte, but the boy had always had an affinity for fine art. Even as a child, Njal could be found drawing on the ground with any materials he could get his hands on.
He worked as hard as he could, and was considered a dilligent, if not quiet student by his tutors. Soon, Njal found himself trying to fit into a mould he simply did not belong in, and his peers began to notice it too. His effeminate and quirky mannerisms were looked down upon and he caught the nickname ‘Peacock’, and was for the most part, ousted from those around him. He felt too different for the harsh and unforgiving world of the Nords, and so when he came of age, he set his sights on High Rock. He was attracted to the haute couture lifestyle that the Breton's so seemed to love, and so off he went - with a dream to make his living creating art.
His dreams came true, after a rocky start working as a street artist, he began to garner a reputation for himself. Eventually he managed to break into the lucrative world of portrait artistry. If there was one thing that Breton nobles loved, it was hanging stupidly large paintings of themselves around their huge homes. The narcissistic nature of the Breton's only fed his work more - with the nobles consistently trying to outdo each other - each month, it was a bigger painting for a bigger noble, to show off to the lesser nobles... He worked successfully in High Rock doing this, but with each mug he captured on canvas, he felt his own soul withering away.
He felt entirely devoid of inspiration, he'd spent close to two decades traveling High Rock for commission after commission, even a spell as a cartographer did not satisfy him. He missed the carefree days he spent as a young lad creating etchings in the sand with the end of stick. He could afford all of the tools he needed, and yet -- nothing fed him within. Nothing until he stumbled upon her.
It was in Wayrest that he first met a Dunmer performer and contortionist named Ivy. He witnessed her performing incredible feats with her body. Bending her back in such a way that she could fire an arrow using her dextrous toes. It wasn't just the visual spectacle that she created before his eyes... Her flaming red hair and dark skin - not, it was her very essence. The way that she was so carefree, that everything just washed over her like water fell off of a ducks back.
She represented true artistry, she instantly became his muse, and his soul was alight once more. For years he followed her, painting her in every pose, candidly as she sat and ate - her open mouth as she laughed heartily. All of it.
Until the day that she was gone.
Njal had not been prepared to lose her, and without his muse to guide him, he found himself lost in a world he'd forgotten having been under her spell for so long. With her disappearance, his lust for life and need to search for artistic knowledge was snuffed out - a downward spiral occurred. Alcohol became his friend. Under the influence, his paintings became abstract canvases of red and black. Alcohol was not enough to feed the emptiness. Then it was simply any narcotic substance in attempt to recreate the euphoria and clarity that his Ivy stole from him when she left. Slipping further, Njal's paintings became even more surreal, often demonic self-portraits.
As much as he tried to climb out of the hole he'd dug himself into, he was turned away by the nobility he'd earned his fortune from. As it happens, they did not appreciate being painted in this new style that the Nord had adopted. He was not without all luck, however, and there is a section of Breton society who find his newer work incredibly valuable to the point of him having something of an underground cult status.
It took years of climbing for Njal to simply find himself on solid ground again. A husk of the enigma he once was - or even more so now? Different people will share a different opinion on the man. Ahead of his time, or simply a talentless hack? Now, Njal remains reliant on substances to get him through each of his days, and as well as that, his mind is steadily deteriorating. Whether this was the addiction, the hand of fate, or the theft of his inspiration, he cannot tell. Only that he wishes more than anything else to find that inspiration once more.
He worked as hard as he could, and was considered a dilligent, if not quiet student by his tutors. Soon, Njal found himself trying to fit into a mould he simply did not belong in, and his peers began to notice it too. His effeminate and quirky mannerisms were looked down upon and he caught the nickname ‘Peacock’, and was for the most part, ousted from those around him. He felt too different for the harsh and unforgiving world of the Nords, and so when he came of age, he set his sights on High Rock. He was attracted to the haute couture lifestyle that the Breton's so seemed to love, and so off he went - with a dream to make his living creating art.
His dreams came true, after a rocky start working as a street artist, he began to garner a reputation for himself. Eventually he managed to break into the lucrative world of portrait artistry. If there was one thing that Breton nobles loved, it was hanging stupidly large paintings of themselves around their huge homes. The narcissistic nature of the Breton's only fed his work more - with the nobles consistently trying to outdo each other - each month, it was a bigger painting for a bigger noble, to show off to the lesser nobles... He worked successfully in High Rock doing this, but with each mug he captured on canvas, he felt his own soul withering away.
He felt entirely devoid of inspiration, he'd spent close to two decades traveling High Rock for commission after commission, even a spell as a cartographer did not satisfy him. He missed the carefree days he spent as a young lad creating etchings in the sand with the end of stick. He could afford all of the tools he needed, and yet -- nothing fed him within. Nothing until he stumbled upon her.
It was in Wayrest that he first met a Dunmer performer and contortionist named Ivy. He witnessed her performing incredible feats with her body. Bending her back in such a way that she could fire an arrow using her dextrous toes. It wasn't just the visual spectacle that she created before his eyes... Her flaming red hair and dark skin - not, it was her very essence. The way that she was so carefree, that everything just washed over her like water fell off of a ducks back.
She represented true artistry, she instantly became his muse, and his soul was alight once more. For years he followed her, painting her in every pose, candidly as she sat and ate - her open mouth as she laughed heartily. All of it.
Until the day that she was gone.
Njal had not been prepared to lose her, and without his muse to guide him, he found himself lost in a world he'd forgotten having been under her spell for so long. With her disappearance, his lust for life and need to search for artistic knowledge was snuffed out - a downward spiral occurred. Alcohol became his friend. Under the influence, his paintings became abstract canvases of red and black. Alcohol was not enough to feed the emptiness. Then it was simply any narcotic substance in attempt to recreate the euphoria and clarity that his Ivy stole from him when she left. Slipping further, Njal's paintings became even more surreal, often demonic self-portraits.
As much as he tried to climb out of the hole he'd dug himself into, he was turned away by the nobility he'd earned his fortune from. As it happens, they did not appreciate being painted in this new style that the Nord had adopted. He was not without all luck, however, and there is a section of Breton society who find his newer work incredibly valuable to the point of him having something of an underground cult status.
It took years of climbing for Njal to simply find himself on solid ground again. A husk of the enigma he once was - or even more so now? Different people will share a different opinion on the man. Ahead of his time, or simply a talentless hack? Now, Njal remains reliant on substances to get him through each of his days, and as well as that, his mind is steadily deteriorating. Whether this was the addiction, the hand of fate, or the theft of his inspiration, he cannot tell. Only that he wishes more than anything else to find that inspiration once more.
▼ S K I L L S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Artifice - Expert
► Speechcraft - Adept
► Tailoring - Adept
▼ W E A K N E S S E S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Mysterious Illness - Who am I?
► Addiction - Just one more...
► Physically Weak - Physically Weak
▼ E Q U I P M E N T
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► 1 Preserved Peacock Feather
► Selection of Oil Paints and Brushes
► Rolls of Parchment
► Portable Easel
► Sewing Kit with Selection of Threads
► Sample Selection of Fabrics
► Journal of Handwritten Poetry
► A Small Sketchbook and Charcoal Pieces
► Business Ledger
► Coin Purse - 183 Septims
► Dried Meat and Fruit Selection
► Bottle of Alto Wine
Spoopy Scary ☠️🌸soft grunge🌸☠️
Member
Seen
14 days ago
New chapter, new me
"To preach light in ignorance of darkness is to administer justice without knowing sin. To know Truth is to know wickedness, and to know wickedness, you too must be judged and delivered from its clutches. Book of Stendarr; sermon 6."
What would such a person be doing in a group of mercenaries? Why would she ever be interested? Well, Mary has a strong desire to do good, which was why she became a templar in the first place. She’s almost infatuated with the idea of being a hero and a champion of the people, and it can be as simple as being told that your organizations also seeks to do good across Tamriel. Always wanting to believe in the best of people, she’s quite easy to convince and lie to. Anyways, with an organization at her back, she would be able to do more good across Tamriel than she ever could on her own. However, the moment your company takes a turn for the worse and you forsake your promise to the people, Mary is either going to try convincing you to stay on track or jump ship. Her loyalty to the good and innocent cannot be bought.
Mary was born on ides of Hearthfire and in the Kingdom of Jehanna, located in northern High Rock. A society of both Bretons and Nords surrounded by Wrothgarian Mountains on one side, the Reach on another, the Sea of Ghosts on its north side, and Skyrim only spitting distance away, it has come to develop a strong warrior culture. What it lacked, however, was a center of faith. Most High Rock kingdoms, city states, and principalities had a temple of some kind. The Benevolence of Mara and School of Julianos, for instance, had presence in the rest of High Rock, but Jehanna was barren of a spiritual center for some time between years of defending themselves from vagabonds and conquerors alike and most who practiced only did so the privacy of their own homes. To establish a center of faith and spiritual and moral fulfillment is what the House of Trifection hoped to accomplish.
The Trifection was result of a joint effort between priests and priestess of Mara, Stendarr, and Julianos. It was intended as a model of moral perfection: love, mercy, and wisdom. Scholars of Julianos were seen as overreaching by outsiders at first, since they weren’t supposed to preach any moral philosophy, but they pushed back by maintaining that fighting against the sin of ignorance and complacency has always been their objective. Idle hands were the daedra’s work, after all. Together, they believed that through love, mercy, and wisdom, life's most challenging obstacles could be overcome. It was this doctrine and model of moral perfection that appealed to the natives, and the newly named Order of Trifection was allowed to come together and build the House of Trifection, a temple where people could be wed, counseled, seek forgiveness, and learn. Indeed, it was as much a place of learning as it was a place of worship, but one side effect was that their learning curriculum was heavily tied into their religion. As this temple gained in popularity and became a focal point around which to gather, it's influence grew.
As it grew, so did the influence of the more militant of Stendarr’s followers, who believed that justice should be preached as much as mercy. As this movement among that sect of the temple grew, the rest of the House conceded, and appealed to the king of Jehanna. The kingdom would then agree to outsource local cases to the House of Trifection, whereas more complex and political cases will be managed within the court. The House then became a place of worship, a school, and a courthouse all in one, and each of the three governing clergies came to represent a principle of reasoning; Mara’s clergy embodied emotional appeal, Stendarr’s embodied ethical appeal, and Julianos’ embodied logical appeal. As often happens with centers of law and justice, the House began to train their own holy warriors and merciful defenders of justice. This is where Mary finally fits into the picture years later
She came from a small family - a mom and pops with not much to their name other than a few sheep for shearing and a small plot of land for vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, and cabbages. However, the Trifection offered its services for free since they were fueled mostly by donations, avoiding tax, and government grants. Although she inherited her parents’ kind hearts, they were poor and low in the caste system, conditioning them into being intimidated by authority and power. This meant they lacked the assertiveness to raise their daughter with concerted cultivation, but still wanted to provide her with as many opportunities as possible; one of them was to send her to the House of Trifection for schooling when she was 10 years old. Stendarr’s mercy also kept the Julianos sect from being too picky with their applicants.
As a result, Mary’s life was positively enriched. The day before she was just a farm girl, but now? They've expanded her mind beyond her horizons. They helped her to think outside of the little box she was trapped in, introduced her to a world that was once leagues above her place in society and full of magic. Though it only provided the fundamentals of magic, and the House’s schooling program was mostly aimed towards a generally educated public, the fundamentals of magic that they did teach happened to set the groundwork for Mysticism. Perhaps even more profound than that, however, were the Divines. Sure, she has heard of them before. She got the general idea of what they were all about -- but they covered Stendarr, Mara, and Julianos in such intimate detail that Mary found herself virtually in love with the gods and was thoroughly convinced of the Trifection’s message: it was the model of moral perfection. “Forgive those thou cannot love, understand those thou cannot forgive, and love those thou cannot understand.”
Mary spent most of her time at the House the next couple of years, learning and worshiping, helping the temple from cleaning to performing errands, as well as helping those who were new or unfamiliar with the temple. She was, for all intents and purposes, one of their acolytes in all but title. The House created a sense of unity in a society that was once so combative, and Mary was sure that they were the best thing that ever happened to Jehanna. When the time came for the House to call forth the young and faithful to volunteer to do work for the Divines, the ever faithful Mary, at 12 years old, jumped and pulled at the bit for the chance. She was one of the few that they accepted with open arms. However, before she could do the work that they would have her do, she had to go through a few years of training. It was to make her an irrepressible force for good; the type that would go out into the world to save lives, seek justice, and dispel evil.
However, justice without love or understanding wasn't truly justice. How can one pass judgement upon the wicked if one was innocent? What could they possibly know about justice? In order to understand wickedness, you had to cast purity aside. The back rooms for these initiations would remain hidden for years to come, and even now Mary is still fuzzy on the details after many long years of repressing the meory, but she remembered being told that it was alright to have been a dirty sinner -- Stendarr forgives all who repents. This was also meant to be hidden. She was to be trained for the role of a House Templar and part of the role was to embody their model of moral perfection and the revealing of her initiation would strip her of that honor. She was being asked to deceive alongside playing the part of a moral puritan, but to study Julianos was to understand this contradiction and embrace the Theory of Mind. Through this process, the immoralities committed by the House itself was used and lorded over Mary like a show of power. It wasn't said at the time, and Mary didn't understand it -- she was effectively brainwashed into believing that the House was innocent and that she was doing the right thing -- but they used the evidence that could be used to incriminate them as a way to keep their initiates in line by making them believe they held power over them. They believed that their secrets were in the safe hands of the House of Trifection when it was in fact the opposite.
That would’ve been the end of that though, for the next few years would be devoted to their training. The initiates either forced themselves to forget or forgot in light of what lies ahead. Mary and the other initiates would spend hours upon hours in training session with Stendarr Crusaders from other Temples in the region, and their sole purpose in Jehanna was to train the House’s first generation of templars. Their days were filled with practicing swordplay with wooden practice weapons, learning proper footwork, and donning armor. Their ability to defend themselves had to be up to par if they were going to be defending anybody else. Then their nights were filled with more in-depth study; of magic, restoration, and yes, the gods.
Their magical studies was built upon the fundamentals they’ve learned, but it was less about the actual use of magic, but the understanding of magic. There were many monsters out there in the world, and the worst of them were capable of bewitching and cursing innocent people, so the goal was to being able to identify their condition, recognizing the magic, and to know how to dispel it as well as protecting themselves against such magic. The study of controlling the ebb and flow of magic itself was known as Mysticism, a school that’s long been cast aside by most of Tamriel. The School of Julianos saw the abandonment of such knowledge as sacrilegious, and chose instead to preserve its history. The School even went as far as to invite speakers for guest lectures, one of which was the late witch hunter, Diarmid Goupeville, who shared some tips and tricks for monster hunting as well as some trade secrets for combating against creatures of a more magical nature.
Similarly, learning Restoration magic from the Maran priests and priestess was essential for saving lives. One would be hard pressed to call themselves a templar if they couldn’t heal wounds, whether it was their own or someone else’s, and the light magic it used to destroy the undead would be similarly instrumental. Due to the nature of the school, it was often taken and related to the Divines, so the lessons were often two in one. As a templar, your faith must be unshakable, so they regularly tested their faith in the Divines and their belief in the Trifection’s model. Mary’s harsh and rigid training routine with her fellow initiates -- now seen as brothers and sisters -- would continue for eight years, even after Mary reached adulthood. Each templar’s training was mostly the same, but each one had their own skills and talents, so each one’s training was slightly tailored to their style.
Mary found her strength in a balance between offense and defense. With a shield in hand and donned in lightweight chainmail, she’d wait for her opponent to strike first before deftly closing the distance with her shield and sword. She wasn’t the best of the initiates; Carlisle’s strength and skill with the greatsword was far too great for her to defend against, and her reputation among them in hand-to-hand intimidated everyone from getting too close, and Fontaine was clever enough that he was able to take what limited knowledge they taught them of Mysticism and figure the rest out on his own. Jorgr was a fantastic healer who took to Restoration like a flea would take to a skeever -- but Mary’s generalism allowed her to outwit all of them outside of their preferred grounds, and nobody would ever think of questioning her loyalty to the gods or to the House. As a twenty year old Mary took her Oath of Devotion, she recited every word passionately and etched them into her heart.
The templars were armed with enchanted silver daggers, and the next four years of her life was spent doing work for the temple. She was a protector of the house, an enforcer of law, and a defender of the innocent. She performed her duties diligently, tackling down thieves in the streets with non-lethal force, settling drunken arguments in the tavern diplomatically -- she loved the people of her hometown and had no desire to harm them. The templars effectively became the public face for the House the more they were seen throughout the city. Their benevolence reflected back on the House, which in turned heightened their reputation. Then the House collected reports of disturbances across the countryside of High Rock and aimed their templars towards them, hoping to put their years of training to the test. Mary was sent southwest toward the Duchy of Gastemarch where the report of an older gentleman had gone missing from his cottage for a few days. After some time spent on tracking, she found herself in the middle of a fen and face to face with a hideous hagraven. Her shield protected her from its claws, and her light armor kept her light enough on her feet to avoid the creature’s devastating spellcraft. After an intense fight with the witch, crippling but failing to kill the creature with her sword, she finished it off by slitting its throat with her silver dagger.
The old man was found as a captive in the hagraven’s cottage, who was paralyzed by some magical concoction that was forcibly fed to him which Mary was able to dispel with her magic. After some time, she nursed him mostly back to health with Restoration and carried him back home on her back before returning home to Jehanna. The other templars were apparently just as successful in their missions. Carlisle in particular seemed rather popular, for word of her work in the Reach had gotten around -- her driving away of Forsworn raiders had dubbed her the name of Carlisle the Adherent. She didn’t like it. Apparently people thought that dubbing her the opposite of their sworn enemy meant something. Much to Mary’s own embarrassment, her friend apparently thought of her, since that title sounded like one that Mary deserved more than she did. As word of Mary’s deed got around town, people started calling her Witchbane. They both joked that perhaps they should’ve traded nicknames.
It was for the best, though. Mary found it hard to stomach the idea of killing other people.
The deeds of the templars reflected back on the House of Trifection, and soon enough, the officials of Jehanna began calling upon the House to continue performing these deeds throughout the kingdom. During the next four years, the templars had found themselves being little more than contracted heroes. Mary didn’t mind it so much, though. She enjoyed the hero work, as it felt like being a real knight. For the next four years, she scoured northern High Rock, the Reach, and Wrothgarian mountains, helping all those she came across and slaying all manner of foul monsters and beasts. Whether it was undead, vampires, trolls, werewolves, or even Forsworn and bandit raiders (as much as she detested the latter), she was up to the task -- but she became especially proficient in taking down hagravens. Even as dangerous as they were, her first experience taught her a lot about how to deal with them, as did each subsequent time she had to face one.
In fact, it was after one of those hunts for a hagraven far south of Jehanna did Mary stop to rest at Evermoor in the county of Ephesus -- they did not stop her, since the four years worth of braided favors hanging from her belt esteemed her as a local do-gooder. With a drink in hand the latest news in the paper, she learned of the fate that befell the House of Trifection back home:
“Jehanna Temple, the House of Trifection, was shut down by the order of King Frithjolf Broken-Shield following multiple allegations of sex related scandals with children. All leaders and officials are to be investigated and those found guilty will be tried and punished by means of--”
Mary couldn’t bring herself to read any more of it. She had spent more than a decade fervently believing in the model of moral perfection that the house had instilled into her. For more than a decade she had repressed the memories of her initiation to the point where she can barely even recall them now, but now she just felt an overwhelming sense of shame and disbelief. She couldn’t believe that the temple she devoted so much of her life to grew to be a corrupted sham. Or were they always one? She was associated with them, and as much it pained her to think it, she didn’t want to be. Her world was suddenly turned upside down and she didn’t want to think about it anymore, so she turned her back on High Rock. She never returned home to Jehanna after that day, and traveled across the rest of High Rock to help all those she could in order to wash her hands of her relationship with the Temple and their sins.
For the next year, she chose to preoccupy herself with doing what she’s been doing: helping people, being a hero; that part never changed. She still had an oath to uphold, even if only part of it was still relevant. For the next year, she took on jobs like a common mercenary might, but only those that she felt was morally just. Her latest job? Escort a Rivenspire noble to Evermoor for some big banquet or something. Stand there and look noble while everyone eats. That should be easy enough.
Turns out she instead walked into a conspiracy that was set up by a coven of vampires, something that a handful of mercenaries disguised as guards and guests were aware of and took action to prevent. With Mary's help, they took down the vampire responsible for the mass frenzy, and a different team took down the vampire lord that orchestrated the whole event. With her former employer alive and well, thereby fulfilling her contract to the letter, it was an impressive enough feat amidst the chaos that she was hired onto Gustav's company -- provided that she wouldn't be asked to do anything that would go against her moral code, and with the understanding that Mary will do what she can to keep the company on the straight and narrow in return.
"The line separating moralities is not so clearly cut and drawn, is it? We walk a messy penumbra in our search for what is true and righteous."
M A R Y A N T O N Y
"To preach light in ignorance of darkness is to administer justice without knowing sin. To know Truth is to know wickedness, and to know wickedness, you too must be judged and delivered from its clutches. Book of Stendarr; sermon 6."
══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════ _______________________________________________  _______________________________________________ ═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════ Marlene "Mars" Antony, Witchbane _______________________________________________ 25 | ♀ | Breton _______________________________________________ Templar, Freelance Hero, Witch Hunter ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Lean and athletic; built for endurance and agility. ► Skin Color - Fair ► Hair Color - Light brown, dirty blonde. ► Eye Color - Blue. ► Other - ▼ D O S S I E R ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Birthplace - Jehanna, High Rock. ► Birthsign - The Lady ► Biggest Regret - Mary wishes she handled the dissolving of her church and her excommunication with the higher religious community with a little more grace. ► Mary's Goal - To perform great, honorable deeds to redeem the name of the Trifecta Templars. ▼ F A V O R E D A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Major Willpower ► Minor Endurance ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Shield - Adept ► One-Handed (Blade) - Adept ► Medium Armor - Adept ► Restoration - Adept ► Mysticism (Negation) - Adept ► Athletics - Apprentice ► Hand to Hand - Apprentice ► Communication (Speech) - Apprentice ▼ S P E L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Restoration - Close Wounds, Heal Other, Stendarr's Aura, Turn Undead ► Mysticism - (Greater) Dispel, (G) Dispel Other, Life Detection, Clairvoyance ▼ E Q U I P M E N T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Weapons - A steel longsword and a silver dagger of banishing. ► Armor - Metal reinforced wood shield, chain mail over a blue gambeson, leather gauntlets, and leather boots. ► Containers - A satchel which hangs from her shoulder and a 32 oz. waterskin. ► Food, Drink, Potions - A pouch which contains another pouch, a cheese cloth full of nuts, seeds, and dried fruits and vegetable chips such as apple chips, strawberries, kale, collards, potatoes, and snap peas. The only kind of meat she carries with her are small strips of salt cod. ► Miscellaneous - Her belt and bracers are adorned with dozens of multi-colored braids of fabric, ribbons, and hemp; a collection of favors. Also affixed to her belt is a pouch filled with small trophies; werewolf claws, vials of vampire ashes, and troll teeth get lost among the collection of hagravan talons. | ══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ The Bretons of High Rock are often a fair folk, and Mary is no exception. There might be some Nord somewhere in that blood of hers like most of those in Jehanna, since her fair skin, blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, and sharp features seem all too Nordic in appearance, but they are softened by the serene expression ever present in her face. Like many Bretons, she is short in stature at 5’6”, but she is fit and athletic like many warriors tend to be. She also weighs in approximately 135 pounds, she isn’t rippling with muscle like many warriors tend to be, and her toning is quite poor, but it takes a bit of muscle to carry arms and armor over mountains and the course of many miles. Her posture is tall and proud, and she stands with a sense of duty and obligation whenever she's armed and armored. Her hair is fair and wispy and usually floats around her shoulder, and one side of her head is usually lightly plaited into small braids. It frames her square jaw, a somewhat distinct feature in the midst of more conventionally feminine traits such as smooth skin, high cheekbones, and a thin and upturned nose above her pink lips. Her glowing countenance and lack of obvious scarring on her person denotes a successful career if not a proficiency in Restoration magic, though it disguises many years of bruising and battered bones. The most obvious scars are the knicks, cuts, and calluses on her hands from years of practice and wrestling with nasty beasts, and a few slashes on her upper arms, which are usually covered by clothes and her gambeson anyways. When donning her equipment, Mary opts for chain mail armor layered over a long noble blue gambeson that stretches down to her knees while a gorget covers her neck and part of her shoulders. She also wears leather gauntlets and bracers which are affixed with metal plates for further protection. Likewise, she wears knee high leather boots with plates of metal affixed to the shins, vamps, and toes via buckled straps. Her shield looks battered, but still has plenty of battles in its future. Once painted white with a red flower over its face, this metal-reinforced and fire-hardened wooden shield has its paint chipped off and shreds of wood splintered off. Most notable among this damage are four long claw marks scraping from one end to the next. She also wears a leather belt around her chain from which her sword sheath hangs from, and a sheath for her silver dagger rests just above her tailbone. The belt itself is adorned with dozens of multi-colored braids of fabric, ribbons, and hemp; a collection of favors she has accumulated over her years of questing and performing heroic deeds for the poor country folk -- some of them she even ties around her bracers. Also affixed to her belt is a pouch filled with small trophies. Aside from these favors and her amulets, she has few other accessories on her person. Not even so much as a piercing in her ear or a tattoo on her skin. In her downtime, she dresses down as humble as she seems in what is usually a linen blouse or men’s shirt and, surprising to most of those who meet her, a thin ankle length skirt. These garments are typical white, off white, or cream in color; very simple and very modest, and as a jarring addition to this dainty outfit are her leather riding boots without their armor affixed to them. However, under the skirt she often wears well-fitted equestrian's pants that are formed to her figure. Her posture when she dresses down is lot more humble than when she wears her armor, which goes to show how she was trained to present a sort of persona whenever she is "on duty." Even so, her real, down-to-Nirn self isn't so different with the exception of her confidence. She comes off as much more subdued and humble, and it becomes clear that she truly sees herself as little more than a servant to others. However, one thing that doesn't change are the three enchanted amulets tangled around her neck, each representing her gods of choice: a four-pointed star for Mara, a horn for Stendarr, and a triangle for Julianos. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ First impressions? Serene, calm, satisfied, humble, and at peace. There’s a certain air about her that radiates a sense of goodness and benevolence that makes people feel naturally inclined to trust her. A pious woman, certainly, and she makes no attempt at hiding it and her regular mention of the Divines and the breadth of their influence of the world, which may be one of the few things that could be a seen as a fault by her worst critics. The belief that the gods will provide instills a sort of complacency in any man, woman, or mer, and this still holds true for Mary. Even so, she sees herself as a sort of tool or servant of the Divines. She acts in what she believes to be their will, so she isn’t the type to stand idly by in the face suffering or injustice. She takes initiative in almost all aspects of her life and shows herself to be very disciplined in her faith and daily routines. People often mistake her for being a knight, which she does not hesitate in correcting. Mary is difficult to anger and usually meets aggression with diplomacy and deliberation. She possesses a strong sense of justice and attempts to balance it with love and wisdom. She’s ever the optimist, perhaps even to the point of naivety, and she’s okay with that. Mary acknowledges that she’s still young and embraces it, even if she’s seasoned and was forced to grow up a bit sooner than others, choosing to not lord her experience over her friends and colleagues. It’s kind of difficult to stay mad at her -- she’s such a kind and free spirit without an ill bone in her body, aspiring to be the best possible version of herself at all times and seeking happiness through the betterment of others. You’d be forgiven for thinking that she’s being a martyr -- because you’re quite possibly right. The former templar once felt a significant sense of betrayal that shook her to her core. She feels an unbearable sense of shame for her association with a particular temple in High Rock that no longer exists and for having devoted herself so intensely to its clergy. She sees her journey partially as a sort of pilgrimage or path towards redemption, or perhaps she simply seeks to do as much good as possible before she dies a death worthy of forgiveness in the eyes of her gods. She burdens herself with the sense of sharing the same shame and guilt of her former church and seeks to redeem the reputation of the templars through her actions. |
═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════
Mary was born on ides of Hearthfire and in the Kingdom of Jehanna, located in northern High Rock. A society of both Bretons and Nords surrounded by Wrothgarian Mountains on one side, the Reach on another, the Sea of Ghosts on its north side, and Skyrim only spitting distance away, it has come to develop a strong warrior culture. What it lacked, however, was a center of faith. Most High Rock kingdoms, city states, and principalities had a temple of some kind. The Benevolence of Mara and School of Julianos, for instance, had presence in the rest of High Rock, but Jehanna was barren of a spiritual center for some time between years of defending themselves from vagabonds and conquerors alike and most who practiced only did so the privacy of their own homes. To establish a center of faith and spiritual and moral fulfillment is what the House of Trifection hoped to accomplish.
The Trifection was result of a joint effort between priests and priestess of Mara, Stendarr, and Julianos. It was intended as a model of moral perfection: love, mercy, and wisdom. Scholars of Julianos were seen as overreaching by outsiders at first, since they weren’t supposed to preach any moral philosophy, but they pushed back by maintaining that fighting against the sin of ignorance and complacency has always been their objective. Idle hands were the daedra’s work, after all. Together, they believed that through love, mercy, and wisdom, life's most challenging obstacles could be overcome. It was this doctrine and model of moral perfection that appealed to the natives, and the newly named Order of Trifection was allowed to come together and build the House of Trifection, a temple where people could be wed, counseled, seek forgiveness, and learn. Indeed, it was as much a place of learning as it was a place of worship, but one side effect was that their learning curriculum was heavily tied into their religion. As this temple gained in popularity and became a focal point around which to gather, it's influence grew.
As it grew, so did the influence of the more militant of Stendarr’s followers, who believed that justice should be preached as much as mercy. As this movement among that sect of the temple grew, the rest of the House conceded, and appealed to the king of Jehanna. The kingdom would then agree to outsource local cases to the House of Trifection, whereas more complex and political cases will be managed within the court. The House then became a place of worship, a school, and a courthouse all in one, and each of the three governing clergies came to represent a principle of reasoning; Mara’s clergy embodied emotional appeal, Stendarr’s embodied ethical appeal, and Julianos’ embodied logical appeal. As often happens with centers of law and justice, the House began to train their own holy warriors and merciful defenders of justice. This is where Mary finally fits into the picture years later
She came from a small family - a mom and pops with not much to their name other than a few sheep for shearing and a small plot of land for vegetables such as potatoes, carrots, and cabbages. However, the Trifection offered its services for free since they were fueled mostly by donations, avoiding tax, and government grants. Although she inherited her parents’ kind hearts, they were poor and low in the caste system, conditioning them into being intimidated by authority and power. This meant they lacked the assertiveness to raise their daughter with concerted cultivation, but still wanted to provide her with as many opportunities as possible; one of them was to send her to the House of Trifection for schooling when she was 10 years old. Stendarr’s mercy also kept the Julianos sect from being too picky with their applicants.
As a result, Mary’s life was positively enriched. The day before she was just a farm girl, but now? They've expanded her mind beyond her horizons. They helped her to think outside of the little box she was trapped in, introduced her to a world that was once leagues above her place in society and full of magic. Though it only provided the fundamentals of magic, and the House’s schooling program was mostly aimed towards a generally educated public, the fundamentals of magic that they did teach happened to set the groundwork for Mysticism. Perhaps even more profound than that, however, were the Divines. Sure, she has heard of them before. She got the general idea of what they were all about -- but they covered Stendarr, Mara, and Julianos in such intimate detail that Mary found herself virtually in love with the gods and was thoroughly convinced of the Trifection’s message: it was the model of moral perfection. “Forgive those thou cannot love, understand those thou cannot forgive, and love those thou cannot understand.”
Mary spent most of her time at the House the next couple of years, learning and worshiping, helping the temple from cleaning to performing errands, as well as helping those who were new or unfamiliar with the temple. She was, for all intents and purposes, one of their acolytes in all but title. The House created a sense of unity in a society that was once so combative, and Mary was sure that they were the best thing that ever happened to Jehanna. When the time came for the House to call forth the young and faithful to volunteer to do work for the Divines, the ever faithful Mary, at 12 years old, jumped and pulled at the bit for the chance. She was one of the few that they accepted with open arms. However, before she could do the work that they would have her do, she had to go through a few years of training. It was to make her an irrepressible force for good; the type that would go out into the world to save lives, seek justice, and dispel evil.
However, justice without love or understanding wasn't truly justice. How can one pass judgement upon the wicked if one was innocent? What could they possibly know about justice? In order to understand wickedness, you had to cast purity aside. The back rooms for these initiations would remain hidden for years to come, and even now Mary is still fuzzy on the details after many long years of repressing the meory, but she remembered being told that it was alright to have been a dirty sinner -- Stendarr forgives all who repents. This was also meant to be hidden. She was to be trained for the role of a House Templar and part of the role was to embody their model of moral perfection and the revealing of her initiation would strip her of that honor. She was being asked to deceive alongside playing the part of a moral puritan, but to study Julianos was to understand this contradiction and embrace the Theory of Mind. Through this process, the immoralities committed by the House itself was used and lorded over Mary like a show of power. It wasn't said at the time, and Mary didn't understand it -- she was effectively brainwashed into believing that the House was innocent and that she was doing the right thing -- but they used the evidence that could be used to incriminate them as a way to keep their initiates in line by making them believe they held power over them. They believed that their secrets were in the safe hands of the House of Trifection when it was in fact the opposite.
That would’ve been the end of that though, for the next few years would be devoted to their training. The initiates either forced themselves to forget or forgot in light of what lies ahead. Mary and the other initiates would spend hours upon hours in training session with Stendarr Crusaders from other Temples in the region, and their sole purpose in Jehanna was to train the House’s first generation of templars. Their days were filled with practicing swordplay with wooden practice weapons, learning proper footwork, and donning armor. Their ability to defend themselves had to be up to par if they were going to be defending anybody else. Then their nights were filled with more in-depth study; of magic, restoration, and yes, the gods.
Their magical studies was built upon the fundamentals they’ve learned, but it was less about the actual use of magic, but the understanding of magic. There were many monsters out there in the world, and the worst of them were capable of bewitching and cursing innocent people, so the goal was to being able to identify their condition, recognizing the magic, and to know how to dispel it as well as protecting themselves against such magic. The study of controlling the ebb and flow of magic itself was known as Mysticism, a school that’s long been cast aside by most of Tamriel. The School of Julianos saw the abandonment of such knowledge as sacrilegious, and chose instead to preserve its history. The School even went as far as to invite speakers for guest lectures, one of which was the late witch hunter, Diarmid Goupeville, who shared some tips and tricks for monster hunting as well as some trade secrets for combating against creatures of a more magical nature.
Similarly, learning Restoration magic from the Maran priests and priestess was essential for saving lives. One would be hard pressed to call themselves a templar if they couldn’t heal wounds, whether it was their own or someone else’s, and the light magic it used to destroy the undead would be similarly instrumental. Due to the nature of the school, it was often taken and related to the Divines, so the lessons were often two in one. As a templar, your faith must be unshakable, so they regularly tested their faith in the Divines and their belief in the Trifection’s model. Mary’s harsh and rigid training routine with her fellow initiates -- now seen as brothers and sisters -- would continue for eight years, even after Mary reached adulthood. Each templar’s training was mostly the same, but each one had their own skills and talents, so each one’s training was slightly tailored to their style.
Mary found her strength in a balance between offense and defense. With a shield in hand and donned in lightweight chainmail, she’d wait for her opponent to strike first before deftly closing the distance with her shield and sword. She wasn’t the best of the initiates; Carlisle’s strength and skill with the greatsword was far too great for her to defend against, and her reputation among them in hand-to-hand intimidated everyone from getting too close, and Fontaine was clever enough that he was able to take what limited knowledge they taught them of Mysticism and figure the rest out on his own. Jorgr was a fantastic healer who took to Restoration like a flea would take to a skeever -- but Mary’s generalism allowed her to outwit all of them outside of their preferred grounds, and nobody would ever think of questioning her loyalty to the gods or to the House. As a twenty year old Mary took her Oath of Devotion, she recited every word passionately and etched them into her heart.
The templars were armed with enchanted silver daggers, and the next four years of her life was spent doing work for the temple. She was a protector of the house, an enforcer of law, and a defender of the innocent. She performed her duties diligently, tackling down thieves in the streets with non-lethal force, settling drunken arguments in the tavern diplomatically -- she loved the people of her hometown and had no desire to harm them. The templars effectively became the public face for the House the more they were seen throughout the city. Their benevolence reflected back on the House, which in turned heightened their reputation. Then the House collected reports of disturbances across the countryside of High Rock and aimed their templars towards them, hoping to put their years of training to the test. Mary was sent southwest toward the Duchy of Gastemarch where the report of an older gentleman had gone missing from his cottage for a few days. After some time spent on tracking, she found herself in the middle of a fen and face to face with a hideous hagraven. Her shield protected her from its claws, and her light armor kept her light enough on her feet to avoid the creature’s devastating spellcraft. After an intense fight with the witch, crippling but failing to kill the creature with her sword, she finished it off by slitting its throat with her silver dagger.
The old man was found as a captive in the hagraven’s cottage, who was paralyzed by some magical concoction that was forcibly fed to him which Mary was able to dispel with her magic. After some time, she nursed him mostly back to health with Restoration and carried him back home on her back before returning home to Jehanna. The other templars were apparently just as successful in their missions. Carlisle in particular seemed rather popular, for word of her work in the Reach had gotten around -- her driving away of Forsworn raiders had dubbed her the name of Carlisle the Adherent. She didn’t like it. Apparently people thought that dubbing her the opposite of their sworn enemy meant something. Much to Mary’s own embarrassment, her friend apparently thought of her, since that title sounded like one that Mary deserved more than she did. As word of Mary’s deed got around town, people started calling her Witchbane. They both joked that perhaps they should’ve traded nicknames.
It was for the best, though. Mary found it hard to stomach the idea of killing other people.
The deeds of the templars reflected back on the House of Trifection, and soon enough, the officials of Jehanna began calling upon the House to continue performing these deeds throughout the kingdom. During the next four years, the templars had found themselves being little more than contracted heroes. Mary didn’t mind it so much, though. She enjoyed the hero work, as it felt like being a real knight. For the next four years, she scoured northern High Rock, the Reach, and Wrothgarian mountains, helping all those she came across and slaying all manner of foul monsters and beasts. Whether it was undead, vampires, trolls, werewolves, or even Forsworn and bandit raiders (as much as she detested the latter), she was up to the task -- but she became especially proficient in taking down hagravens. Even as dangerous as they were, her first experience taught her a lot about how to deal with them, as did each subsequent time she had to face one.
In fact, it was after one of those hunts for a hagraven far south of Jehanna did Mary stop to rest at Evermoor in the county of Ephesus -- they did not stop her, since the four years worth of braided favors hanging from her belt esteemed her as a local do-gooder. With a drink in hand the latest news in the paper, she learned of the fate that befell the House of Trifection back home:
“Jehanna Temple, the House of Trifection, was shut down by the order of King Frithjolf Broken-Shield following multiple allegations of sex related scandals with children. All leaders and officials are to be investigated and those found guilty will be tried and punished by means of--”
Mary couldn’t bring herself to read any more of it. She had spent more than a decade fervently believing in the model of moral perfection that the house had instilled into her. For more than a decade she had repressed the memories of her initiation to the point where she can barely even recall them now, but now she just felt an overwhelming sense of shame and disbelief. She couldn’t believe that the temple she devoted so much of her life to grew to be a corrupted sham. Or were they always one? She was associated with them, and as much it pained her to think it, she didn’t want to be. Her world was suddenly turned upside down and she didn’t want to think about it anymore, so she turned her back on High Rock. She never returned home to Jehanna after that day, and traveled across the rest of High Rock to help all those she could in order to wash her hands of her relationship with the Temple and their sins.
For the next year, she chose to preoccupy herself with doing what she’s been doing: helping people, being a hero; that part never changed. She still had an oath to uphold, even if only part of it was still relevant. For the next year, she took on jobs like a common mercenary might, but only those that she felt was morally just. Her latest job? Escort a Rivenspire noble to Evermoor for some big banquet or something. Stand there and look noble while everyone eats. That should be easy enough.
Turns out she instead walked into a conspiracy that was set up by a coven of vampires, something that a handful of mercenaries disguised as guards and guests were aware of and took action to prevent. With Mary's help, they took down the vampire responsible for the mass frenzy, and a different team took down the vampire lord that orchestrated the whole event. With her former employer alive and well, thereby fulfilling her contract to the letter, it was an impressive enough feat amidst the chaos that she was hired onto Gustav's company -- provided that she wouldn't be asked to do anything that would go against her moral code, and with the understanding that Mary will do what she can to keep the company on the straight and narrow in return.
"The line separating moralities is not so clearly cut and drawn, is it? We walk a messy penumbra in our search for what is true and righteous."
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
Seen
1 day ago
Mmm, what a juicy sheet, @Stormflyx. Njal is a fascinating character, and for an NPC, packs a lot of story potential. He is very much approved for NPC. If you wish, adding a couple of minor skills and connections will easily make him a main character.
@Spoopy Scary, Mary's fantastic as she has been. Welcome to the company!
@Spoopy Scary, Mary's fantastic as she has been. Welcome to the company!
2x Thank
spicykvnt Sponsored by Yorkshire Gold
Member
Seen
3 days ago
A hopefully improved sheet from last chapter, with recap of her scenes in Jehanna
▼ S K I L L S
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► Restoration - Expert
► Medicine - Adept
► Alchemy - Adept
► Speechcraft - Adept
► Conjuration - Adept
► Lockpicking - Novice
► Dual-Wield - Novice
▼ T A C T I C S
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Ideally, Relyssa will not have to fight - having successfully charmed her way out of a situation with diplomacy. When all else fails, however...
Relyssa is an incredibly skilled healer who has developed her own methods using lesser known techniques like meditation and deliberate breathing to be precise in her control of her Magicka. Despite her greed surrounding much of her motivations as a healer - she takes incredible pride in her work and will never let anyone leave with a scar or without being in the finest health. She is arrogant in her abilities too, she knows that she is the best at what she does and has the skills to back it up - and she will let you know that too.
She will stay out of the line of fire, retreating to the back and giving out Wards to those in front. In dire circumstances she will conjure her familiar, the Wolf, who acts in tune with her emotions. If she is scared, the Wolf will be far more aggressive and direct in its attack, if she is hurt or injured it will move to a position of strong defense. As well as her conjuration, she carries on her person spell scrolls of Destruction for situations in a pinch. She would have people believe otherwise, however. That they are to sell and make a profit from.
▼ W E A K N E S S E S
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► Physically Weak - Not a fighter...
► Real Fears - Pyrophobia
► Seven Deadly Sins - Pride before a fall
► Abusive - Such a big mouth...
▼ R EL A T I O N S & A F F I L I A T I O N S
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► Alastaire and Elayne Deserine - Parents - Alive
► Collete Marence and The College of Winterhold - Ex-Student
▼ E Q U I P M E N T
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► Stylish leather satchel
► Journal, quill, ink, and rolls of parchment
► 2 small steel daggers
► 2 potions of minor restoration, 1 of minor magicka
► 1 ea of scrolls; Chain Lightning, Lightning Bolt
► Amulet of Speech, silver ruby ring, ruby headpiece
► The Lover’s Knot
► Alchemy journal and recipe book
► Cloth pouch of various dried flowers, lavender sprigs, and blue mountain flower petal
► Coin purse; over two-hundred septims
► Dried Meat and Fruit Selection
► Bottle of Alto Wine
▼ C L O T H I N G & A R M O U R
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► Casual: A deep violet boned sleeveless jacket of embroidered jacquard streaked with golden thread. Worn with a pair of gold and cream cropped trousers. A ruby amulet around her neck, and a headpiece with a ruby set into the centre. A pair of two-pronged heeled metal sandals that would be entirely impractical for anything other than indoor work.
► Armour: A black tunic dress held in place by a thick leather belted corset, with a fringing over the short skirt to cover her thighs. The dress is worn off the shoulder, but has long sleeves tucked into gloves. Leather thigh high boots complete the simple look.
Relyssa Deserine
30 | ♀ | Daggerfall, High Rock | Breton
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Merchant, Healer, Business Woman
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Intelligence (Major) Personality (Minor)
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Merchant, Healer, Business Woman
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Intelligence (Major) Personality (Minor)
══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════
Relyssa is short of height, standing at approximately 5’2, although most would never know this, as she is just about always wearing an impressive heel, or will remain seated in new company - always managing to find high ground to those she invites to her company. Her figure is lean but unmistakably feminine, with a willowy waist and generous hips. She is well aware of the effect that her shape has on people, often using it to her advantage by emphasising a sway in her hips, stretching a leg a certain way, or playing with her collar just so, smiling in the most inviting way that she can.
Unlike the rest of her body, her lips stand out with their fullness, and that they are most always painted in an eye-catching colour, sat over perfectly straight teeth. She has a round, soft face, with high cheekbones. Her ears have that slight signature pointed tip and her eyebrows are arched - both signal to her Elvish ancestry.
Relyssa’s eyes are the centre point of her face. They are the cold and unforgiving grey blue of an ocean, flecked with waves of silver and black around the iris. They are maelstroms. Striking and infamous, rarely will she look upon a stranger, particularly one she deems inferior to herself. Her eyes are the poisonous jab that can invoke fear in one instance and break through it with charm the next. Framed by well groomed and arched brows slightly darker than her hair, they are the windows into her soul if one can stand to maintain eye contact with her for long enough to find it.
Almost as unique as her eyes, is her recognisable hair. Worn in long, soft waves, the ash blonde shines like strands of silver in the sunlight. Relyssa is impeccably groomed at all times, never a hair out of place, never a crease in her clothing that wasn’t intended to be there.Her living quarters and workspaces are as pristine as she is, with everything in their rightful, designated space. Her signature scent is lavender, daisy, and snowberry. A scent that she formulates herself and carries with her at all times. She is as vain as you would expect her to be, showing great concern to stay clean, neat, and beautiful at all times. She has no qualms about directing her attention to the nearest mirror in conversation. Casual attire has absolutely no place in her wardrobe, even the clothing she wears on a rare expedition is fancy.
Unlike the rest of her body, her lips stand out with their fullness, and that they are most always painted in an eye-catching colour, sat over perfectly straight teeth. She has a round, soft face, with high cheekbones. Her ears have that slight signature pointed tip and her eyebrows are arched - both signal to her Elvish ancestry.
Relyssa’s eyes are the centre point of her face. They are the cold and unforgiving grey blue of an ocean, flecked with waves of silver and black around the iris. They are maelstroms. Striking and infamous, rarely will she look upon a stranger, particularly one she deems inferior to herself. Her eyes are the poisonous jab that can invoke fear in one instance and break through it with charm the next. Framed by well groomed and arched brows slightly darker than her hair, they are the windows into her soul if one can stand to maintain eye contact with her for long enough to find it.
Almost as unique as her eyes, is her recognisable hair. Worn in long, soft waves, the ash blonde shines like strands of silver in the sunlight. Relyssa is impeccably groomed at all times, never a hair out of place, never a crease in her clothing that wasn’t intended to be there.Her living quarters and workspaces are as pristine as she is, with everything in their rightful, designated space. Her signature scent is lavender, daisy, and snowberry. A scent that she formulates herself and carries with her at all times. She is as vain as you would expect her to be, showing great concern to stay clean, neat, and beautiful at all times. She has no qualms about directing her attention to the nearest mirror in conversation. Casual attire has absolutely no place in her wardrobe, even the clothing she wears on a rare expedition is fancy.
═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════
One would be foolish to write off Relyssa as a weak woman by her size, figure, and propensity for vanity. While she can not swing a sword, or tame Destruction magic to harm her enemies, it does not mean there is not a ferocious strength hidden within her. Her words are the weapons she wields fearlessly, and she is as dexterous and unforgiving in speech as the most powerful fencer is with her sword.
She is completely confident in herself and at a glance seems to profess no virtues beyond self interest - traits which can come across as intimidating to some, and admirable to others. It takes resilience, courage, and perseverance to be successful in the two fields that Relyssa has chosen. Those who have doubted her along the way did not deter her from her ambitious path, they merely played a hand in carving her into the woman that she is today.
She is incredibly shrewd, manipulative, and calculating in order to get what she wants, and hides her real truth almost too easily. Relyssa is intelligent, and she is able to weigh people up on the fly, sensing just enough about them to decipher how she should act. This is a well defined skill she developed from an early age, and inherited from her father, Alastairee. Every interaction that she has is pre-calculated, motivated, and for her own gain - to take her one step closer to her goals.
When she becomes more comfortable around people, she will begin to drop her initial honey-sweet and fake facade, allowing occasional glimpses of a softer personality, and a somewhat strangely endearing snobbishness to appear. Throughout her life, Relyssa has only met a small handful of individuals who have been able to really get past the walls she has so cunningly built around herself. These are usually the people who call her out on her schemes, and are the very few who see through her snark, sarcasm, and beyond her mask.
Ultimately, Relyssa is on her own journey to fulfill her desire to gain power and riches beyond that of normal men, she wants her name to be in books - she wants to be remembered. To live as a mere peasant? She would rather die.
She is completely confident in herself and at a glance seems to profess no virtues beyond self interest - traits which can come across as intimidating to some, and admirable to others. It takes resilience, courage, and perseverance to be successful in the two fields that Relyssa has chosen. Those who have doubted her along the way did not deter her from her ambitious path, they merely played a hand in carving her into the woman that she is today.
She is incredibly shrewd, manipulative, and calculating in order to get what she wants, and hides her real truth almost too easily. Relyssa is intelligent, and she is able to weigh people up on the fly, sensing just enough about them to decipher how she should act. This is a well defined skill she developed from an early age, and inherited from her father, Alastairee. Every interaction that she has is pre-calculated, motivated, and for her own gain - to take her one step closer to her goals.
When she becomes more comfortable around people, she will begin to drop her initial honey-sweet and fake facade, allowing occasional glimpses of a softer personality, and a somewhat strangely endearing snobbishness to appear. Throughout her life, Relyssa has only met a small handful of individuals who have been able to really get past the walls she has so cunningly built around herself. These are usually the people who call her out on her schemes, and are the very few who see through her snark, sarcasm, and beyond her mask.
Ultimately, Relyssa is on her own journey to fulfill her desire to gain power and riches beyond that of normal men, she wants her name to be in books - she wants to be remembered. To live as a mere peasant? She would rather die.
═══════ H I S T O R Y ══════
Born in 4E175 as the only daughter of Alastaire and Elayne Deserine, Relyssa’s opulent life was destined from the start - there would be no humble beginnings for this Heiress.
Both parents were masters of their respective craft - her father an incredible merchant and trader of Nirn’s antiquities, and her mother a respected and sought-after tailor and dressmaker for High Rock nobility. Despite a passionate liking for the finer things, especially clothing, the young girl demonstrated little interest in the making of garments - turning her nose at the needle and thread during her lessons, while many her age would relish the opportunity to be mentored in the art by Elayne Deserine, for Relyssa, it was simply too close to home and so she had no interest whatsoever.
Much to her father's joy, however, he found that his daughter’s interest was in adventure. At night, he would read stories to his daughter of Nirn’s greatest heroes, and tease her with tales of secrets and legends of incredible treasures that lay scattered across the realm. His theatrical storytelling captured her interest, and left a desperate hunger within her to seek out such treasures.
During one memorable day, her Father was holding a golden crown that he had procured for a Lord to present to his Lady somewhere in High Rock. She wasn't really listening, she was too transfixed by the shimmering diamonds set into the crown. Everything fell silent when she gazed upon the treasure. Nothing compared to when she actually held it in her hands. She felt an immediate sense of power and superiority. Her eyes were big as she stared at it, seeing her reflection in the rows of flawless diamonds... She wanted nothing more than to have dozens of these crowns for herself. Alastaire had to prize it from her hands and in that moment that is was snatched from her grasp she felt an emptiness inside. Relyssa didn’t care what she had to do, how many people she had to climb over and stomp on to get it, she was going to have treasures like this of her own one day.
This desire carried her into her early adulthood as she diligently studied up on her history and politics. It was no use though, being a scholar wouldn’t bring her closer to that which she desired - she needed a real craft, and a valuable one...
Despite her studies and obvious ambition, eventually her parents were beginning to grow tired of their spoilt daughter. The two concocted a scheme in an attempt to push her from the nest and help her decide the next steps of her path.
One disastrous marriage proposal plot later, and Relyssa had taken her life into her hands, and headed off to study with a local Synod Chapter in Daggerfall. Love and men were a distraction - not to mention that her given suitor was… Less than desirable. As a wife, Relyssa would have to share her fortune and belongings with a husband, a husband who was not nearly as intelligent, ambitious, or as attractive as she was. It simply wouldn’t do, and so she took up the time-consuming and studious art of curative and restorative magic.
To her surprise, she was a natural at it and to her parents' even greater surprise, it brought out a softer side of their daughter that they didn’t know existed. Relyssa demonstrated a rare gift for the magic, picking up spells with ease, and her own outside study of non-magical medicine only seemed to fall hand-in-hand with the magical practice. It wasn’t long at all until she felt she had learned all that she could from the Synod.
It was around that time, that Relyssa knew it was now or never to embark on the adventures she had so often dreamed of, with a bittersweet farewell, she left her home of High Rock to attend the College of Winterhold in Skyrim to study her chosen discipline even further. During her time as an apprentice of the College, she faced teasing from her brutish peers for sticking solely to Restorative magic. This made her choose a secondary discipline of magic to study and she chose Conjuration - even if she never particularly paid attention.
She made a friend of sorts in Collete Marence at the College, although Collete did find her off putting and brash - and could sense that Relyssa's ulterior motives were not so squeaky clean. She was clearly very talented at her craft, and intelligent too, and it's not as if young mages were flocking to the College in droves to learn how to be healers, so Collete continued to mentor her, trying her best to teach the Breton to be softer, more honest, more sincere.
As with her growing boredom of the Synod, Relyssa got bored of the libraries and four walls of the College after a spell. She grew tired of the bitter cold, the terribly plain food, and the putrid smells which wafted through the corridors and congregated in her chamber of all places. She began to dream of practicing her magic out in the field, going on adventures and making gold. With the blessing of Colette Marence, she left the College to travel the rest of Skyrim.
Adventurers didn't pay her all that much for her magic, nor did they ever seem to want to share the spoils. She had to think of something else. She had to take matters into her own hands when those she traveled with didn't get any injuries for her to heal or even want to split anything with her. After all, if she didn't have to patch someone up then she definitely wouldn't be getting paid...
During Skyrim’s Civil War, Relyssa found herself amongst the aftermath of dragon attacks rather frequently. She would come across the bodies of the burnt. The sight of their armour that had melded to their skin gave them the appearance of steel men, of crumbled statues. There was nothing she could do help them. Some of the scenes she witnessed absolutely traumatised her, giving her an intense fear of fire and flames. She kept this a secret from those she met for fear of showing any weakness and vulnerability, and still does.
It was these events that tainted Skyrim for her, witnessing the carnage and aftermath of Dragon attacks in 4E201 that left an incredibly sour taste in her mouth for the wilds of the province. She’d witnessed so much pain and bloodshed that she knew she needed a break from it. It seemed that her dreams of adventure, and finding treasures and priceless artefacts were just that — the delusional daydreams of someone who didn’t know any better, simple romanticizations.
The best way then, to find herself amongst that which she desired would be to return home and learn from her father, and simply push herself harder than he ever did… She returned to Daggerfall and spent the next four years working as a Merchant with her father, Alastairee. Here, she was able to spend quality time with her parents and learn skills that she hadn’t used before - in particular her speechcraft. As with her study of magic, the study of merchant work came naturally to her, and she worked on her hours than her father had expected. Always trying to improve and better herself.
At the same time, she continued to practice as a healer in the back room of her father’s shop - trading the taverns of Skyrim for something more comfortable and permanent, and the battle bloodied-nords for posh Breton’s with naught but grazed knees and minor illnesses. It wasn’t long until her greediness and power-hungry nature got the better of her, and she started working behind Alastairee’s back to procure more dangerous items. Hiring mercenary groups to do the dirty work for her and deliver her artifacts, forbidden tomes, and enchanted weapons.
The dirty work eventually led her to Jehanna, and her need to hire led her to Gustav and his ‘Used Sundries’. Following her leads, and the chirps of her little birds she had tracked down a priceless piece of jewellery that had belonged to her family. With the help of her network, and with the help of Alim Blackmoor — Relyssa successfully stole back the ‘Lover’s Knot’, but not easily… As with many Breton events, it was not without it’s drama and the two barely escaped with their lives.
When all had died down, and the excitement of the heist had spilled over, Relyssa and Alim shared a brief moment of passion…
Now, she heads for Wayrest having made herself a business associate of sorts with Gustav. What lies in wait is anyone’s guess, but suddenly this adventure doesn’t feel quite like her delusions of the past…
Both parents were masters of their respective craft - her father an incredible merchant and trader of Nirn’s antiquities, and her mother a respected and sought-after tailor and dressmaker for High Rock nobility. Despite a passionate liking for the finer things, especially clothing, the young girl demonstrated little interest in the making of garments - turning her nose at the needle and thread during her lessons, while many her age would relish the opportunity to be mentored in the art by Elayne Deserine, for Relyssa, it was simply too close to home and so she had no interest whatsoever.
Much to her father's joy, however, he found that his daughter’s interest was in adventure. At night, he would read stories to his daughter of Nirn’s greatest heroes, and tease her with tales of secrets and legends of incredible treasures that lay scattered across the realm. His theatrical storytelling captured her interest, and left a desperate hunger within her to seek out such treasures.
During one memorable day, her Father was holding a golden crown that he had procured for a Lord to present to his Lady somewhere in High Rock. She wasn't really listening, she was too transfixed by the shimmering diamonds set into the crown. Everything fell silent when she gazed upon the treasure. Nothing compared to when she actually held it in her hands. She felt an immediate sense of power and superiority. Her eyes were big as she stared at it, seeing her reflection in the rows of flawless diamonds... She wanted nothing more than to have dozens of these crowns for herself. Alastaire had to prize it from her hands and in that moment that is was snatched from her grasp she felt an emptiness inside. Relyssa didn’t care what she had to do, how many people she had to climb over and stomp on to get it, she was going to have treasures like this of her own one day.
This desire carried her into her early adulthood as she diligently studied up on her history and politics. It was no use though, being a scholar wouldn’t bring her closer to that which she desired - she needed a real craft, and a valuable one...
Despite her studies and obvious ambition, eventually her parents were beginning to grow tired of their spoilt daughter. The two concocted a scheme in an attempt to push her from the nest and help her decide the next steps of her path.
One disastrous marriage proposal plot later, and Relyssa had taken her life into her hands, and headed off to study with a local Synod Chapter in Daggerfall. Love and men were a distraction - not to mention that her given suitor was… Less than desirable. As a wife, Relyssa would have to share her fortune and belongings with a husband, a husband who was not nearly as intelligent, ambitious, or as attractive as she was. It simply wouldn’t do, and so she took up the time-consuming and studious art of curative and restorative magic.
To her surprise, she was a natural at it and to her parents' even greater surprise, it brought out a softer side of their daughter that they didn’t know existed. Relyssa demonstrated a rare gift for the magic, picking up spells with ease, and her own outside study of non-magical medicine only seemed to fall hand-in-hand with the magical practice. It wasn’t long at all until she felt she had learned all that she could from the Synod.
It was around that time, that Relyssa knew it was now or never to embark on the adventures she had so often dreamed of, with a bittersweet farewell, she left her home of High Rock to attend the College of Winterhold in Skyrim to study her chosen discipline even further. During her time as an apprentice of the College, she faced teasing from her brutish peers for sticking solely to Restorative magic. This made her choose a secondary discipline of magic to study and she chose Conjuration - even if she never particularly paid attention.
She made a friend of sorts in Collete Marence at the College, although Collete did find her off putting and brash - and could sense that Relyssa's ulterior motives were not so squeaky clean. She was clearly very talented at her craft, and intelligent too, and it's not as if young mages were flocking to the College in droves to learn how to be healers, so Collete continued to mentor her, trying her best to teach the Breton to be softer, more honest, more sincere.
As with her growing boredom of the Synod, Relyssa got bored of the libraries and four walls of the College after a spell. She grew tired of the bitter cold, the terribly plain food, and the putrid smells which wafted through the corridors and congregated in her chamber of all places. She began to dream of practicing her magic out in the field, going on adventures and making gold. With the blessing of Colette Marence, she left the College to travel the rest of Skyrim.
Adventurers didn't pay her all that much for her magic, nor did they ever seem to want to share the spoils. She had to think of something else. She had to take matters into her own hands when those she traveled with didn't get any injuries for her to heal or even want to split anything with her. After all, if she didn't have to patch someone up then she definitely wouldn't be getting paid...
During Skyrim’s Civil War, Relyssa found herself amongst the aftermath of dragon attacks rather frequently. She would come across the bodies of the burnt. The sight of their armour that had melded to their skin gave them the appearance of steel men, of crumbled statues. There was nothing she could do help them. Some of the scenes she witnessed absolutely traumatised her, giving her an intense fear of fire and flames. She kept this a secret from those she met for fear of showing any weakness and vulnerability, and still does.
It was these events that tainted Skyrim for her, witnessing the carnage and aftermath of Dragon attacks in 4E201 that left an incredibly sour taste in her mouth for the wilds of the province. She’d witnessed so much pain and bloodshed that she knew she needed a break from it. It seemed that her dreams of adventure, and finding treasures and priceless artefacts were just that — the delusional daydreams of someone who didn’t know any better, simple romanticizations.
The best way then, to find herself amongst that which she desired would be to return home and learn from her father, and simply push herself harder than he ever did… She returned to Daggerfall and spent the next four years working as a Merchant with her father, Alastairee. Here, she was able to spend quality time with her parents and learn skills that she hadn’t used before - in particular her speechcraft. As with her study of magic, the study of merchant work came naturally to her, and she worked on her hours than her father had expected. Always trying to improve and better herself.
At the same time, she continued to practice as a healer in the back room of her father’s shop - trading the taverns of Skyrim for something more comfortable and permanent, and the battle bloodied-nords for posh Breton’s with naught but grazed knees and minor illnesses. It wasn’t long until her greediness and power-hungry nature got the better of her, and she started working behind Alastairee’s back to procure more dangerous items. Hiring mercenary groups to do the dirty work for her and deliver her artifacts, forbidden tomes, and enchanted weapons.
The dirty work eventually led her to Jehanna, and her need to hire led her to Gustav and his ‘Used Sundries’. Following her leads, and the chirps of her little birds she had tracked down a priceless piece of jewellery that had belonged to her family. With the help of her network, and with the help of Alim Blackmoor — Relyssa successfully stole back the ‘Lover’s Knot’, but not easily… As with many Breton events, it was not without it’s drama and the two barely escaped with their lives.
When all had died down, and the excitement of the heist had spilled over, Relyssa and Alim shared a brief moment of passion…
Now, she heads for Wayrest having made herself a business associate of sorts with Gustav. What lies in wait is anyone’s guess, but suddenly this adventure doesn’t feel quite like her delusions of the past…
▼ S K I L L S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Restoration - Expert
► Medicine - Adept
► Alchemy - Adept
► Speechcraft - Adept
► Conjuration - Adept
► Lockpicking - Novice
► Dual-Wield - Novice
▼ T A C T I C S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
Ideally, Relyssa will not have to fight - having successfully charmed her way out of a situation with diplomacy. When all else fails, however...
Relyssa is an incredibly skilled healer who has developed her own methods using lesser known techniques like meditation and deliberate breathing to be precise in her control of her Magicka. Despite her greed surrounding much of her motivations as a healer - she takes incredible pride in her work and will never let anyone leave with a scar or without being in the finest health. She is arrogant in her abilities too, she knows that she is the best at what she does and has the skills to back it up - and she will let you know that too.
She will stay out of the line of fire, retreating to the back and giving out Wards to those in front. In dire circumstances she will conjure her familiar, the Wolf, who acts in tune with her emotions. If she is scared, the Wolf will be far more aggressive and direct in its attack, if she is hurt or injured it will move to a position of strong defense. As well as her conjuration, she carries on her person spell scrolls of Destruction for situations in a pinch. She would have people believe otherwise, however. That they are to sell and make a profit from.
▼ W E A K N E S S E S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Physically Weak - Not a fighter...
► Real Fears - Pyrophobia
► Seven Deadly Sins - Pride before a fall
► Abusive - Such a big mouth...
▼ R EL A T I O N S & A F F I L I A T I O N S
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Alastaire and Elayne Deserine - Parents - Alive
► Collete Marence and The College of Winterhold - Ex-Student
▼ E Q U I P M E N T
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Stylish leather satchel
► Journal, quill, ink, and rolls of parchment
► 2 small steel daggers
► 2 potions of minor restoration, 1 of minor magicka
► 1 ea of scrolls; Chain Lightning, Lightning Bolt
► Amulet of Speech, silver ruby ring, ruby headpiece
► The Lover’s Knot
► Alchemy journal and recipe book
► Cloth pouch of various dried flowers, lavender sprigs, and blue mountain flower petal
► Coin purse; over two-hundred septims
► Dried Meat and Fruit Selection
► Bottle of Alto Wine
▼ C L O T H I N G & A R M O U R
▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
► Casual: A deep violet boned sleeveless jacket of embroidered jacquard streaked with golden thread. Worn with a pair of gold and cream cropped trousers. A ruby amulet around her neck, and a headpiece with a ruby set into the centre. A pair of two-pronged heeled metal sandals that would be entirely impractical for anything other than indoor work.
► Armour: A black tunic dress held in place by a thick leather belted corset, with a fringing over the short skirt to cover her thighs. The dress is worn off the shoulder, but has long sleeves tucked into gloves. Leather thigh high boots complete the simple look.
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Numero dos!
"There are worse things I could be than a beggar."
Part of that suffering is the bottled up rage he's kept over the years. There's a hidden bloodthirsty side to him that he doesn't necessarily indulge. Rather, he intends to save it for if he should ever find someone responsible for the death of his parents. First blood notwithstanding, he does channel that bloodthirstiness as a tolerance for the suffering of his enemies. This is to say that he rationalizes his hatred and dehumanization of those he deems unworthy of his kindness with the excuse that they had it coming. It's as spiteful as his approach to surviving life, but at least he's consistent. He can be secretive, bitter, and resentful, and his anger is a quiet, simmering beast he keeps behind passive aggression and sharp remarks.
In some regards he feels that fate had cheated him of a future. He had promise and ambition, capable of being so many things. Finch is actually an intelligent person, and he uses that cunning to solve his problem opposed to brute force. He had a natural acuity for learning and education, and he could foster those gifts into politics or magic if given the chance. Instead, he uses his brains to read situations, calculate risks, and work his own kind of magic on people -- whether that means distracting them or trying to squirm his way out of trouble depends entirely on the situation. As for fighting? Well... he plans on saving the actual shanking for those he resolved to save his murderginity for, so tends to avoid conflict as a rule. But he's not above tripping, pushing, and pulling to impede or cripple his assailants. Non-lethal stabs and throwing sand or racks also remain on the table, as does any other method of dirty fighting. However, not being a fighter and having always been smaller than the enemy, he can be easily cowed by larger and more intimidating threats.
At his best, Finch can be generous, loyal, and clever. At his worst, he can be spiteful, naive, and cowardly.
The Daughter of the Niben was a host to all kinds of citizens of the Empire from all walks of life, whether they were merchants, soldiers, politicians, or criminals. The people of Bravil are a resilient and resourceful folk; one had to be given the city's notorious reputation, ripe with filth (in both the literal and metaphorical kind). Even a young and innocent looking child would cut a hole in your pockets when you weren't looking, and that still held true even for a young Finch. One would think he knew better, given the parents he had. They were both soldiers. His mother, Alessia Fortulius, was the daughter of a fisherman who helped her father by selling their product and divvying up the earnings fairly. She had a keen eye for counting coin. Sharp as a tack, she crunched numbers without ever picking up a quill. An all around upstanding lass with a good head on her shoulders, and when she got older, she signed up with Bravil's city guard. Attican Vindicari was the boy's father. By Oblivion, that man was as Colovian a chap as they came, straight from the Gold Coast with the humble beginnings as a sailor. Attican had come a long way since then, as he now stands tall and proud as a soldier of the Imperial Empire. Both of them contributed to the Great War in varying capacities, and thus, have a less than flattering view of elves. The two met post-war; Alessia had already returned home and Attican was on his way to his. The ship he was serving on rolled through the Niben Bay and docked at Bravil while en route to the Imperial City.
Anyways, one would think Finch would know better than to cut holes in travelers' pockets and pouches, but it was something that was virtually part of the culture of living in Bravil. Boys in the city being dared to pull on girls' pigtails or knocking on a door and running away before someone could answer it. Among the street urchins of Bravil, what passed for childish pranks and games pretty much amounted to petty theft. The big fish ate the little fish, and Finch had no intention of being eaten, so he played along. He took after his mother far more than he ever did his father, both in body and mind; he was a smart and sly little rascal, and he would rather formulate plots to get his tail out of a tight place than to brute force his way through obstacles. He was better suited to buttering up the bigger kids who normally wouldn't think twice about slugging him in the face.
That didn't make his relationship with his dad any poorer, though. He lived in a very loving unit and he admired him both. Alessia was comfortable where she was, having lived in Bravil all her life, but Attican was constantly fussing over his son's safety. For the most part, they both led the lives they did so that Finch wouldn't have to, but to put the dad's mind at ease, they showed Finch how to properly hold a dagger and how to defend himself with it (as swords were far too heavy for the scrawny kid at the time), and he always said to him during those talks: "Don't you ever go off and die on the account of your pride. The only pride in death is when it's for your loved ones." He also talked at length about one day leaving this shit hole of a city and taking his family with him to the Imperial City. Finch never thought he'd really do it, until one dawn he awoke to the sounds of a horse being hooked up to a carriage outside their house.
The young boy, barely even ten yet, wasn't quite sure how to feel about leaving his home. Granted, there was very little for him to look back on in Bravil.
The Vindicari family went on to live in the Imperial City, find their new home in a humble abode within the Elven Gardens District. His father climbed the ranks of the Imperial armies while his mother followed him into the military, already having a track record with her service to Bravil and to the Empire during the war. All the while, Finch's schooling became enriched by the city's greater access to educational resources and his parents' growing income. It was a very surreal time in the boy's life, where the literary trope of rags to riches really seemed to be a tangible concept. The opportunities this presented to him were the best that either of his parents could ever hope for, his father especially. Attican only ever wanted his son safe and sound, and to have a successful and fruitful future. Now here his family was, away from the crime and filth of Bravil. His son was thriving, healthy, and learning. He was so relieved that when Finch finished his primary schooling, he wanted to continue and pursue higher education at the Arcane University.
The university provided more than just magical learning, it was also a center of education for a few privileged folk. Finch was all too eager to follow along the road of Imperial politics. He was always the type to be interested in people, so learned about the mind -- how it thinks and behaves and how it can be fooled or resist being fooled. These sciences were the foundation upon which the school of Illusion magic could be built upon, so if he wanted to eventually learn magic, the background would enable him to do so. In addition to the sciences of the mind, Finch learned the sciences of the natural world, which in turn could lead him toward the school of Alteration. First, though, he began to learn about Imperial law, history, and diplomatic theory, which also covered Imperial relations with the neighboring countries and territories.
As he pursued his studies and his life progressed, so did the lives of his parents. Meanwhile his parents' regiment would both be sent toward northern Tamriel to help guard the Empire's remaining provinces, High Rock and Western Skyrim, and were expected to be away for some time. Still, with the company of Finch's books and colleagues, his parents had hopes that he would barely notice that they was ever gone. Of course he would, but he was determined to show them how much he will have grown and all that he has learned by the time they come back. He was going to make them proud.
Finch's time within the University was positively enriching. He was surrounded by fellow students who were eager to learn and he made close friends. Things were going smoothly, but only for the next year, until two caskets were delivered home. His mother and father were slain in a skirmish with a Stormcloak scouting party outside of Markarth. Word was that they had actually won, but some Forsworn moved in to pick off whoever was left. Some say bandits. Others said it was Stormcloak reinforcements. It didn't matter who did it, because Finch was without a family now. Due to his family's service he was offered care by the city, but the death of his parents shook him. He stopped studying, he very rarely ate, and his personality disappeared behind the haze of depression. Eventually, it was voted that the city couldn't afford to support a child with a deadbeat attitude and the fancy house he lived in, so it was eventually repossessed and Finch was relocated to the Waterfront District where he'd be living with a nanny and a few other kids in a shack that was the size of his old bedroom.
He essentially lived in squalor for the next few years. He was underfed, had maybe two sets of clothes he was allowed to bring with him, and was without any sort of luxuries or amenities except for the will that was left to him but unable to claim until he was of age. If he wanted anything else, he either had to work or beg for it -- and since nobody wanted a dirty orphan to work for them, and those who might've didn't want a scrawny runt to work for them, he had to resort to begging. As we should know by now, it boded as well for him as it did for any other beggar.
There was the occasional busybody who wanted to be seen tossing the child a coin, but ordinarily people were afraid of catching something. Then there were those who didn't want their nice districts be sullied by the unseemly impoverished littering the streets. The guard would shoo him away or escort him back to the Waterfront, and even remove him from the Elven Gardens district where he once lived. With these new and awful experiences under his belt, Finch realized the only way he'd get what he and the other kids needed was by stealing. In a way, being responsible for someone other than himself had brought him out of his depressed funk. So, taking what he learned from Bravil, he honed the craft of stealing and hiding and applied it to the Imperial City.
He'd bring home food he lifted from the markets to share with the Waterfront kids and other beggars before heading back out to cut open someone's pockets. If someone caught him trying to steal, he'd scamper and hide. He was small, slippery, and quick. Even if someone grabbed hold of him, he was able to pull himself free and would be gone like the wind. Much like his namesake, like a Finch, he could even evade the city guard chasing after him. The people living in the Waterfront, knowing Finch and what he did for himself and the other kids, always did what they could to keep him hidden and safe from pursuers. They'd become like his second family.
Life had been like this for years. The year Finch turned fourteen, however, the guard came down upon the Waterfront for tax collection. It was an unprecedented occurrence -- usually they just sent an agent, but now they were strong-arming the impoverished with a show of force. So naturally, the people of the Waterfront got together and protested. Finch joined them. Except by now, Finch was filled with so much rage over the years, from the death of his family, from being torn to his home, to the humiliation of begging, the treatment by the guard, the treatment of the Waterfront, and finally this. So, he picked up a rock from off the ground and, from the midst of the crowd, chucked it into the line of guards, gashing open his cheek. He threw the first stone, and soon after, the rest of the protesters followed his lead.
The guard captain order the perimeter to move up, but instead, the one who Finch struck retaliated. Before long, the riot became a blood bath. Finch ran and hid himself away from the violence, horrified and wracked with guilt by what his actions had triggered. He waited for the clamor to calm down and the Waterfront wasn't as hot, lying low for a few days. He learned that the guard captain, Caius Speculatus, was jailed for what happened and his family was evicted from their home. Word was that someone saw the son leave the sewer one time. His chest swelled with guilt. So the next week, he gathered what coin he could to afford a few lockpicks and neatly folded them up in a nice cloth and left it just by the sewer grates. When he found them missing, he decided to repeat this gesture every other week or so when he could.
Then life proceeded as normal for the next few years after that. Begging and stealing, leaving lockpicks, and basically just trying to survive and waiting to come of age for his inheritance. Due to his youthful looks, he was about twenty years old when they finally believed him that he was old enough to dip into his father's will. Unfortunately, the interest that was charged for keeping the account active left far less than what Finch expected over the years, but it was enough to at least get Finch cleaned up, some clothes that actually fit him, and a decent meal. It was enough to charter a way out of the Imperial City. There were too many nasty memories here.
So, he got on board the next ship: the Roserunner Charter, a privateering vessel named after the pinkish hue of the cherry lumber the hull was made from. On such short notice, he was a few coins short but offered to work on board the ship to make up for the difference and the captain agreed. His first voyage, it was discovered he had natural sea-legs that allowed him to work on board without stumbling, and it was on this same trip did he finally receive his nickname. The ship was unable to outrun a storm that caught it out in the middle of the ocean, with high winds that ripped away some of the rigging of the mainsail, which took control away from the captain manning the wheel. With the main clewline whipping dangerously through the air, no one could safely grab it.
So a young Praesius scurried up ratlines and climbed across the yard until he was able to grab the corner of the sail and secure the clewline. However, as he tried to ride the line back down to deck, the billowing sail did cause him to fly over the ship and narrowly miss striking the mast. In the the end, though, the crew was able to grab him and help him tie down the mainline. Given recent exploits, the captain found it hard to deny the boy a place on the ship and gave him his money back. The crew took to calling him Finch ever since and the Finch found his place in the Roserunner's nest. As dangerous as it was, nobody on board was as sure-footed or could climb the ratlines as quickly as him.
He served on board for a few years after that. The captain was a Colovian named Vintus Aedificarum who had mostly Redguards and Imperials on board his vessel, with the stray Breton or two. As a privater, he was essentially a seafaring mercenary who took what jobs he could as long as they didn't needlessly endanger his crew. This meant mostly being a charter ship or a trading vessel, and occasionally an escort to other trading ships. Only rarely would he accept jobs that meant scouting enemy territory or actual naval combat. In such cases, Finch was as poor a fighter as ever, but his penchant for being slippery meant he could duck and weave through combat without a scratch so he could arm a ballista. He also found that there was a hidden bloodthirsty side to him, over the years of repressing his anger over the death of his parents and being attacked made for a good excuse to rationalize the hate for his enemy. He was also the eyes and ears of the crew whenever the ship made port, since he could easily go unnoticed.
Eventually, though, the captain chose to retire. He gave his crew the option of either returning to the Imperial City with him, or being dropped off anywhere around Tamriel they chose. Not wishing to return to the Imperial City, Finch chose to stay put at their last stop: in Wayrest. He's been somewhat directionless for the past few years, just taking whatever life can give him. He would want revenge on behalf of his parents, except that he understands that the enemy who took his parents were nameless and unspecific, and far be it from him to exact revenge on people entirely. He's suffered many injustices on the Waterfront and while he might challenge systems of inequalities where he finds them, it's much too large-scale for him to tackle. So, he'll just do what his father asked of him many years ago: stay alive. Perhaps he could also learn magic, as a way to honor his parents' final wishes for him. Surely the Bretons of Wayrest have something in store for him. Maybe he could eventually make his way to the Reach to find out for sure who killed his parents.
" F I N C H "
"There are worse things I could be than a beggar."
══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════ _______________________________________________  _______________________________________________ ═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════ Praesius "Finch" Vindicari _______________________________________________ 24 | ♂ | Imperial _______________________________________________ Sneak-Thief ▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Build - Lithe and skinny. ► Skin Color - Olive and Mediterranean ► Hair Color - Black and oily. ► Eye Color - Amber. ► Other - ▼ D O S S I E R ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Birthplace - Bravil, Cyrodiil. ► Birthsign - The Thief ► Biggest Regret - Casting the first stone. ► Finch's Goal - Stay alive. Find someone who can tutor him in magic. Save his first kill for whomever killed his parents. ▼ F A V O R E D A T T R I B U T E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Agility ► Speed ▼ S K I L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Unarmored - Expert ► Stealth - Adept ► Legerdemain (Pickpocket) - Adept ► Athletics - Adept ► Acrobatics - Adept ► One-Handed (Blade) - Novice ▼ S P E L L S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► N/A ▼ E Q U I P M E N T ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ► Weapons - A steel shortsword; looks old and its edges are slightly chipped and weathered by sea spray, but yet remains to be stained by blood. ► Armor - N/A ► Containers - A 32 oz. waterskin. ► Food, Drink, Potions - Whatever's in his hands. ► Miscellaneous - Probably dirt or sand. | ══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════ A stringy physique doesn't serve Finch very well to deter anyone who would seek to harm him, and standing at 5'7", most warriors would stand taller than him and weigh nearly twice as much. Years of impoverished living and begging on the streets of the Imperial City left him a malnourished childhood that affected his metabolism later in life. Work as hard as he may, there is only so much muscle this skinny man can pack onto his frame. Even the years of sailing, which contributed to many a scar to his hands and knees, did little more than tone his body and condition his muscular endurance. Maybe soaking wet and after a large meal could he weigh enough to give you trouble picking him up -- but having light feet has its applications, and the young man makes good use of this with his skittish disposition. He always looks ready to disappear from sight at the drop of a hat or swipe something from under your nose, and fox-trotting is as easy and natural to him as walking. His mousy, scampering steps are as silent as a cat's, even if they are deprived of all confidence. Finch's Nibenese skin is dark olive, akin to that of Mediterranean sailors, and as a sailor himself he matches this profile perfectly. Perhaps the only thing keeping him from being mistaken as a redguard is his skin being a few shades too light and ashy, his Roman nose, and his black, greasy shoulder-length hair being too straight. One would think that the hardships of his life would prematurely age a boy into looking older than he is, but on the contrary, Finch looks younger than he really is. Perhaps the smudges of dirt and unshaven and thin, uneven growth of stubble on his lower face might convince others he's long entered his adulthood, instead of the boy he appears to be. In fact, everything about him seems unkempt. His aforementioned greasy hair is rarely brushed, and for the longest time he simply relied on lake water, rain, or sea-spray to wash it for him. When bored, he may occasionally braid a few stray sections of hair into skinny braids, but beyond that there is very little that is impressive about his appearance. Notably devoid of any sort of jewelry or accessories, he's become accustomed to living with very little. Even his dark-brown eyes seem unremarkable, which are as fidgety as his fingers, constantly scanning whichever room he's in and occasionally caught a thousand-yard stare. His clothes, which once were rags and patches, have been replaced by "newer" garments (truly, used hand-me-downs) that are slightly ill-fitting and very much attributive to that of sailors, dockworkers, and commoners. He makes no effort to disguise himself as anything more than that; with no delusions of grandeur or re-obtaining lost prestige or glamour, he finds its easier to remain unnoticed and inconspicuous. In his experience, those who make a point of making themselves appear important in any capacity put a target on their backs (whether that's to be killed or robbed from). A breezy white linen shirt that's a size or two too big on him is tucked lazily into brown breeches secured by a leather belt. His brown leather boots are worn and weathered from years of service and salty water, but no holes have appeared yet and the seams are only slightly loose. Having spent many years under the hot sun, and being a Nibenese Imperial more prone to tanning than burning, has come to appreciate the cool touch of the breeze against his skin and prefers to wear his collar untied. ═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════ A rather complex fellow as one might imagine. Being orphaned and forced to beg can do a lot for a man's perspective -- to say nothing of the irreparable damage to a child's psyche, he has formed a very detached and anti-materialistic view of the world and of living. What's the difference between a silver dinner plate and a rock or stick? Virtually none; dignity doesn't come before eating. Being forced to beg and steal from a young age, he has lots of pessimism to go around, but he keeps it contained and tries to direct that energy towards his goals. He uses that spite as a sort of motivation to stay alive and spit in the face of the stars. He tries to face the trials of everyday life with a smile, even if it's only a meager thing. At his core, Finch is well-meaning, but the unforgiving nature of the world has made him distant to strangers. He wants to make friends, but doesn’t, and he generally paints all people with the same brush until a personal relationship is formed and the old Finch starts to shine through. After then, Finch is naturally generous and honest and he would share what little has with you without further consideration. If you have a favor, he’ll do it without asking too many questions. He'll give you the shirt off his back, or steal something from the market without a second thought (which speaks to his relationship with the law as a whole). Perhaps it might have something to do with naivety, since normal life as he knew it stopped before his teen years and any semblance of normalcy might cause him to fall back on what he knows. This doesn't help in making him appear any older. Another reason is that he’s just so desperate for a meaningful relationship he'll just pour all of his emotions into a listening ear. Finch has had a hard life over the past decade and while he keeps a strong face, there is no doubt he’s suffering because of it. |
In some regards he feels that fate had cheated him of a future. He had promise and ambition, capable of being so many things. Finch is actually an intelligent person, and he uses that cunning to solve his problem opposed to brute force. He had a natural acuity for learning and education, and he could foster those gifts into politics or magic if given the chance. Instead, he uses his brains to read situations, calculate risks, and work his own kind of magic on people -- whether that means distracting them or trying to squirm his way out of trouble depends entirely on the situation. As for fighting? Well... he plans on saving the actual shanking for those he resolved to save his murderginity for, so tends to avoid conflict as a rule. But he's not above tripping, pushing, and pulling to impede or cripple his assailants. Non-lethal stabs and throwing sand or racks also remain on the table, as does any other method of dirty fighting. However, not being a fighter and having always been smaller than the enemy, he can be easily cowed by larger and more intimidating threats.
At his best, Finch can be generous, loyal, and clever. At his worst, he can be spiteful, naive, and cowardly.
═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════
The Daughter of the Niben was a host to all kinds of citizens of the Empire from all walks of life, whether they were merchants, soldiers, politicians, or criminals. The people of Bravil are a resilient and resourceful folk; one had to be given the city's notorious reputation, ripe with filth (in both the literal and metaphorical kind). Even a young and innocent looking child would cut a hole in your pockets when you weren't looking, and that still held true even for a young Finch. One would think he knew better, given the parents he had. They were both soldiers. His mother, Alessia Fortulius, was the daughter of a fisherman who helped her father by selling their product and divvying up the earnings fairly. She had a keen eye for counting coin. Sharp as a tack, she crunched numbers without ever picking up a quill. An all around upstanding lass with a good head on her shoulders, and when she got older, she signed up with Bravil's city guard. Attican Vindicari was the boy's father. By Oblivion, that man was as Colovian a chap as they came, straight from the Gold Coast with the humble beginnings as a sailor. Attican had come a long way since then, as he now stands tall and proud as a soldier of the Imperial Empire. Both of them contributed to the Great War in varying capacities, and thus, have a less than flattering view of elves. The two met post-war; Alessia had already returned home and Attican was on his way to his. The ship he was serving on rolled through the Niben Bay and docked at Bravil while en route to the Imperial City.
Anyways, one would think Finch would know better than to cut holes in travelers' pockets and pouches, but it was something that was virtually part of the culture of living in Bravil. Boys in the city being dared to pull on girls' pigtails or knocking on a door and running away before someone could answer it. Among the street urchins of Bravil, what passed for childish pranks and games pretty much amounted to petty theft. The big fish ate the little fish, and Finch had no intention of being eaten, so he played along. He took after his mother far more than he ever did his father, both in body and mind; he was a smart and sly little rascal, and he would rather formulate plots to get his tail out of a tight place than to brute force his way through obstacles. He was better suited to buttering up the bigger kids who normally wouldn't think twice about slugging him in the face.
That didn't make his relationship with his dad any poorer, though. He lived in a very loving unit and he admired him both. Alessia was comfortable where she was, having lived in Bravil all her life, but Attican was constantly fussing over his son's safety. For the most part, they both led the lives they did so that Finch wouldn't have to, but to put the dad's mind at ease, they showed Finch how to properly hold a dagger and how to defend himself with it (as swords were far too heavy for the scrawny kid at the time), and he always said to him during those talks: "Don't you ever go off and die on the account of your pride. The only pride in death is when it's for your loved ones." He also talked at length about one day leaving this shit hole of a city and taking his family with him to the Imperial City. Finch never thought he'd really do it, until one dawn he awoke to the sounds of a horse being hooked up to a carriage outside their house.
The young boy, barely even ten yet, wasn't quite sure how to feel about leaving his home. Granted, there was very little for him to look back on in Bravil.
The Vindicari family went on to live in the Imperial City, find their new home in a humble abode within the Elven Gardens District. His father climbed the ranks of the Imperial armies while his mother followed him into the military, already having a track record with her service to Bravil and to the Empire during the war. All the while, Finch's schooling became enriched by the city's greater access to educational resources and his parents' growing income. It was a very surreal time in the boy's life, where the literary trope of rags to riches really seemed to be a tangible concept. The opportunities this presented to him were the best that either of his parents could ever hope for, his father especially. Attican only ever wanted his son safe and sound, and to have a successful and fruitful future. Now here his family was, away from the crime and filth of Bravil. His son was thriving, healthy, and learning. He was so relieved that when Finch finished his primary schooling, he wanted to continue and pursue higher education at the Arcane University.
The university provided more than just magical learning, it was also a center of education for a few privileged folk. Finch was all too eager to follow along the road of Imperial politics. He was always the type to be interested in people, so learned about the mind -- how it thinks and behaves and how it can be fooled or resist being fooled. These sciences were the foundation upon which the school of Illusion magic could be built upon, so if he wanted to eventually learn magic, the background would enable him to do so. In addition to the sciences of the mind, Finch learned the sciences of the natural world, which in turn could lead him toward the school of Alteration. First, though, he began to learn about Imperial law, history, and diplomatic theory, which also covered Imperial relations with the neighboring countries and territories.
As he pursued his studies and his life progressed, so did the lives of his parents. Meanwhile his parents' regiment would both be sent toward northern Tamriel to help guard the Empire's remaining provinces, High Rock and Western Skyrim, and were expected to be away for some time. Still, with the company of Finch's books and colleagues, his parents had hopes that he would barely notice that they was ever gone. Of course he would, but he was determined to show them how much he will have grown and all that he has learned by the time they come back. He was going to make them proud.
Finch's time within the University was positively enriching. He was surrounded by fellow students who were eager to learn and he made close friends. Things were going smoothly, but only for the next year, until two caskets were delivered home. His mother and father were slain in a skirmish with a Stormcloak scouting party outside of Markarth. Word was that they had actually won, but some Forsworn moved in to pick off whoever was left. Some say bandits. Others said it was Stormcloak reinforcements. It didn't matter who did it, because Finch was without a family now. Due to his family's service he was offered care by the city, but the death of his parents shook him. He stopped studying, he very rarely ate, and his personality disappeared behind the haze of depression. Eventually, it was voted that the city couldn't afford to support a child with a deadbeat attitude and the fancy house he lived in, so it was eventually repossessed and Finch was relocated to the Waterfront District where he'd be living with a nanny and a few other kids in a shack that was the size of his old bedroom.
He essentially lived in squalor for the next few years. He was underfed, had maybe two sets of clothes he was allowed to bring with him, and was without any sort of luxuries or amenities except for the will that was left to him but unable to claim until he was of age. If he wanted anything else, he either had to work or beg for it -- and since nobody wanted a dirty orphan to work for them, and those who might've didn't want a scrawny runt to work for them, he had to resort to begging. As we should know by now, it boded as well for him as it did for any other beggar.
There was the occasional busybody who wanted to be seen tossing the child a coin, but ordinarily people were afraid of catching something. Then there were those who didn't want their nice districts be sullied by the unseemly impoverished littering the streets. The guard would shoo him away or escort him back to the Waterfront, and even remove him from the Elven Gardens district where he once lived. With these new and awful experiences under his belt, Finch realized the only way he'd get what he and the other kids needed was by stealing. In a way, being responsible for someone other than himself had brought him out of his depressed funk. So, taking what he learned from Bravil, he honed the craft of stealing and hiding and applied it to the Imperial City.
He'd bring home food he lifted from the markets to share with the Waterfront kids and other beggars before heading back out to cut open someone's pockets. If someone caught him trying to steal, he'd scamper and hide. He was small, slippery, and quick. Even if someone grabbed hold of him, he was able to pull himself free and would be gone like the wind. Much like his namesake, like a Finch, he could even evade the city guard chasing after him. The people living in the Waterfront, knowing Finch and what he did for himself and the other kids, always did what they could to keep him hidden and safe from pursuers. They'd become like his second family.
Life had been like this for years. The year Finch turned fourteen, however, the guard came down upon the Waterfront for tax collection. It was an unprecedented occurrence -- usually they just sent an agent, but now they were strong-arming the impoverished with a show of force. So naturally, the people of the Waterfront got together and protested. Finch joined them. Except by now, Finch was filled with so much rage over the years, from the death of his family, from being torn to his home, to the humiliation of begging, the treatment by the guard, the treatment of the Waterfront, and finally this. So, he picked up a rock from off the ground and, from the midst of the crowd, chucked it into the line of guards, gashing open his cheek. He threw the first stone, and soon after, the rest of the protesters followed his lead.
The guard captain order the perimeter to move up, but instead, the one who Finch struck retaliated. Before long, the riot became a blood bath. Finch ran and hid himself away from the violence, horrified and wracked with guilt by what his actions had triggered. He waited for the clamor to calm down and the Waterfront wasn't as hot, lying low for a few days. He learned that the guard captain, Caius Speculatus, was jailed for what happened and his family was evicted from their home. Word was that someone saw the son leave the sewer one time. His chest swelled with guilt. So the next week, he gathered what coin he could to afford a few lockpicks and neatly folded them up in a nice cloth and left it just by the sewer grates. When he found them missing, he decided to repeat this gesture every other week or so when he could.
Then life proceeded as normal for the next few years after that. Begging and stealing, leaving lockpicks, and basically just trying to survive and waiting to come of age for his inheritance. Due to his youthful looks, he was about twenty years old when they finally believed him that he was old enough to dip into his father's will. Unfortunately, the interest that was charged for keeping the account active left far less than what Finch expected over the years, but it was enough to at least get Finch cleaned up, some clothes that actually fit him, and a decent meal. It was enough to charter a way out of the Imperial City. There were too many nasty memories here.
So, he got on board the next ship: the Roserunner Charter, a privateering vessel named after the pinkish hue of the cherry lumber the hull was made from. On such short notice, he was a few coins short but offered to work on board the ship to make up for the difference and the captain agreed. His first voyage, it was discovered he had natural sea-legs that allowed him to work on board without stumbling, and it was on this same trip did he finally receive his nickname. The ship was unable to outrun a storm that caught it out in the middle of the ocean, with high winds that ripped away some of the rigging of the mainsail, which took control away from the captain manning the wheel. With the main clewline whipping dangerously through the air, no one could safely grab it.
So a young Praesius scurried up ratlines and climbed across the yard until he was able to grab the corner of the sail and secure the clewline. However, as he tried to ride the line back down to deck, the billowing sail did cause him to fly over the ship and narrowly miss striking the mast. In the the end, though, the crew was able to grab him and help him tie down the mainline. Given recent exploits, the captain found it hard to deny the boy a place on the ship and gave him his money back. The crew took to calling him Finch ever since and the Finch found his place in the Roserunner's nest. As dangerous as it was, nobody on board was as sure-footed or could climb the ratlines as quickly as him.
He served on board for a few years after that. The captain was a Colovian named Vintus Aedificarum who had mostly Redguards and Imperials on board his vessel, with the stray Breton or two. As a privater, he was essentially a seafaring mercenary who took what jobs he could as long as they didn't needlessly endanger his crew. This meant mostly being a charter ship or a trading vessel, and occasionally an escort to other trading ships. Only rarely would he accept jobs that meant scouting enemy territory or actual naval combat. In such cases, Finch was as poor a fighter as ever, but his penchant for being slippery meant he could duck and weave through combat without a scratch so he could arm a ballista. He also found that there was a hidden bloodthirsty side to him, over the years of repressing his anger over the death of his parents and being attacked made for a good excuse to rationalize the hate for his enemy. He was also the eyes and ears of the crew whenever the ship made port, since he could easily go unnoticed.
Eventually, though, the captain chose to retire. He gave his crew the option of either returning to the Imperial City with him, or being dropped off anywhere around Tamriel they chose. Not wishing to return to the Imperial City, Finch chose to stay put at their last stop: in Wayrest. He's been somewhat directionless for the past few years, just taking whatever life can give him. He would want revenge on behalf of his parents, except that he understands that the enemy who took his parents were nameless and unspecific, and far be it from him to exact revenge on people entirely. He's suffered many injustices on the Waterfront and while he might challenge systems of inequalities where he finds them, it's much too large-scale for him to tackle. So, he'll just do what his father asked of him many years ago: stay alive. Perhaps he could also learn magic, as a way to honor his parents' final wishes for him. Surely the Bretons of Wayrest have something in store for him. Maybe he could eventually make his way to the Reach to find out for sure who killed his parents.
"I could be dead."
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ButtsnBalls Goderator
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[A]lways managing to find high ground to those she invites to her company.
In all seriousness, Relyssa's good to go. Gotta catch all of 'em blings!
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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I assume I can simply copy paste if I'm using my patented Redgaurd and Argonian combo again?
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I assume I can simply copy paste if I'm using my patented Redgaurd and Argonian combo again?
You need to update them to the end of chapter 2.
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 | Oren Bandeli 7'2'' | 400 lbs. | 27 Male | Redguard | The Lover STRENGTH | Agility Rihad, Hammerfell |
Profile
§ Appearance
§ Motivations and Outlook
§ Background
The first thing that one would notice about Oren is his immense frame. Simply put, Oren is huge – standing a head or two taller than even the average Altmer, with broad shoulders not unlike a troll’s, he is a hulk of a man, and an inevitably conspicuous sight wherever he finds himself. Endowed with beastlike physique as befits his size, Oren’s limbs are unbelievably muscular as well; although despite his immense physique, this is a fact that’s hard to ascertain, thanks to the sheer amount of fat that covers his torso and limbs. Let no description or compliment lie to you – a testament to physical might may lie beneath the adipose tissue that covers Oren’s entirety, yet nonetheless, rippling shoulders and arms aside, to an outsider’s glance, Oren is simply pudgy.
While one would expect a rough, barbarian-like visage to fill this monstrous silhouette, with his plump lips, unblemished, caramel-colored skin, prominent eyelashes and sky-blue eyes, Oren looks disconcertingly refined, and quite feminine, feminine enough to the point that he has been misgendered in the past, in spite of his gargantuan stature – as a precaution to this, and an odd gesture of masculine pride, he’s taken to shaving the top of his head to ascertain his sex to onlookers. Still, even with this show of machismo, his face stands utterly devoid of facial hair, being unable to grow any thanks to hormonal deficiencies, and with his defined nose, rosy cheeks and well-shaped chin, one could say that perhaps he could’ve been a looker, beautiful, even, if he weren’t so tubby.
Despite his frame and occupation, Oren does his best at being fashionable, wearing clothes of the finest colors and fabrics of floral pattern, although with time and experience he’s figured some go-to pieces of attire for himself, opting for voluminous breeches and loosely cut, false-sleeved robes to let his body breathe, a large sash wrapped around his waist to contain his bulging belly and narrow his frame, and a cloak of a faded yellow color, to hide his physique further, and keep him from the rays of the sun, and stronger winds. His lower arms and legs are often left bare regardless of climate, with simple leather slippers being his sole choice of footwear. Still, he carries gaiters with him for occasions where bared legs would be improper.
Oren’s hands and feet are quite delicate looking, despite their huge size, and even though a glance to the back of his hand shows well-maintained knuckles, fingers and nails, the insides of his hands have hardened enough to grow into some sort of organic armor tissue that no amount of scraping seems to get rid of, much to his chagrin.
While one would expect a rough, barbarian-like visage to fill this monstrous silhouette, with his plump lips, unblemished, caramel-colored skin, prominent eyelashes and sky-blue eyes, Oren looks disconcertingly refined, and quite feminine, feminine enough to the point that he has been misgendered in the past, in spite of his gargantuan stature – as a precaution to this, and an odd gesture of masculine pride, he’s taken to shaving the top of his head to ascertain his sex to onlookers. Still, even with this show of machismo, his face stands utterly devoid of facial hair, being unable to grow any thanks to hormonal deficiencies, and with his defined nose, rosy cheeks and well-shaped chin, one could say that perhaps he could’ve been a looker, beautiful, even, if he weren’t so tubby.
Despite his frame and occupation, Oren does his best at being fashionable, wearing clothes of the finest colors and fabrics of floral pattern, although with time and experience he’s figured some go-to pieces of attire for himself, opting for voluminous breeches and loosely cut, false-sleeved robes to let his body breathe, a large sash wrapped around his waist to contain his bulging belly and narrow his frame, and a cloak of a faded yellow color, to hide his physique further, and keep him from the rays of the sun, and stronger winds. His lower arms and legs are often left bare regardless of climate, with simple leather slippers being his sole choice of footwear. Still, he carries gaiters with him for occasions where bared legs would be improper.
Oren’s hands and feet are quite delicate looking, despite their huge size, and even though a glance to the back of his hand shows well-maintained knuckles, fingers and nails, the insides of his hands have hardened enough to grow into some sort of organic armor tissue that no amount of scraping seems to get rid of, much to his chagrin.
§ Motivations and Outlook
Oren considers himself to be a simple man, with simple desires and simple views of life. Romance has never appealed to him, and with his nonexistent sexual drive and capacity thanks to his childhood castration, he has no physical pleasure to gain from a lover either. Nor does he have any particular yearning for authority, having had the chance to closely observe, from his employers, how the pursuit of power drains all joy out of one’s life – with no loved ones to speak of, this too seems to him a futile venture. While he’s crossed out certain motivations, Oren does have certain drives that let him suffer through his line of work with his mind unclouded, namely, a love of food and comfort that a different type of earning would not be able to sufficiently provide for, and secondly, the hope of earning enough riches to have a chance of passing on his legacy in different ways. Although he has no genes to pass on for posterity, the idea of being forgotten, of having suffered through life for no particular reason brings fear to him nonetheless, and thus, he hopes to find a way to cement his memory via non-biological means; whether those means be achieving deeds worthy of remembered in the future, or simply paying to create an institution or structure that will outlast the lives of regular mer and men, does not particularly matter.
While he is not an unintelligent man by any margin, Oren is somewhat uneducated about the wider world, and so is somewhat superstitious about people of other cultures. Nonetheless, he is actively aware of the fact that he is an uneducated man, and is not above getting more information about things, whether it be through asking directly or using more underhanded means. As a bodyguard, he’s well educated in the art of poker face – he often uses this to his advantage, to pretend he knows things he does not, or vice versa, to attain information he would not normally get, or to check for inconsistencies in others’ narratives. Similarly, he’s found that sometimes it is necessary to leave a dumber or smarter impression for one’s convenience, and so he’s quite keen on allowing others to underestimate or overestimate him via his nonplussed demeanor. Despite this tendency, Oren is not a particularly treacherous or manipulative man, and tries his best to be a pleasant person, so long as it does not hurt his work reputation, or make him come across as weak or dependent. As slowly as he makes friends, Oren still appreciates wittier colleagues, and will often get them gifts when appropriate, usually in the form of drinks – despite not being a drinker himself.
Thanks to his lack of formal education, Oren’s not very well versed in topics that go beyond the scope of a layman, though he does have a dilettante’s affinity for art, and his decent memory helps him remember certain remarks about things fairly easily. Having been converted to the Imperial Cult fairly recently, Oren is a keen, although not very devout follower of Julianos, though he also casually reveres certain figures from the Yokudan Pantheon such as Satakal, and finds blasphemous talk about any sort of spiritual figure to attract misfortune, avoiding them if necessary. Despite being a practitioner of Alteration himself, Oren outwardly has a distrust of magic and magic users, fearful of the possibilities that dabbling in the unknown can cause. Ironically enough, despite his tough physique and external demeanor, Oren does have a sensitive side in his budding hobbies, being an avid, if not somewhat unskilled woodcarver and aspirant poet, and can become quite intense if his hobbies are made the topic of a conversation. Thanks to his rather dogmatic training in martial arts, Oren has a rather dismissive outlook on arms and armor, believing that a true warrior has no need of such tools, and claiming that the prominence of swords in Redguard culture stem from a misunderstood metaphor for ‘decisiveness’.
Oren, in spite of the fact that his castration and following health issues stem from his past as a slave, has no particularly negative outlook on slavery, thinking that the beast races make too much of a fuss over it. He also has an inherent dislike of Altmer, thanks to everyone blaming the Thalmor for the devastated Hammerfell that he grew up in.
While he is not an unintelligent man by any margin, Oren is somewhat uneducated about the wider world, and so is somewhat superstitious about people of other cultures. Nonetheless, he is actively aware of the fact that he is an uneducated man, and is not above getting more information about things, whether it be through asking directly or using more underhanded means. As a bodyguard, he’s well educated in the art of poker face – he often uses this to his advantage, to pretend he knows things he does not, or vice versa, to attain information he would not normally get, or to check for inconsistencies in others’ narratives. Similarly, he’s found that sometimes it is necessary to leave a dumber or smarter impression for one’s convenience, and so he’s quite keen on allowing others to underestimate or overestimate him via his nonplussed demeanor. Despite this tendency, Oren is not a particularly treacherous or manipulative man, and tries his best to be a pleasant person, so long as it does not hurt his work reputation, or make him come across as weak or dependent. As slowly as he makes friends, Oren still appreciates wittier colleagues, and will often get them gifts when appropriate, usually in the form of drinks – despite not being a drinker himself.
Thanks to his lack of formal education, Oren’s not very well versed in topics that go beyond the scope of a layman, though he does have a dilettante’s affinity for art, and his decent memory helps him remember certain remarks about things fairly easily. Having been converted to the Imperial Cult fairly recently, Oren is a keen, although not very devout follower of Julianos, though he also casually reveres certain figures from the Yokudan Pantheon such as Satakal, and finds blasphemous talk about any sort of spiritual figure to attract misfortune, avoiding them if necessary. Despite being a practitioner of Alteration himself, Oren outwardly has a distrust of magic and magic users, fearful of the possibilities that dabbling in the unknown can cause. Ironically enough, despite his tough physique and external demeanor, Oren does have a sensitive side in his budding hobbies, being an avid, if not somewhat unskilled woodcarver and aspirant poet, and can become quite intense if his hobbies are made the topic of a conversation. Thanks to his rather dogmatic training in martial arts, Oren has a rather dismissive outlook on arms and armor, believing that a true warrior has no need of such tools, and claiming that the prominence of swords in Redguard culture stem from a misunderstood metaphor for ‘decisiveness’.
Oren, in spite of the fact that his castration and following health issues stem from his past as a slave, has no particularly negative outlook on slavery, thinking that the beast races make too much of a fuss over it. He also has an inherent dislike of Altmer, thanks to everyone blaming the Thalmor for the devastated Hammerfell that he grew up in.
§ Background
Truth be told, Oren’s origins are of no consequence. Having been born into a poor Forebear family whose man was a cripple of the Great War and the following Continuation War, the amount of older siblings he had meant that either he was going to be another mouth to feed on the table, or somehow be sacrificed for the good of the rest of the family. He does not remember these times well, perhaps out of repression, or perhaps because of how brief they were – he remembers his father’s mangled hand, with only a thumb left on it, he remembers his mother’s braids, but not much else. He must’ve been ‘acquired’ as a ‘servant’ fairly early on in life, because unlike his family, he remembers his owner, Mu’ad, quite well. A somewhat short, plump and dark-skinned man, rich enough to buy his slaves at infancy, maintain them, and groom them for whatever role he desired. Because of his young age, and because he needed to be taken care of, he was put amongst the females of the household, the chambermaids substituting for a mother, sometimes even acting as wet nurses and ‘doctors’ in secret, while the younger concubines pretended to be his sisters. Perhaps it was this fondness that the females of the household had for Oren, that led Mu’ad to pay for his castration – this way, Oren could continue to spend time with them well beyond childhood, while also keeping Mu’ad’s honor intact.
Oren remembers the day of his castration – taken from amongst the women by a tall, gangly eunuch, given a nice meal of spiced rice and mutton, alongside a thick, white and sweet drink that numbed the throat as he drank, then laid to sleep for a while. When Oren woke up, he was on a coarse carpet, too numb to move, with Mu’ad supervising as an elderly woman lifted his manhood and, after some handling of his privates, took off his scrotum with a single dagger stroke. It was a clean and relatively painless procedure; Oren would learn later in life that such care would not normally be taken and that the surgeries were often horrifyingly painful and fatal. What came afterwards was a long period of celebration and recuperation, for while some of the touchier chambermaids were saddened about the loss of Oren’s sexual functions, most were happy about the fact that their ‘son’ and ‘brother’ would continue staying with them. And stay he did – for the next few years, most he did was eat, and grow larger and larger, to the point that he was about the size of a well-fed Redguard warrior at the mere age of fourteen. This unprecedented growth led Mu’ad to reconsider the role he had in mind for Oren, and he was sent to Sentinel for training. What sort of training it would be Oren did not know until he was led to the adobe-walled courtyard of the school and beheld, for the first time in his life, the Iron Palms of Sentinel smashing cut rocks with their bare hands.
The following five years of Oren’s life were spent in the Iron Palm School, where he was taught the Art of Hand and Foot. Their master, Khogan, was an extremely elderly man, to the point where he could not walk from one edge of the school courtyard to the other without some sort of aid. Despite this, his utterly dense flesh and mastery over the school allowed him to poke his fingers through flesh, bone and rock in the blink of an eye. For the first time in his life since he’d eaten spiced rice, Oren was amazed, and despite his steadily growing weight made it harder and harder for him to practice, he quickly became one of the most diligent pupils of the school, earning the title of Journeyman Trainer under three years. Although some of the other members of the school looked down on Oren for his unconventional methods of combat, such as simply grabbing his opponents mid-attack and throwing them around instead of dodging and landing his own strikes, these opinions would eventually be silenced by Khogan himself, who said that Oren ‘fought like an infirm master, not a healthy pupil’. While this praise was not without its own reprimand, the teachings of the Iron Palms were quite dogmatic, and gerontocratic – that Oren was likened to a master, even if for his lack of stamina, meant for them that he could no longer be a figure of contention.
By the time Oren returned to Mu’ad’s household, he had become like a small mountain, both in size, density, and strength. Trained to use nothing but his hardened flesh in combat, he thoroughly impressed Mu’ad by showing the capability to grasp onto tempered sabers with his bare hands, and throw his owner’s master bodyguard aside like he was a piece of reed. Much to the chagrin of his ‘mothers’ and ‘sisters’, and the previous bodyguard, Oren was assigned Mu’ad’s personal bodyguard, who had fallen into debt, and worse, sick with a growing lump in his stomach that not even magic could cure. To make up for his exorbitant health costs, Mu’ad had begun delving in the art of politics, ‘selling’ certain loyal slaves, so they could work their way to important positions in other figures’ households and provide information for his own maneuvering. Of course, Oren himself was far too vitally important to be thrown into such games, but in the following four years, Oren watched from behind his master’s back how stress and scheming drained the man further and further, leading him to eventually pale to a sickly yellow, and after a few weeks of bedridden life, die. What followed afterwards was total chaos – Mu’ad’s wives, free concubines, children, bastards, acquaintances and debt collectors all trying to get themselves a piece of the man’s wealth, suing, coercing, seducing and murdering one another to get more for themselves.
Oren himself, being a slave still, was inherited by one of Mu’ad’s sons, a young and ambitious man named Fajr. While he moved to Fajr’s household along with some of his ‘mothers’ and ‘sisters’ without making any fuss, Oren found life there to be a far less enjoyable experience, with their new owner too stressed, too greedy, and simply too cruel to internally justify being owned by. This opinion, it seemed, was not his alone; for one night, while patrolling Fajr’s bedchambers, Oren stumbled onto his owner fatally wounded, a fruit knife plunged into his throat by one of his ‘sisters’. While he comforted the bruised, traumatized woman at first, he soon found himself at a quandary – as things stood, the young woman would be executed, Oren himself sold in the public market for the lowest bidder for his incompetence, and the rest of the household scattered, bought or kidnapped. Oren decided to take another option and woke up his fellow slaves, explaining the situation, and then prompting them to take whatever they valuables they could find, buy their freedom from the flesh markets and leave for parts unknown, before someone from outside took notice. Surprisingly, it went without a fuss - the household scattered overnight, and Oren fled to Sentinel, where he used the valuables he’d taken from Fajr’s house to purchase his name off the Slave Register.
Despite being the place where he earned his freedom, Sentinel bore a tragedy of its own as well. The elderly Master Khogan had long passed away by the time Oren came back, murdered by one of his spurned students, and the events that’d followed had led to the Iron Palm School to be shut down. It was here that Oren felt despair for the first time in his life, having been so used to being led or ordered by someone else that finding out he had no masters left nearly broke him. He wandered in Sentinel for a while, trying to contact his fellow students at the Iron Palm, but the attempts turned out to be fruitless, most having either moved on, or not in the mood to make peace with whatever that had transpired. His funds were draining (Sentinel was an expensive city, and Oren had immense appetite), yet he’d made no progress; Oren realized fairly quickly that if he didn’t take action, he would be left on the streets as a gigantic bum. Figuring that he needed a roof over his head before anything else, he joined up with the Imperial Cult, taking residence in the homeless shelter that they’d converted their chapel’s basement into. It was for their mutual benefit – the mission was small and vulnerable, and Oren’s mere presence alongside them made possible harassers stay away. Oren used the chapel’s influx to start a simple self-defense course, teaching a watered-down version of the Iron Palm for those interested, receiving a meager sum in return.
What began as an arrangement of mutual benefit between Oren and the Imperial Mission eventually turned into something further; the priests of the Imperial Cult began to appreciate Oren for his helpful demeanor and the amount of young, enthusiastic people his self-defense course kept bringing in, while Oren himself began seeing actual goodwill in the toils of the Priests of the Eight Divines – led by a thin, bald man named Ionnaninus Bandelis, their Sisyphean attempts to teach Oren’s students how to read made a somewhat heartwarming impression on the gigantic man. In reality, Oren did not know how to read and write either, Mu’ad never having deemed it necessary for him to learn how – it took some time for Oren to grow the confidence inform the priests of this, but when he did it was not received with any surprise. He too became a pupil, like some of his own pupils, and soon enough (it did not take long for him to learn the basics), he could read and write with ease. As an act of gratitude, Oren swore that he would worship and honor the Divines for the rest of his days, and following that, to symbolize him being ‘a new person’, took a surname after the man who taught him how to read, being, from that moment on, Oren Bandeli.
Of course, things would not go happily ever after, and Oren would not really become a new person in the way that he hoped – instead of becoming a content monk, he became a killer, when he accidentally caved a man’s face in while trying to stop him from pissing on the Chapel walls. Word spread, and it evolved, and by the time the mob came knocking on the Chapel, they were demanding justice for the old man whose skull had been crushed by ‘that no-ball monster’ for not paying his respects while passing by the Chapel. While Oren knew that the Imperial Cult had lost its glamorous status in the province since the Great War, he did not expect that folks would come and ask for his head; he had to handle an angry, armed mob by himself for a few hours, preventing from coming in through the Chapel’s gate to hurt the others, an act that only resulted in more deaths. Eventually, the town guard came to the priests’ rescue and disperse the mob, although to placate them, Oren was sentenced to exile from Sentinel. Oren thought of this appropriate and let himself get cuffed and escorted out of the city limits, where he was left, to his surprise, without being unshackled from his iron bindings – Oren had to bash his cuffs against rocks and trees for an entire day to free himself. He followed the Iliac coastline to Lainlyn, where his reputation seemed to have reached before him; honest people would not deal with him, for what business did they have with an indiscriminate murderer?
It turned out that some people did, and soon enough Oren began getting approached by shady men who said they wanted to ‘talk’. He brushed them off the first few times, afraid that they were just muggers or troublemakers, but eventually one spoke to him plainly enough for Oren to realize that practically, he’d been brushing off job offers. There were people for whom having unscrupulous muscle on employ was a benefit, and Oren, the notorious, gargantuan outsider, was a perfect candidate. Thus, Oren found himself the personal bodyguard of a mob leader, a dandy with no teeth on one side of his mouth, aptly named Half-Mouth. Guarding a criminal was much different than guarding Mu’ad, for whom Oren was more a figure of deterrence and prestige, not actual combat; in contrast, Oren often found himself dirtying his hands with blood while keeping Half-Mouth safe, growing more and more used to it. His effectiveness grew on Half-Mouth, who began molding Oren in his shape, giving him dressing and etiquette tips; over time Oren’s reputation overshadowed even Half-Mouth’s, and perhaps this could’ve led to Half-Mouth contemplating on how to get rid of Oren, but the latter’s untimely death from a drug overdose prevented that from happening. With Half-Mouth gone, Oren could’ve inherited his organization, but he chose not to, and left for High Rock, where he made a living as a wandering debt collector until he ended up in the employ of a particular mercenary company.
Oren remembers the day of his castration – taken from amongst the women by a tall, gangly eunuch, given a nice meal of spiced rice and mutton, alongside a thick, white and sweet drink that numbed the throat as he drank, then laid to sleep for a while. When Oren woke up, he was on a coarse carpet, too numb to move, with Mu’ad supervising as an elderly woman lifted his manhood and, after some handling of his privates, took off his scrotum with a single dagger stroke. It was a clean and relatively painless procedure; Oren would learn later in life that such care would not normally be taken and that the surgeries were often horrifyingly painful and fatal. What came afterwards was a long period of celebration and recuperation, for while some of the touchier chambermaids were saddened about the loss of Oren’s sexual functions, most were happy about the fact that their ‘son’ and ‘brother’ would continue staying with them. And stay he did – for the next few years, most he did was eat, and grow larger and larger, to the point that he was about the size of a well-fed Redguard warrior at the mere age of fourteen. This unprecedented growth led Mu’ad to reconsider the role he had in mind for Oren, and he was sent to Sentinel for training. What sort of training it would be Oren did not know until he was led to the adobe-walled courtyard of the school and beheld, for the first time in his life, the Iron Palms of Sentinel smashing cut rocks with their bare hands.
The following five years of Oren’s life were spent in the Iron Palm School, where he was taught the Art of Hand and Foot. Their master, Khogan, was an extremely elderly man, to the point where he could not walk from one edge of the school courtyard to the other without some sort of aid. Despite this, his utterly dense flesh and mastery over the school allowed him to poke his fingers through flesh, bone and rock in the blink of an eye. For the first time in his life since he’d eaten spiced rice, Oren was amazed, and despite his steadily growing weight made it harder and harder for him to practice, he quickly became one of the most diligent pupils of the school, earning the title of Journeyman Trainer under three years. Although some of the other members of the school looked down on Oren for his unconventional methods of combat, such as simply grabbing his opponents mid-attack and throwing them around instead of dodging and landing his own strikes, these opinions would eventually be silenced by Khogan himself, who said that Oren ‘fought like an infirm master, not a healthy pupil’. While this praise was not without its own reprimand, the teachings of the Iron Palms were quite dogmatic, and gerontocratic – that Oren was likened to a master, even if for his lack of stamina, meant for them that he could no longer be a figure of contention.
By the time Oren returned to Mu’ad’s household, he had become like a small mountain, both in size, density, and strength. Trained to use nothing but his hardened flesh in combat, he thoroughly impressed Mu’ad by showing the capability to grasp onto tempered sabers with his bare hands, and throw his owner’s master bodyguard aside like he was a piece of reed. Much to the chagrin of his ‘mothers’ and ‘sisters’, and the previous bodyguard, Oren was assigned Mu’ad’s personal bodyguard, who had fallen into debt, and worse, sick with a growing lump in his stomach that not even magic could cure. To make up for his exorbitant health costs, Mu’ad had begun delving in the art of politics, ‘selling’ certain loyal slaves, so they could work their way to important positions in other figures’ households and provide information for his own maneuvering. Of course, Oren himself was far too vitally important to be thrown into such games, but in the following four years, Oren watched from behind his master’s back how stress and scheming drained the man further and further, leading him to eventually pale to a sickly yellow, and after a few weeks of bedridden life, die. What followed afterwards was total chaos – Mu’ad’s wives, free concubines, children, bastards, acquaintances and debt collectors all trying to get themselves a piece of the man’s wealth, suing, coercing, seducing and murdering one another to get more for themselves.
Oren himself, being a slave still, was inherited by one of Mu’ad’s sons, a young and ambitious man named Fajr. While he moved to Fajr’s household along with some of his ‘mothers’ and ‘sisters’ without making any fuss, Oren found life there to be a far less enjoyable experience, with their new owner too stressed, too greedy, and simply too cruel to internally justify being owned by. This opinion, it seemed, was not his alone; for one night, while patrolling Fajr’s bedchambers, Oren stumbled onto his owner fatally wounded, a fruit knife plunged into his throat by one of his ‘sisters’. While he comforted the bruised, traumatized woman at first, he soon found himself at a quandary – as things stood, the young woman would be executed, Oren himself sold in the public market for the lowest bidder for his incompetence, and the rest of the household scattered, bought or kidnapped. Oren decided to take another option and woke up his fellow slaves, explaining the situation, and then prompting them to take whatever they valuables they could find, buy their freedom from the flesh markets and leave for parts unknown, before someone from outside took notice. Surprisingly, it went without a fuss - the household scattered overnight, and Oren fled to Sentinel, where he used the valuables he’d taken from Fajr’s house to purchase his name off the Slave Register.
Despite being the place where he earned his freedom, Sentinel bore a tragedy of its own as well. The elderly Master Khogan had long passed away by the time Oren came back, murdered by one of his spurned students, and the events that’d followed had led to the Iron Palm School to be shut down. It was here that Oren felt despair for the first time in his life, having been so used to being led or ordered by someone else that finding out he had no masters left nearly broke him. He wandered in Sentinel for a while, trying to contact his fellow students at the Iron Palm, but the attempts turned out to be fruitless, most having either moved on, or not in the mood to make peace with whatever that had transpired. His funds were draining (Sentinel was an expensive city, and Oren had immense appetite), yet he’d made no progress; Oren realized fairly quickly that if he didn’t take action, he would be left on the streets as a gigantic bum. Figuring that he needed a roof over his head before anything else, he joined up with the Imperial Cult, taking residence in the homeless shelter that they’d converted their chapel’s basement into. It was for their mutual benefit – the mission was small and vulnerable, and Oren’s mere presence alongside them made possible harassers stay away. Oren used the chapel’s influx to start a simple self-defense course, teaching a watered-down version of the Iron Palm for those interested, receiving a meager sum in return.
What began as an arrangement of mutual benefit between Oren and the Imperial Mission eventually turned into something further; the priests of the Imperial Cult began to appreciate Oren for his helpful demeanor and the amount of young, enthusiastic people his self-defense course kept bringing in, while Oren himself began seeing actual goodwill in the toils of the Priests of the Eight Divines – led by a thin, bald man named Ionnaninus Bandelis, their Sisyphean attempts to teach Oren’s students how to read made a somewhat heartwarming impression on the gigantic man. In reality, Oren did not know how to read and write either, Mu’ad never having deemed it necessary for him to learn how – it took some time for Oren to grow the confidence inform the priests of this, but when he did it was not received with any surprise. He too became a pupil, like some of his own pupils, and soon enough (it did not take long for him to learn the basics), he could read and write with ease. As an act of gratitude, Oren swore that he would worship and honor the Divines for the rest of his days, and following that, to symbolize him being ‘a new person’, took a surname after the man who taught him how to read, being, from that moment on, Oren Bandeli.
Of course, things would not go happily ever after, and Oren would not really become a new person in the way that he hoped – instead of becoming a content monk, he became a killer, when he accidentally caved a man’s face in while trying to stop him from pissing on the Chapel walls. Word spread, and it evolved, and by the time the mob came knocking on the Chapel, they were demanding justice for the old man whose skull had been crushed by ‘that no-ball monster’ for not paying his respects while passing by the Chapel. While Oren knew that the Imperial Cult had lost its glamorous status in the province since the Great War, he did not expect that folks would come and ask for his head; he had to handle an angry, armed mob by himself for a few hours, preventing from coming in through the Chapel’s gate to hurt the others, an act that only resulted in more deaths. Eventually, the town guard came to the priests’ rescue and disperse the mob, although to placate them, Oren was sentenced to exile from Sentinel. Oren thought of this appropriate and let himself get cuffed and escorted out of the city limits, where he was left, to his surprise, without being unshackled from his iron bindings – Oren had to bash his cuffs against rocks and trees for an entire day to free himself. He followed the Iliac coastline to Lainlyn, where his reputation seemed to have reached before him; honest people would not deal with him, for what business did they have with an indiscriminate murderer?
It turned out that some people did, and soon enough Oren began getting approached by shady men who said they wanted to ‘talk’. He brushed them off the first few times, afraid that they were just muggers or troublemakers, but eventually one spoke to him plainly enough for Oren to realize that practically, he’d been brushing off job offers. There were people for whom having unscrupulous muscle on employ was a benefit, and Oren, the notorious, gargantuan outsider, was a perfect candidate. Thus, Oren found himself the personal bodyguard of a mob leader, a dandy with no teeth on one side of his mouth, aptly named Half-Mouth. Guarding a criminal was much different than guarding Mu’ad, for whom Oren was more a figure of deterrence and prestige, not actual combat; in contrast, Oren often found himself dirtying his hands with blood while keeping Half-Mouth safe, growing more and more used to it. His effectiveness grew on Half-Mouth, who began molding Oren in his shape, giving him dressing and etiquette tips; over time Oren’s reputation overshadowed even Half-Mouth’s, and perhaps this could’ve led to Half-Mouth contemplating on how to get rid of Oren, but the latter’s untimely death from a drug overdose prevented that from happening. With Half-Mouth gone, Oren could’ve inherited his organization, but he chose not to, and left for High Rock, where he made a living as a wandering debt collector until he ended up in the employ of a particular mercenary company.
Capabilities
§ Skills
§ Flaws
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
§ Other
- Expert – Hand to Hand
- Adept – Alteration
- Adept – Unarmored
- Apprentice – Acrobatics
- Apprentice – Healing
- Apprentice – Speech
- Apprentice – Throwing Weapons
- Novice – Athletics
§ Flaws
Warning, Confined Space: Oren’s immense size prohibits him from making a subtle entrance, if he can make one at all. He takes up a large portion of physical space and can have trouble going in through doors, let alone maneuvering through small, cramped areas such as tunnels.
Short, Controlled Bursts: Even with his training and the aid of meditative magic, Oren simply carries too much weight for prolonged activities of exertion – he prefers to make the most with the least amount of physical effort, and extended movement will make him need to rest for a long time.
Extra Topping, Please: While he pays for it wherever he can, Oren consumes an immense amount of food and water even in short amounts of time. His appetite is insatiable, and without it placated, his performance can drop visibly, having to deal with cramps and the psychological urges of hunger.
Short, Controlled Bursts: Even with his training and the aid of meditative magic, Oren simply carries too much weight for prolonged activities of exertion – he prefers to make the most with the least amount of physical effort, and extended movement will make him need to rest for a long time.
Extra Topping, Please: While he pays for it wherever he can, Oren consumes an immense amount of food and water even in short amounts of time. His appetite is insatiable, and without it placated, his performance can drop visibly, having to deal with cramps and the psychological urges of hunger.
§ Spells
Alteration: Burden, Equilibrium, Feather, Ironflesh, Jump, Slowfall, Transmute
Healing: Fast Healing, Fast Recovery, Healing Hands
Healing: Fast Healing, Fast Recovery, Healing Hands
§ Tactics
Oren considers the first line of defense to be deterrence. It’s easier to win fights by convincing your opponent that fighting you will not be to their benefit, Oren thinks, and indeed when confronted with a hostile situation his first attempt will be to convince his opponents to stand down, usually through subtle intimidation. Still, Oren knows that a man needs more than one line of defense, and thankfully, has been taught how to walk the walk as much as he likes to talk the talk.
While Oren’s likely to make an impression of no more than dumb muscle, his way of combat is surprisingly technical and dependent on the subtleties of gravity – while the Iron Palm School taught him to amplify his mass and stand his ground like a rock against his opponents, Oren realized fairly quickly that it’s much more convenient and much less tiresome to simply make his opponent lose his footing, whether that be through the Art of Hand and Foot, or using Alteration to bend the laws of gravity for his convenience. He likes to be unconventional; if attacked in melee, his first response is not to avoid the strike but to actually catch it with his hands and guide it elsewhere, while amplifying the momentum of his opponent’s strike with his grasp to disrupt their balance and fling them away.
When he attacks, he likes to attack quickly and precisely, often using his feet to hook and kick at his foe’s ankles, amplifying the strength of his hits by hardening his flesh right before the moment of impact. He prefers to take the center stage of battle so that he does not exhaust himself trying to circle around opponents, although obviously that does not work against enemies who keep their distance. For them, Oren has a less subtle, more proactive and far more tiresome technique – using Alteration to propel himself towards the opponent as if he were a gigantic frog and smash into them with the strength of a catapulted rock.
Still, sometimes enemies require much less complicated methods to deal with, and Oren is not above simply caving his foes in with his fists and kicks, which would normally be applied as stomping finishers to his grounded opponents. Flattening windpipes and shattering bones may be far simpler when you can put your entire weight into the strike, but when life doesn’t give Oren the opportunity to do that, he can just smash his enemies apart, armored or not, although it’s not an approach he can keep up for long without needing rest for his and exerted muscles and mind.
While Oren’s likely to make an impression of no more than dumb muscle, his way of combat is surprisingly technical and dependent on the subtleties of gravity – while the Iron Palm School taught him to amplify his mass and stand his ground like a rock against his opponents, Oren realized fairly quickly that it’s much more convenient and much less tiresome to simply make his opponent lose his footing, whether that be through the Art of Hand and Foot, or using Alteration to bend the laws of gravity for his convenience. He likes to be unconventional; if attacked in melee, his first response is not to avoid the strike but to actually catch it with his hands and guide it elsewhere, while amplifying the momentum of his opponent’s strike with his grasp to disrupt their balance and fling them away.
When he attacks, he likes to attack quickly and precisely, often using his feet to hook and kick at his foe’s ankles, amplifying the strength of his hits by hardening his flesh right before the moment of impact. He prefers to take the center stage of battle so that he does not exhaust himself trying to circle around opponents, although obviously that does not work against enemies who keep their distance. For them, Oren has a less subtle, more proactive and far more tiresome technique – using Alteration to propel himself towards the opponent as if he were a gigantic frog and smash into them with the strength of a catapulted rock.
Still, sometimes enemies require much less complicated methods to deal with, and Oren is not above simply caving his foes in with his fists and kicks, which would normally be applied as stomping finishers to his grounded opponents. Flattening windpipes and shattering bones may be far simpler when you can put your entire weight into the strike, but when life doesn’t give Oren the opportunity to do that, he can just smash his enemies apart, armored or not, although it’s not an approach he can keep up for long without needing rest for his and exerted muscles and mind.
§ Relations & Affiliations
Ionnaninus Bandelis, once head of the Imperial Mission in Sentinel, now assigned to a post in Cyrodiil
Rest of his relations either lost, dead or unworthy of note
Rest of his relations either lost, dead or unworthy of note
§ Opinions
After introductions.
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
Crimes:
Accomplishments:
- One count of theft in Rihad, unreported
- One count of homicide in Sentinel, ruled as involuntary manslaughter, sentenced to exile as punishment
- Two counts of homicide in Sentinel, ruled as self-defense
- Two counts of homicide in Lainlyn while employed by Half-Mouth, unreported
- Three counts of homicide in Lainlyn while employed by Half-Mouth, ruled as self-defense
Accomplishments:
- Certified Journeyman Trainer of the now defunct Sentinel Iron Palm Martial Arts School
- Certified Layman of the Imperial Cult
- Once prominent criminal figure of the Lainlyn underworld
§ Other
Oren is an amateur poet.
Inventory
§ Cash & Valuables
| § Keys & Lockpicks None |
| § Tools & Crafting Materials None | § Clothing, Armor & Jewelry
|
| § Weapon & Ammo None | § Potion & Arcane Supplies
|
§ Books & Documents
| § Consumables & Ingredients
|
§ Bags & Containers
| § Other
|
GM
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Six new inductees to the Hall of Fame:
Narzul and Sadri by @Peik and @Hank
Fire on the Deck by @Peik and @Spoopy Scary
Woe by @Hank
Tsleeixth's Descent by @Mortarion
Tsleeixth's Destruction by @Gcold
A Match Made in Chaos by @POOHEAD189 and @Stormflyx
Narzul and Sadri by @Peik and @Hank
Fire on the Deck by @Peik and @Spoopy Scary
Woe by @Hank
Tsleeixth's Descent by @Mortarion
Tsleeixth's Destruction by @Gcold
A Match Made in Chaos by @POOHEAD189 and @Stormflyx
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 | Sagax Speculatus 5'6" | 178 lb | 29 Years Old Male | Imperial | The Tower SPEED | agility Imperial City, Cyrodiil |
Profile
§ Appearance
§ Motivations and Outlook
§ Background
Sagax is hardly an imposing figure, standing slightly shorter than your average Imperial with quite narrow shoulders and emerald eyes. He is thin enough that several people have given him worried glances, while in truth, he simply only eats what he absolutely must which leaves little meat to build on his bones; surviving on nothing during his teen years has given him the habit of rationing every morsel he has, though his experience with scaling walls and buildings gives him a little bit of visible muscle. Sagax's hair is near back to its original length, but now wears it in a short ponytail mimicking the fashions of nobility. He is also finally the proud owner of slight stubble. The man's body is littered with cuts, scars and smudges, and as of the siege of Windhelm, streaking burn marks over his arms and his upper body, reaching onto his neck slightly. Sagax accumulated the rest of his injuries from screwing up and losing his footing during deliveries and missing a grab when climbing in his childhood, getting into scuffs with animals making a bid for the same food as him, and other such mundane activities.
§ Motivations and Outlook
Sagax is a very passive and agreeable fellow, the kind of man who would rather be at the sidelines instead of in everyone's face. He enjoys listening to the stories of his comrades and adventurers who pass him by, despite how true they may be, and will very seldom interrupt a good tale. He believes that there is always more to see in the world, and that is what drives him and keeps him hopeful for that one day that will grant him the power to free his father and give his family a better life.
Sagax is not a man that is easily angered, though that no longer entails being prone to inaction. He will respond to threats against the innocent and his family with swift, overwhelming force. He is still a hard nut to crack emotionally, but those that are more perceptive will notice his trademark grin has vanished. Sagax still trusts readily, but not quite so easily as he used to, and has begun to speak less and less, preferring to be with himself and his own thoughts if possible. This does not mean, however, that he is entirely walled off to good conversation.
He will sometimes offer solutions to problems that crop up, and will more often than not lean toward the path of least bloodshed. For this, he used to be called "milk drinker" in some circles of the company, but no more. His various exploits have earned him a hardened reputation. Or perhaps they're simply afraid he'll toss a bomb at them.
Sagax is not a man that is easily angered, though that no longer entails being prone to inaction. He will respond to threats against the innocent and his family with swift, overwhelming force. He is still a hard nut to crack emotionally, but those that are more perceptive will notice his trademark grin has vanished. Sagax still trusts readily, but not quite so easily as he used to, and has begun to speak less and less, preferring to be with himself and his own thoughts if possible. This does not mean, however, that he is entirely walled off to good conversation.
He will sometimes offer solutions to problems that crop up, and will more often than not lean toward the path of least bloodshed. For this, he used to be called "milk drinker" in some circles of the company, but no more. His various exploits have earned him a hardened reputation. Or perhaps they're simply afraid he'll toss a bomb at them.
§ Background
Sagax was born a full-blooded Imperial on the seventh of First Seed 4E 176 in the capital city to a dockworker and a guard captain living in the Elven Gardens District. His name had no distinct connection to what he was like as a very young child, but his parents were both very proud of their Imperial roots, and also believed that people would grow live up to the meanings of their names in adulthood, so Sagax supposes that they chose the name because they liked the idea of a "keen", energetic son. When he was three years old, on the twenty-eighth of Rain's Hand, Sagax's mother, Equa, gave birth to a second child; specifically, a daughter. Little Piper and Sagax became inseparable over the years, much to the joy(and relief) of their parents. Without any real sibling rivalry happening, Equa and Caius, Sagax and Piper's father, could work knowing that everything would still be relatively the same by the time they got home. Not that the two would stay in the house, though. In fact, by the time that Sagax and Piper were ten and seven respectively, it would be rare not to find them wandering the city.
Sagax enjoyed scaling the many buildings in the districts, and would sometimes feign a slip to scare Piper. He learned to stop those shenanigans when Piper began tossing rocks near him, but never quite hitting her target, whenever she thought Sagax was faking a slip, prompting him to latch back on to whatever ledge he was gripping whether he was going to or not. Piper would always ask around the market district or the docks if she could help out in any way, often conscripting Sagax as well, not that he really minded; he hated having nothing to do. Their main odd jobs usually consisted of package-running for the merchants or putting up advertisement posters for their shops. Sagax was easily the faster of the two, but also easily distracted, always stopping for something before being pushed back on track by Piper. She was always timely and organized in stark contrast to her almost bumbling brother; if not for Piper, Sagax wouldn't have gotten anything done at all. Their differences is what made their bond stronger though, both realizing that the other had skills that they didn't. Piper and Sagax could work in perfect tandem, always getting their jobs done, albeit not always in the efficient manner that Piper would have preferred.
At thirteen, Sagax's father decided that it was time to teach him how to use a blade. Caius deeply wanted Sagax to carry on the family ways, serving the empire and its people faithfully, and prepared his son by tutoring him in the art of combat early. It took only two lessons for Piper, who before then had simply watched, to haughtily announce that she could learn to use swords just as well as Sagax, and demanded that she be allowed to participate. Equa protested initially, worried for her daughter's safety, but soon gave in to Caius's reassurances that Piper would be perfectly fine, and that such tutoring would be very useful to her. Piper took well to what her father taught her, quickly catching up to Sagax in skill, but it wasn't until Caius permitted Sagax and Piper to spar together that Piper was able to display her greater prowess. Piper, while not as quick as Sagax, could maneuver herself much better and could land more strikes. Sagax's abilities lied more with dodging and parrying, and he simply couldn't get the timing down for actually swinging and landing a hit. Whenever he went to strike, Piper would smack his blade to the side and counter-attack, but sometimes if he could feint correctly Sagax could cause Piper to lose her balance. Despite their respective shortcomings, Caius was quite pleased with Sagax and Piper's capabilities, and truly believed that they could become masters if they kept with their training. These sessions continued for a few years, and the children would sometimes spar on their own, slowly but steadily increasing their skill over time.
Life was normal, if not happy, for the next five or so years, but only a month after Piper's fifteenth birthday, the Speculatus family was ripped apart. A riot had broken out in the slums over the guards being directly ordered to collect on the taxes of the disenfranchised that lived there. Caius was called to calm the situation and appease the angry crowd, but it only went horribly wrong from there. The mob began attacking the guards surrounding the perimeter, and Caius gave the order to form up and push them back. Instead, some of the guards openly retaliated, and the situation escalated incredibly quickly, with Caius losing control of his men. He shouted to back down but few listened, and what was meant to be a containment procedure turned into a slaughter, with several dead and others sustaining heavy injuries.
Under heavy pressure by the council and the press, the shamed guard captain faced a disciplinary hearing ending with him being stripped of his rank and sentenced to death. The press spun the story to be that Caius had ordered the attack on the mob when confronted peacefully, shattering the reputation of the Speculatus family and causing several good friends of the family to fall out. Even those that believed Caius to be innocent and knew the story feared retribution if they dared to continue to cohort with the Speculatus family, and left them to their own devices. Equa was fired from her job as a dockworker, though it was mostly for her own safety given the proximity of the port to the slums, and had then received an eviction letter a day later, a sort of covert way for those in the slums to feel as though they had achieved some kind of retribution and making them complacent. Equa, Sagax, and Piper were left with no income, no home, and very few friends. No one would let them live in their homes, nor did they dare go to the slums to seek refuge. They spent the following years living in the sewers and on the outskirts of the city surviving on rat and mudcrab meat and water from the lake.
It was during these years living in the sewers that required Sagax to learn the art of lockpicking, while Piper killed rats with whatever rusty piece of junk she could find that could even conceivably be used as a weapon, being the more combat-proficient of the group. He had a very rough beginning, with the only source of lockpicks coming from the rare ones that dropped through the sewer grates above them, lost by their unscrupulous owners passing by, and a source that was quite suspect to Sagax: Neat groupings of two to three lockpicks that were too conveniently placed to have been dropped unknowingly that found their way to the grate that Sagax and Piper used to get topside. Sagax was relived to know that the Speculatus family still had allies, though he did not know who. He suspected some of his father's old friends, or perhaps even the Thieves Guild. Regardless of whoever these friends were, Sagax was grateful, and he set out practicing immediately. Throughout the sewers Sagax found ancient wooden trunks left by their owners to one day recollect, but had obviously been forgotten. Most of them had simply had their lids smashed open to get the goods inside, leaving the locks untouched, and even the ones that were intact had only a few gold pieces and nothing more, but it was still good practice. It took him almost a year to get the craft down, breaking many lockpicks in the process, but Sagax finally had enough skill to warrant being confident. He began his first foray into outright thievery at nineteen, using the sewer entrances to the shops above to acquire things his family would need below. He felt ashamed, having to resort to crime to stay afloat, and hypothetical scenes of his father's words played in his mind, but deep down he knew that it had to be this way. He knew that the merchants above wouldn't deal with him directly, nor did he have anything to barter with. Sagax took only what he had to, mostly loaves of bread and the odd cure disease potion, ensuring that his activities went mostly unnoticed. His only major theft was an iron longsword for Piper, and from what Sagax heard it went reported but the guards gave merely a half-hearted investigation, only checking the main entrance to the sewers and going no further before turning back. He didn't know if the guards were just lazy or if they were intentionally turning a blind eye, but the only thing that mattered to him was that his mother and sister were safe and that Piper finally had a real weapon to use.
Sagax's "spree" went on for six years until he was actually caught. He had snuck into the local potions shop to find a healing potion, as Piper had sustained quite a large gash from a mudcrab's pincers, where the owner, an altmer woman named Varulae Saderin, was waiting for him. She had hid on the staircase, a wall separating it from the rest of the room, and announced her presence as Sagax was half way way back to the sewers. Varulae implored Sagax to stay a moment, and said that she simply wanted to talk to him. Sagax stood close by to the sewer entrance, hand to the knob, but listened out of curiosity, wondering what scathing words were about to be flung this way. To his great surprise, Varulae was very sympathetic to Sagax and his family, and revealed many others were as well. She explained that many of the Speculatus family's allies were too afraid to intervene in the sentencing of Caius, fearful of being lambasted and outcasted. Most people simply followed the story that the papers wrote, and believed that Caius ordered the attack on the slums, leaving the rest to suffer the effects of rather violent peer pressure. She speculated that the council had a hand in how the story was reported, and wanted to appear as though they took a hard stance against corruption in the Imperial City watch and dealt with the root of the problem. As the years passed, however, tension had died down and the incident was hardly more than a bitter memory to most. Now, those loyal to the family were fully willing to assist them, and Varulae even insisted that Sagax and his sister and mother stay with her in the upstairs quarters. Sagax, extremely grateful for the offer, accepted, to the joy of the jovial high elf. He fetched Piper and Equa and Varulae led them upstairs, where a guest room was available.
Too small for all three of them, Sagax offered to clear out some space in the cellar and stay there, but Piper angrily protested, mostly stung with pride and love for her brother hearing him offering to sleep in some cold, dark basement while she and mother stayed upstairs comfortably in actual beds. They eventually compromised: They would all sleep in the same room despite the crampedness, but since the room was too small for three beds, a small mat would be placed in the middle of the room where one of the two of them(neither Piper nor Sagax would hear a word of their mother offering to give up her bed) would swap places and sleep every other night. Sagax insisted that Piper be the first person in the rotation to sleep on the bed under the reasoning that she had been far more active, hunting rats and mudcrubs, so she needed more restful sleep. She begrudgingly complied, but only after heavily inspecting Sagax's bedding, ensuring that he would just as comfortable as she would be sleeping in the bed. As much as she loved the stubborn bastard, Sagax's tendency to give up certain comforts out of some misguided sense of self sacrifice even though he could easily have them just as she and mother did greatly irritated Piper, and Sagax knew this. It was fun to see her get mad sometimes, though.
Under the employment of Varulae, Sagax found himself in the exact same position as he was several years ago, being a messenger and delivery boy, though Equa and Piper went through some pleasant changes in employment. Piper started offering herself as a shop guard to any merchant who would have her, and their mother took up Varulae's craft to assist her in the business. Of course, much to Piper's frustration(and Sagax's endless amusement), Sagax refused most pay, only accepting compensation for significantly laborious or dangerous tasks, which did not come often. For the most part though, the remaining family enjoyed a stable living. This, though, was not enough for Sagax. Not only did he wish for his sister and mother to be able to live comfortably in a home they could call their own with friends to call upon in their time of need, he also recieved a very interesting bit of news: Caius had not yet been executed. According to Varulae and some local guards, Caius's execution had been postponed several times, as, to quote the council, there were "much more pressing matters to attend to". Sagax had formed a plan. A very long plan with an admittedly low chance of success, but it was a plan. Sagax bided his time until he was of twenty-nine years, where at that point he had been able to save up enough gold from the jobs he'd take pay from to acquire armor and other supplies.
It was a very abrupt announcement in the early morning, before everyone had set out to do their duties. He was going become a mercenary, and earn his fortune among a capable company and earn fame throughout Tamriel. He was going to become a man of the people and rebuild the Speculatus family's reputation. He would eventually do something so great, so significant, that the council would then grant him any desire. On that day, Sagax would demand the release of Caius Speculatus, and bring the Speculatus family back together once more. Piper told how that he sounded like a raving madman, but Sagax cheerfully declared that he WOULD return, and he would free his father from his false imprisonment. He would hear no opposition to his plans, and even went so far as to acquire his gear the day before. The group spent the next two hours arguing back and forth, but Sagax simply would not give. Knowing that nothing would dissuade Sagax, Piper and Equa both said their goodbyes. It was a heartfelt and tearful event, though Piper tried her damndest to hide hers. Varulae wished Sagax great fortune and gave him several healing potions and one very potent concoction: a potion of invisibility. She very sternly "suggested" he take it as a last-second ace in the hole, so Sagax gracefully accepted knowing full well that the high elf would not take "no" for an answer.
Sagax heard rumors of a group hiring at Markarth in the northern province of Skyrim. It sounded promising, so that is exactly where he headed, and is with the company still.
Sagax enjoyed scaling the many buildings in the districts, and would sometimes feign a slip to scare Piper. He learned to stop those shenanigans when Piper began tossing rocks near him, but never quite hitting her target, whenever she thought Sagax was faking a slip, prompting him to latch back on to whatever ledge he was gripping whether he was going to or not. Piper would always ask around the market district or the docks if she could help out in any way, often conscripting Sagax as well, not that he really minded; he hated having nothing to do. Their main odd jobs usually consisted of package-running for the merchants or putting up advertisement posters for their shops. Sagax was easily the faster of the two, but also easily distracted, always stopping for something before being pushed back on track by Piper. She was always timely and organized in stark contrast to her almost bumbling brother; if not for Piper, Sagax wouldn't have gotten anything done at all. Their differences is what made their bond stronger though, both realizing that the other had skills that they didn't. Piper and Sagax could work in perfect tandem, always getting their jobs done, albeit not always in the efficient manner that Piper would have preferred.
At thirteen, Sagax's father decided that it was time to teach him how to use a blade. Caius deeply wanted Sagax to carry on the family ways, serving the empire and its people faithfully, and prepared his son by tutoring him in the art of combat early. It took only two lessons for Piper, who before then had simply watched, to haughtily announce that she could learn to use swords just as well as Sagax, and demanded that she be allowed to participate. Equa protested initially, worried for her daughter's safety, but soon gave in to Caius's reassurances that Piper would be perfectly fine, and that such tutoring would be very useful to her. Piper took well to what her father taught her, quickly catching up to Sagax in skill, but it wasn't until Caius permitted Sagax and Piper to spar together that Piper was able to display her greater prowess. Piper, while not as quick as Sagax, could maneuver herself much better and could land more strikes. Sagax's abilities lied more with dodging and parrying, and he simply couldn't get the timing down for actually swinging and landing a hit. Whenever he went to strike, Piper would smack his blade to the side and counter-attack, but sometimes if he could feint correctly Sagax could cause Piper to lose her balance. Despite their respective shortcomings, Caius was quite pleased with Sagax and Piper's capabilities, and truly believed that they could become masters if they kept with their training. These sessions continued for a few years, and the children would sometimes spar on their own, slowly but steadily increasing their skill over time.
Life was normal, if not happy, for the next five or so years, but only a month after Piper's fifteenth birthday, the Speculatus family was ripped apart. A riot had broken out in the slums over the guards being directly ordered to collect on the taxes of the disenfranchised that lived there. Caius was called to calm the situation and appease the angry crowd, but it only went horribly wrong from there. The mob began attacking the guards surrounding the perimeter, and Caius gave the order to form up and push them back. Instead, some of the guards openly retaliated, and the situation escalated incredibly quickly, with Caius losing control of his men. He shouted to back down but few listened, and what was meant to be a containment procedure turned into a slaughter, with several dead and others sustaining heavy injuries.
Under heavy pressure by the council and the press, the shamed guard captain faced a disciplinary hearing ending with him being stripped of his rank and sentenced to death. The press spun the story to be that Caius had ordered the attack on the mob when confronted peacefully, shattering the reputation of the Speculatus family and causing several good friends of the family to fall out. Even those that believed Caius to be innocent and knew the story feared retribution if they dared to continue to cohort with the Speculatus family, and left them to their own devices. Equa was fired from her job as a dockworker, though it was mostly for her own safety given the proximity of the port to the slums, and had then received an eviction letter a day later, a sort of covert way for those in the slums to feel as though they had achieved some kind of retribution and making them complacent. Equa, Sagax, and Piper were left with no income, no home, and very few friends. No one would let them live in their homes, nor did they dare go to the slums to seek refuge. They spent the following years living in the sewers and on the outskirts of the city surviving on rat and mudcrab meat and water from the lake.
It was during these years living in the sewers that required Sagax to learn the art of lockpicking, while Piper killed rats with whatever rusty piece of junk she could find that could even conceivably be used as a weapon, being the more combat-proficient of the group. He had a very rough beginning, with the only source of lockpicks coming from the rare ones that dropped through the sewer grates above them, lost by their unscrupulous owners passing by, and a source that was quite suspect to Sagax: Neat groupings of two to three lockpicks that were too conveniently placed to have been dropped unknowingly that found their way to the grate that Sagax and Piper used to get topside. Sagax was relived to know that the Speculatus family still had allies, though he did not know who. He suspected some of his father's old friends, or perhaps even the Thieves Guild. Regardless of whoever these friends were, Sagax was grateful, and he set out practicing immediately. Throughout the sewers Sagax found ancient wooden trunks left by their owners to one day recollect, but had obviously been forgotten. Most of them had simply had their lids smashed open to get the goods inside, leaving the locks untouched, and even the ones that were intact had only a few gold pieces and nothing more, but it was still good practice. It took him almost a year to get the craft down, breaking many lockpicks in the process, but Sagax finally had enough skill to warrant being confident. He began his first foray into outright thievery at nineteen, using the sewer entrances to the shops above to acquire things his family would need below. He felt ashamed, having to resort to crime to stay afloat, and hypothetical scenes of his father's words played in his mind, but deep down he knew that it had to be this way. He knew that the merchants above wouldn't deal with him directly, nor did he have anything to barter with. Sagax took only what he had to, mostly loaves of bread and the odd cure disease potion, ensuring that his activities went mostly unnoticed. His only major theft was an iron longsword for Piper, and from what Sagax heard it went reported but the guards gave merely a half-hearted investigation, only checking the main entrance to the sewers and going no further before turning back. He didn't know if the guards were just lazy or if they were intentionally turning a blind eye, but the only thing that mattered to him was that his mother and sister were safe and that Piper finally had a real weapon to use.
Sagax's "spree" went on for six years until he was actually caught. He had snuck into the local potions shop to find a healing potion, as Piper had sustained quite a large gash from a mudcrab's pincers, where the owner, an altmer woman named Varulae Saderin, was waiting for him. She had hid on the staircase, a wall separating it from the rest of the room, and announced her presence as Sagax was half way way back to the sewers. Varulae implored Sagax to stay a moment, and said that she simply wanted to talk to him. Sagax stood close by to the sewer entrance, hand to the knob, but listened out of curiosity, wondering what scathing words were about to be flung this way. To his great surprise, Varulae was very sympathetic to Sagax and his family, and revealed many others were as well. She explained that many of the Speculatus family's allies were too afraid to intervene in the sentencing of Caius, fearful of being lambasted and outcasted. Most people simply followed the story that the papers wrote, and believed that Caius ordered the attack on the slums, leaving the rest to suffer the effects of rather violent peer pressure. She speculated that the council had a hand in how the story was reported, and wanted to appear as though they took a hard stance against corruption in the Imperial City watch and dealt with the root of the problem. As the years passed, however, tension had died down and the incident was hardly more than a bitter memory to most. Now, those loyal to the family were fully willing to assist them, and Varulae even insisted that Sagax and his sister and mother stay with her in the upstairs quarters. Sagax, extremely grateful for the offer, accepted, to the joy of the jovial high elf. He fetched Piper and Equa and Varulae led them upstairs, where a guest room was available.
Too small for all three of them, Sagax offered to clear out some space in the cellar and stay there, but Piper angrily protested, mostly stung with pride and love for her brother hearing him offering to sleep in some cold, dark basement while she and mother stayed upstairs comfortably in actual beds. They eventually compromised: They would all sleep in the same room despite the crampedness, but since the room was too small for three beds, a small mat would be placed in the middle of the room where one of the two of them(neither Piper nor Sagax would hear a word of their mother offering to give up her bed) would swap places and sleep every other night. Sagax insisted that Piper be the first person in the rotation to sleep on the bed under the reasoning that she had been far more active, hunting rats and mudcrubs, so she needed more restful sleep. She begrudgingly complied, but only after heavily inspecting Sagax's bedding, ensuring that he would just as comfortable as she would be sleeping in the bed. As much as she loved the stubborn bastard, Sagax's tendency to give up certain comforts out of some misguided sense of self sacrifice even though he could easily have them just as she and mother did greatly irritated Piper, and Sagax knew this. It was fun to see her get mad sometimes, though.
Under the employment of Varulae, Sagax found himself in the exact same position as he was several years ago, being a messenger and delivery boy, though Equa and Piper went through some pleasant changes in employment. Piper started offering herself as a shop guard to any merchant who would have her, and their mother took up Varulae's craft to assist her in the business. Of course, much to Piper's frustration(and Sagax's endless amusement), Sagax refused most pay, only accepting compensation for significantly laborious or dangerous tasks, which did not come often. For the most part though, the remaining family enjoyed a stable living. This, though, was not enough for Sagax. Not only did he wish for his sister and mother to be able to live comfortably in a home they could call their own with friends to call upon in their time of need, he also recieved a very interesting bit of news: Caius had not yet been executed. According to Varulae and some local guards, Caius's execution had been postponed several times, as, to quote the council, there were "much more pressing matters to attend to". Sagax had formed a plan. A very long plan with an admittedly low chance of success, but it was a plan. Sagax bided his time until he was of twenty-nine years, where at that point he had been able to save up enough gold from the jobs he'd take pay from to acquire armor and other supplies.
It was a very abrupt announcement in the early morning, before everyone had set out to do their duties. He was going become a mercenary, and earn his fortune among a capable company and earn fame throughout Tamriel. He was going to become a man of the people and rebuild the Speculatus family's reputation. He would eventually do something so great, so significant, that the council would then grant him any desire. On that day, Sagax would demand the release of Caius Speculatus, and bring the Speculatus family back together once more. Piper told how that he sounded like a raving madman, but Sagax cheerfully declared that he WOULD return, and he would free his father from his false imprisonment. He would hear no opposition to his plans, and even went so far as to acquire his gear the day before. The group spent the next two hours arguing back and forth, but Sagax simply would not give. Knowing that nothing would dissuade Sagax, Piper and Equa both said their goodbyes. It was a heartfelt and tearful event, though Piper tried her damndest to hide hers. Varulae wished Sagax great fortune and gave him several healing potions and one very potent concoction: a potion of invisibility. She very sternly "suggested" he take it as a last-second ace in the hole, so Sagax gracefully accepted knowing full well that the high elf would not take "no" for an answer.
Sagax heard rumors of a group hiring at Markarth in the northern province of Skyrim. It sounded promising, so that is exactly where he headed, and is with the company still.
Since being with Ashav's company, Sagax has done some...questionable things. No not murder or anything like that, but things that might make you question just how smart of a man he is. During the siege of Windhelm, Sagax had forgotten his bag in a warehouse on the docks, but they had already been overrun by the Kamal. So what did he do? He scaled the walls in the dead of night, snuck into the warehouse and retrieved his possessions. Using a potion of invisibility, the Imperial made his way back out and scaled the wall again even as the Kamal fired ice spikes at him. If not for a friendly guard that had been watching his back, Sagax probably would have bitten the dirt right then and there. Now as if that weren't dumb enough, just a few hours later him and his friend Roze offered themselves as bomb-runners to Ashav. He agreed, handing them each an arcane charge which they were to use against the nearest docked Kamal ship. The ship received significant damage, but so did the two runners. Roze had been pierced by a wood splinter from the frigate while Sagax suffered severe burns and most likely a good bit of head trauma, not to mention the mental they both suffered.
Oh, you thought that was it? That Sagax decided enough was enough and vowed never to be so reckless again? No no no, that was but the beginning. After rescuing the mages trapped in the College of Winterhold, the company sought shelter in a cave on their way back to Dawnstar. A cave that had been claimed by none other than a colony of Falmer. When a chaurus decided it fancied Do'Karth as its meal, Sagax jumped onto its back and drove his blade deep into the insect's chitin plating, prying it away until his foe retreated, screeching all the way.
Not long after, Roze and Sagax were once again handed a bundle of arcane charges and given the mission to sabotage a Kamal slave vessel that had intercepted them as they sailed back to Dawnstar from Bthamz. Using potions of resist cold and their own agility, the two infiltrated the engine room and blew the sucker to bits, shredding the hull and sinking the frigate with great prejudice. At the very least, that bombing run went much better than the last.
Oh, you thought that was it? That Sagax decided enough was enough and vowed never to be so reckless again? No no no, that was but the beginning. After rescuing the mages trapped in the College of Winterhold, the company sought shelter in a cave on their way back to Dawnstar. A cave that had been claimed by none other than a colony of Falmer. When a chaurus decided it fancied Do'Karth as its meal, Sagax jumped onto its back and drove his blade deep into the insect's chitin plating, prying it away until his foe retreated, screeching all the way.
Not long after, Roze and Sagax were once again handed a bundle of arcane charges and given the mission to sabotage a Kamal slave vessel that had intercepted them as they sailed back to Dawnstar from Bthamz. Using potions of resist cold and their own agility, the two infiltrated the engine room and blew the sucker to bits, shredding the hull and sinking the frigate with great prejudice. At the very least, that bombing run went much better than the last.
Tmeip'r. That stupid, overgrown garden snail. If he could, Sagax would drag his fat ass back out of wherever he went after he died just to kill him again. And then he'd repeat that for a good few days. Sagax's shortsword measures to about twenty inches in length. If the smith that forged it muttered the word "hate" for each strike of their hammer, for every quenching, for every moment spent honing its edges, it would not equal one one-billionth of the hate he feels for Tmepi'r.
The only solace Sagax could find in Roze's death was that it was instant and painless. There was no pointless, unjust suffering. His woes would not end there, as near as soon as they docked, Do'Karth fled the company in the dead of night, leaving Sevine a broken husk of the woman she was before. Then, during the banquet, Tsleeixth was stolen from the company as well at the hand of the vampire Nyrehtaud.
Sagax killed an innocent woman during the riot at the banquet, and he feels only the barest of remorse. She tried to kill him after all, and so his counterattack was justified he tells himself. Even now, onward to Wayrest, Sagax can feel himself slipping. He is running out of friends. Running out of patience. Running out of faith. At this point, his only anchor is Piper.
The only solace Sagax could find in Roze's death was that it was instant and painless. There was no pointless, unjust suffering. His woes would not end there, as near as soon as they docked, Do'Karth fled the company in the dead of night, leaving Sevine a broken husk of the woman she was before. Then, during the banquet, Tsleeixth was stolen from the company as well at the hand of the vampire Nyrehtaud.
Sagax killed an innocent woman during the riot at the banquet, and he feels only the barest of remorse. She tried to kill him after all, and so his counterattack was justified he tells himself. Even now, onward to Wayrest, Sagax can feel himself slipping. He is running out of friends. Running out of patience. Running out of faith. At this point, his only anchor is Piper.
Capabilities
§ Skills
§ Flaws
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
§ Other
Expert: Acrobatics
Adept: Athletics, One-Handed Blade
Apprentice: Legerdemain, Communication, Sneak
Novice:Light Armor, Alchemy, Medium Armor
Adept: Athletics, One-Handed Blade
Apprentice: Legerdemain, Communication, Sneak
Novice:Light Armor, Alchemy, Medium Armor
§ Flaws
Sagax is physically frail due to his time in poverty. He had not much to eat and often times the lake water would make him ill, weakening his body over time, so he cannot take much punishment.
Does not work well under pressure - In extreme circumstances, Sagax is liable to break lockpicks, fumble a grab during an escape, or alert an enemy to his location accidentally, amongst other things.
Does not work well under pressure - In extreme circumstances, Sagax is liable to break lockpicks, fumble a grab during an escape, or alert an enemy to his location accidentally, amongst other things.
§ Spells
None
§ Tactics
When he must fight, Sagax uses the secret art of going very very fast to wear down his opponent before striking with quick thrusts and slices. He is also able to easily outmaneuver most foes, be that by dashing around them or scaling obstacles to gain a height advantage. He is also quite good at parrying with his blade.
§ Relations & Affiliations
Equa Speculatus - Mother
Caius Speculatus - Father
Piper Speculatus - Sister
Varulae - Family friend
Caius Speculatus - Father
Piper Speculatus - Sister
Varulae - Family friend
§ Opinions
TBW
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
Crimes: Petty thievery
Crimes/Accomplishments: Not dying when he really should have
Crimes/Accomplishments: Not dying when he really should have
§ Other
Despite being weak physically, his stamina is almost boundless, and is very quick on his feet. Sagax particularly loves the cold Skyrim wind against his body as he sprints to his destination, giving him a bit of extra energy on those longer journeys.
Inventory
§ Cash & Valuables 30 gold coins | § Keys & Lockpicks Ten lockpicks, all placed on his belt like decorations. |
§ Tools & Crafting Materials None | § Clothing, Armor & Jewelry Over his new plain white cotton shirt is a leather cuirass made of hardened, layered leather, with a hem of chainmail that drapes from his waist to just above his knees. Atop the cuirass rests a set of leather pauldrons of the same make, covering Sagax's shoulders and part of his upper arms. Replacing his old wool kneeguards are a pair of hard leather greaves, wrapping around his calves and part of his thighs, with brown cotton trousers below. His footwear consists of hard leather boots, made to resist all manner of weather conditions, and his gloves are made of more flexible leather and have rough palms and fingers, perfect for acquiring and maintaining a grip on several surfaces. The Imperial can sometimes be seen wearing a hooded fur cloak that drapes around him and reaches below his hips. |
§ Weapon & Ammo Steel short sword, Dwarven dagger | § Potion & Arcane Supplies Two healing potions and a magicka potion |
§ Books & Documents Several letters addressed to him from his mother and sister and friends in the Imperial City. | § Consumables & Ingredients Three portions of hardtack and a canteen of water |
§ Bags & Containers One bag which is sectioned for convenience and holds most of his things and two pouches strapped to his waist. | § Other A basic fire starting kit, a fur bedroll, an inkwell and quill, a bundle of four sheets of parchment, a roll of cotton used as a pillow and a salvaged Dwemer gyro. |
Frizan Free From This Backwater Hellsite
Contest Mod
Seen
2 yrs ago
 | Name 6'1" | 212 lb | 25 Years Old Female | Imperial | The Lord ENDURANCE | strength Imperial City, Cyrodiil |
Profile
§ Appearance
§ Motivations and Outlook
§ Background
There's no mistaking Piper for anything other than an Imperial woman. She is of average Imperial height with shoulders slightly broader than Sagax's, is quite slender and, much to her chagrin, shapely, with few scars or blemishes to spare. Her sharp emerald irises and large eye shape she gets from her father, but Piper has inherited Equa's auburn locks and thin lips. She wears her shoulder-length hair loose aside from two side-braids. Piper has developed more muscle mass than her brother thanks to her smithing hobby and continued training in heavy armors and with blades, and that is not something she is ashamed to flaunt, though she could still be classed as "pretty" at the very least. If she looked more like a Nord or was simply uglier and had more scars, people would see past her looks and respect her more...or at least, so believes Piper, and so she prefers covering herself up in her armor whenever possible to hide her figure.
§ Motivations and Outlook
Take most things Sagax is, turn them around, and you've got Piper. A misanthropic, untrusting Imperial with a temper and knowledge of martial combat, it's a good idea to at least not be registered as an enemy. She cares not for boastful stories of supposedly-great triumphs or victories, and would much rather just be left alone. Much more reserved than Sagax, she will only rarely seek others out for conversation or small-talk, but more often than not she will only talk with others if there is something that has to be said.
Piper herself has lost some faith in her gods, though she still prays to them all in equal proportions, even if she feels that she is ignored. Unlike Sagax's subscription to Mara's "love for all", Piper believes that those that harm the innocent and kill indiscriminately are fair game for Stendarr's righteous might, and has no qualms about putting down the various kinds of villains that stalk the lands of Tamriel. Her brother believes this stance to be "extreme", but Piper puts little stock in Sagax's naivete and ignorance of how the world truly works; he would nurse a mass murderer if the bastard got a nasty cut from his victim before they passed.
Due to her perceptions on how being respected and being taken seriously ought to work, Piper takes offense to compliments about her looks, and will challenge any man or woman in one-on-one combat to prove her mettle to them...but mostly to herself. Compliments on her martial prowess, however, make her silently prideful, and more often than not she unknowingly wears a ridiculous grin, which is where her helmet comes in handy. She has great respect and even greater envy for well-regarded warriors, and will often try to mimic them, with varying degrees of success and humiliation.
Piper herself has lost some faith in her gods, though she still prays to them all in equal proportions, even if she feels that she is ignored. Unlike Sagax's subscription to Mara's "love for all", Piper believes that those that harm the innocent and kill indiscriminately are fair game for Stendarr's righteous might, and has no qualms about putting down the various kinds of villains that stalk the lands of Tamriel. Her brother believes this stance to be "extreme", but Piper puts little stock in Sagax's naivete and ignorance of how the world truly works; he would nurse a mass murderer if the bastard got a nasty cut from his victim before they passed.
Due to her perceptions on how being respected and being taken seriously ought to work, Piper takes offense to compliments about her looks, and will challenge any man or woman in one-on-one combat to prove her mettle to them...but mostly to herself. Compliments on her martial prowess, however, make her silently prideful, and more often than not she unknowingly wears a ridiculous grin, which is where her helmet comes in handy. She has great respect and even greater envy for well-regarded warriors, and will often try to mimic them, with varying degrees of success and humiliation.
§ Background
On the twenty-eighth of Rain's Hand, Sagax's mother, Equa, gave birth to a second child; specifically, a daughter. Equa and Caius decided to name her Piper, as she was very fussy and troublesome on her way out into the world. Her name would fit her further later in life, as after the incident on the Waterfront and the false imprisonment of her father, Piper would lose much faith in those outside of her family and viewed others with peppery disdain. Whenever Sagax or Equa would talk about maybe still having friends in the city, Piper would simply snort dismissively and retort that everyone had already forgotten about their family, and if they hadn't, they were untrustworthy swines and bastards. Her attitude would cool eventually after being taken in by Varulae, but the ever-glaring Imperial would always harbor some misanthropic feelings, and it took her a long time to be able to converse easily with the generous Altmer that gave her family a new home.
While Sagax was out running packages and letters, Piper was putting time into her combat abilities and taking pay as a store guard for the various shops in the Market District. The shopkeeps knew who she was, and a few turned her down at the door, though even the ones who didn't were still very cautious about her working in their stores and would often send her home hours before her shift was supposed to end. The involuntary free time that was shoved in her face gave her take more opportunities to practice with her blade. Training on her own against stationary dummies eventually lost its usefulness, and Piper needed to find someone to actually teach her further. Holding on to the slim chance that maybe one of her father's old friends was still in the service, the anxious woman made her way to the Watch barracks. Steeling herself for the harshest words she could imagine, Piper opened the door and stepped inside. To her surprise, her ears were not met with angry shouting and vile accusations, but with a well-mannered greeting from one of the off-duty guards, who Piper later learned was one Aquillius Marius. Even more surprising: the man knew her by name. Apparently Varulae had told some of her own close friends that Piper's family had resurfaced, literally. When he asked what she wanted, Piper responded with a request for combat training. It was agreed that she would start tomorrow evening after Aquillius' shift.
Day after day, Piper would meet Aquillius in the Arena District; it had the most space for practice and plenty of training tools for aspiring fighters. Piper started off with basic sword-and-shield techniques, which she already had some experience with, and worked her way up with the help of the guardsman's supervision. She learned how to angle a shield to deflect sword blows away from her, where to hold one to maximize protection against ranged weapons, and how to use a shield in conjunction with the longsword, Piper's arm of choice. Then came the heavy armor training, which tested and forcefully extended the limits of her endurance. It took her a while to get used to how to move in heavy armor, and would frequently exhaust herself. She had a patient teacher, though, and he stuck with Piper until she got the hang of it. Her training took about half a year, though she continued practicing with Aquillius for another few months, at which point he felt he taught the raring lass all he could as a soldier. All that was left was for Piper to learn how to maintain her gear, and to that end he directed her to Uradras Dreleth. He was once a Redoran blacksmith, or so the old Mer told those that sought his services, though reportedly all questions about his origins and why he came to Cyrodiil were either shot down or ignored entirely. Whatever the case, Aquillius assured Piper that she could learn a lot from Dreleth, and that he wished her the best of luck in her future endeavors.
Uradras, Piper learned very quickly, was not as nice and polite as Aquillius. When she told him why she was in shop, he started yelling about how he wasn't taking any apprentices and that "you damned people need to mind your own business!" The mentioning of Aquillius didn't exactly make the grouch apologetic, but at least he stopped his angry rambling. He waved Piper over to his forge impatiently and began showing Piper the basics. Thankfully, as much of a grumpy coot as Uradras was, he was an even better teacher. Under his very critical wing, Piper learned how to sharpen a blade, buff out dents in armor, and all other manner of techniques a warrior in the field would need. Surprise of all surprises, when her initial training was done, the crotchety Dunmer actually expressed a meager amount of approval with how well she took to everything. Sensing that perhaps Piper had a talent for the craft, Uradras offered to teach her further as his pupil, a position that had apparently been reopened in the few days it took for the Imperial to learn the basics. Not seeing her very unsteady job as a store guard going any where, Piper of course took his offer. Immediately upon her acceptance, Dreleth shoved the hammer back into Piper's hand and lead her through the steps to making her very first piece: An iron dirk that she keeps to this day.
Learning the intricacies of the art of smithing under Uradras was hard and tiring work. He was very quick and simple with his lessons, never spending very long on anything, so Piper had to learn just as quickly. He was also an incredibly critical teacher, with the Mer somehow finding faults with every single bend of the metal, and Piper would often come home long after the sun vanished from the sky having spent a lot of time correcting her myriad of mistakes. Though she would hit her pillow night after night with arms sore and eyes burning, Piper found an odd enjoyment in her work. She could forget everything else and focus entirely on the metal she was working with, each consecutive strike of her hammer coming together to form a hypnotic rhythm. What really took an hour of hammering and forging felt like minutes to her, and her intense focus greatly amused Uradras, who said that Piper had a "resting s'wit face" when she really got into her work. She spent the next four years under Dreleth's employ and tutelage, both honing her craft and making decent money repairing and forging arms and armor for their customers. As one last trial of mastery, the old elf gave Piper his final orders as her tutor: forge a set of steel plate armor and a shield, fit for a knight. Setting her hammer to metal at once, Piper worked with Uradras watching closely, who shockingly said not a word. The most she got out of her tutor was a short grunt of approval when she finally finished the cuirass. Setting all the pieces out on a nearby table, Piper herself could hardly believe that she was the one that made it all. It was the first time in a while since she smiled with any energy. The last word from her tutor that she would ever hear rang out with audible happiness: "Finally!"
Piper came home gushing with pride, telling everyone about everything she had made and how great of a teacher Uradras was; no one had seen her quite so happy before, and she sorely wished her brother was there so she could show him her craftsmanship. That smile would vanish the next morning when she went back to the workshop to continue her work on other pieces. Instead of Uradras meeting her at the door with his usual impatient "you were almost late!" speech, it was his daughter Undena, watery-eyed and mournful. Undena told Piper that during the night, her father's heart finally gave out on him, and Uradras died in his sleep. Piper couldn't believe what she was hearing, she had spoken to the Mer barely twelve hours prior, and he seemed fine, though he did retire earlier than usual. After offering her condolences to the grieving daughter of her master, Piper was invited into the home; apparently Uradras had left something for her. In her father's room, Undena had found a small journal with a stack of letters stuffed inside, and emblazoned on the front cover was a strange red beetle which she explained was the insignia of the Great House Redoran of Morrowind. The note that was found next to the journal on the night-stand read "Reminder to self: Give letters to the Speculatus family, and perhaps share what's in my old journal.", and scribbled at the bottom was something about "Caius being so damned overly cautious". Piper didn't have a single idea about what Uradras meant. Caius? As in, her father Caius? Her father never even spoke of Uradras, though, or of any of the Dreleth family. The contents of the journal and letters didn't help things: They were written in Dunmeris, though there was one thing she could decipher: An elegant "C" was written at the end of some of the letters. It was all very confusing, and she wasn't quite in the mood to chase ghosts at that point in time. Besides, she thought it better to give Undena time to grieve before digging into her dead father's past, and instead retrieved her armor, wished the best for Undena, and went back home. It had felt like such a short four years, and Uradras was gone already. While they weren't super best friends or anything, Piper greatly appreciated the time the old Mer spent in teaching her, even during the times she seem to have proved useless. Before leaving for Skyrim, Piper forged a medallion, using the symbol on Uradras' journal as a guide for getting the details down for the Redoran beetle. She continues to wear this medallion as a sign of respect for her late master and it is plainly visible when Piper is out of her armor.
Perhaps it wasn't just Sagax's leaving and her concern for his safety that fueled Piper's decision to follow her brother to Skyrim. She knew that there were multitudes of Dunmer in the northern province, thanks to the Red Year, and at least one of them had to still know the language of their own kind. She wanted to know what was so important in those letters that Uradras was apparently sworn to secrecy by some mysterious "C". If not her father Caius, then who? Piper didn't have a great feeling about the contents of the letters, but something more than vain curiosity gnawed at her, as if she felt like she would learn some great truth if those old bits of paper were made readable. Well, even if she couldn't translate the letters, she still needed to make sure Sagax came home in one piece. That man would throw himself into an Orc berserker for the fun of it.
While Sagax was out running packages and letters, Piper was putting time into her combat abilities and taking pay as a store guard for the various shops in the Market District. The shopkeeps knew who she was, and a few turned her down at the door, though even the ones who didn't were still very cautious about her working in their stores and would often send her home hours before her shift was supposed to end. The involuntary free time that was shoved in her face gave her take more opportunities to practice with her blade. Training on her own against stationary dummies eventually lost its usefulness, and Piper needed to find someone to actually teach her further. Holding on to the slim chance that maybe one of her father's old friends was still in the service, the anxious woman made her way to the Watch barracks. Steeling herself for the harshest words she could imagine, Piper opened the door and stepped inside. To her surprise, her ears were not met with angry shouting and vile accusations, but with a well-mannered greeting from one of the off-duty guards, who Piper later learned was one Aquillius Marius. Even more surprising: the man knew her by name. Apparently Varulae had told some of her own close friends that Piper's family had resurfaced, literally. When he asked what she wanted, Piper responded with a request for combat training. It was agreed that she would start tomorrow evening after Aquillius' shift.
Day after day, Piper would meet Aquillius in the Arena District; it had the most space for practice and plenty of training tools for aspiring fighters. Piper started off with basic sword-and-shield techniques, which she already had some experience with, and worked her way up with the help of the guardsman's supervision. She learned how to angle a shield to deflect sword blows away from her, where to hold one to maximize protection against ranged weapons, and how to use a shield in conjunction with the longsword, Piper's arm of choice. Then came the heavy armor training, which tested and forcefully extended the limits of her endurance. It took her a while to get used to how to move in heavy armor, and would frequently exhaust herself. She had a patient teacher, though, and he stuck with Piper until she got the hang of it. Her training took about half a year, though she continued practicing with Aquillius for another few months, at which point he felt he taught the raring lass all he could as a soldier. All that was left was for Piper to learn how to maintain her gear, and to that end he directed her to Uradras Dreleth. He was once a Redoran blacksmith, or so the old Mer told those that sought his services, though reportedly all questions about his origins and why he came to Cyrodiil were either shot down or ignored entirely. Whatever the case, Aquillius assured Piper that she could learn a lot from Dreleth, and that he wished her the best of luck in her future endeavors.
Uradras, Piper learned very quickly, was not as nice and polite as Aquillius. When she told him why she was in shop, he started yelling about how he wasn't taking any apprentices and that "you damned people need to mind your own business!" The mentioning of Aquillius didn't exactly make the grouch apologetic, but at least he stopped his angry rambling. He waved Piper over to his forge impatiently and began showing Piper the basics. Thankfully, as much of a grumpy coot as Uradras was, he was an even better teacher. Under his very critical wing, Piper learned how to sharpen a blade, buff out dents in armor, and all other manner of techniques a warrior in the field would need. Surprise of all surprises, when her initial training was done, the crotchety Dunmer actually expressed a meager amount of approval with how well she took to everything. Sensing that perhaps Piper had a talent for the craft, Uradras offered to teach her further as his pupil, a position that had apparently been reopened in the few days it took for the Imperial to learn the basics. Not seeing her very unsteady job as a store guard going any where, Piper of course took his offer. Immediately upon her acceptance, Dreleth shoved the hammer back into Piper's hand and lead her through the steps to making her very first piece: An iron dirk that she keeps to this day.
Learning the intricacies of the art of smithing under Uradras was hard and tiring work. He was very quick and simple with his lessons, never spending very long on anything, so Piper had to learn just as quickly. He was also an incredibly critical teacher, with the Mer somehow finding faults with every single bend of the metal, and Piper would often come home long after the sun vanished from the sky having spent a lot of time correcting her myriad of mistakes. Though she would hit her pillow night after night with arms sore and eyes burning, Piper found an odd enjoyment in her work. She could forget everything else and focus entirely on the metal she was working with, each consecutive strike of her hammer coming together to form a hypnotic rhythm. What really took an hour of hammering and forging felt like minutes to her, and her intense focus greatly amused Uradras, who said that Piper had a "resting s'wit face" when she really got into her work. She spent the next four years under Dreleth's employ and tutelage, both honing her craft and making decent money repairing and forging arms and armor for their customers. As one last trial of mastery, the old elf gave Piper his final orders as her tutor: forge a set of steel plate armor and a shield, fit for a knight. Setting her hammer to metal at once, Piper worked with Uradras watching closely, who shockingly said not a word. The most she got out of her tutor was a short grunt of approval when she finally finished the cuirass. Setting all the pieces out on a nearby table, Piper herself could hardly believe that she was the one that made it all. It was the first time in a while since she smiled with any energy. The last word from her tutor that she would ever hear rang out with audible happiness: "Finally!"
Piper came home gushing with pride, telling everyone about everything she had made and how great of a teacher Uradras was; no one had seen her quite so happy before, and she sorely wished her brother was there so she could show him her craftsmanship. That smile would vanish the next morning when she went back to the workshop to continue her work on other pieces. Instead of Uradras meeting her at the door with his usual impatient "you were almost late!" speech, it was his daughter Undena, watery-eyed and mournful. Undena told Piper that during the night, her father's heart finally gave out on him, and Uradras died in his sleep. Piper couldn't believe what she was hearing, she had spoken to the Mer barely twelve hours prior, and he seemed fine, though he did retire earlier than usual. After offering her condolences to the grieving daughter of her master, Piper was invited into the home; apparently Uradras had left something for her. In her father's room, Undena had found a small journal with a stack of letters stuffed inside, and emblazoned on the front cover was a strange red beetle which she explained was the insignia of the Great House Redoran of Morrowind. The note that was found next to the journal on the night-stand read "Reminder to self: Give letters to the Speculatus family, and perhaps share what's in my old journal.", and scribbled at the bottom was something about "Caius being so damned overly cautious". Piper didn't have a single idea about what Uradras meant. Caius? As in, her father Caius? Her father never even spoke of Uradras, though, or of any of the Dreleth family. The contents of the journal and letters didn't help things: They were written in Dunmeris, though there was one thing she could decipher: An elegant "C" was written at the end of some of the letters. It was all very confusing, and she wasn't quite in the mood to chase ghosts at that point in time. Besides, she thought it better to give Undena time to grieve before digging into her dead father's past, and instead retrieved her armor, wished the best for Undena, and went back home. It had felt like such a short four years, and Uradras was gone already. While they weren't super best friends or anything, Piper greatly appreciated the time the old Mer spent in teaching her, even during the times she seem to have proved useless. Before leaving for Skyrim, Piper forged a medallion, using the symbol on Uradras' journal as a guide for getting the details down for the Redoran beetle. She continues to wear this medallion as a sign of respect for her late master and it is plainly visible when Piper is out of her armor.
Perhaps it wasn't just Sagax's leaving and her concern for his safety that fueled Piper's decision to follow her brother to Skyrim. She knew that there were multitudes of Dunmer in the northern province, thanks to the Red Year, and at least one of them had to still know the language of their own kind. She wanted to know what was so important in those letters that Uradras was apparently sworn to secrecy by some mysterious "C". If not her father Caius, then who? Piper didn't have a great feeling about the contents of the letters, but something more than vain curiosity gnawed at her, as if she felt like she would learn some great truth if those old bits of paper were made readable. Well, even if she couldn't translate the letters, she still needed to make sure Sagax came home in one piece. That man would throw himself into an Orc berserker for the fun of it.
During the attack of the Golden Slug, Piper finally had a chance to prove herself. And she only failed mildly! The Imperial got knocked about a fair bit by a rotting undead werewolf, but she likes to think her persistence bought the others time to mount an offensive. What she did not expect, however, was that her brother would be embarking on yet another assault in unknown territory. With an explosive. Imagine her relief when she saw her brother descending from the sky like a fallen angel with brain damage into the water not much worse for wear.
Even Piper, however, was not cruel enough to inflict Sagax with her scoldings. As soon as he climbed aboard, he was greeted with a ghastly sight. Piper did not know her for long, but she could guess Sagax thought highly of Roze. The dead-eyed horror on his face was proof enough.
Piper could do nothing but stand helplessly outside of the chamber Sagax was hiding away in, spewing sick all over the floor between fits of tears. It broke her heart to see her brother in such a state, but it was another level of agony entirely to not know what to do about it. She didn't know how to console anybody, not really, and her words would have rung utterly hollow. So she did the only thing she knew how to do: stick by her brother. Just as she has always done. Just as he has always done for her. They will be each others' bulwark against the evils and pains of the world.
During the vampires' assault on the banquet, Piper had the privilege of watching true warriors in action. She was awe-struck by Narzul's finesse, and by Dar'Jzo's precision. This only worsened her embarrassment during their initial encounter after arriving in the castle via delivery crate, she she feels as though she made up for it by playing her part in dispatching the vampire's gargoyles and saving the nobles in attendance.
Now the company makes for Wayrest, and her confidence wanes upon seeing how her brother is slowly changing. She promises to herself that she will not allow Sagax to stray too far.
Even Piper, however, was not cruel enough to inflict Sagax with her scoldings. As soon as he climbed aboard, he was greeted with a ghastly sight. Piper did not know her for long, but she could guess Sagax thought highly of Roze. The dead-eyed horror on his face was proof enough.
Piper could do nothing but stand helplessly outside of the chamber Sagax was hiding away in, spewing sick all over the floor between fits of tears. It broke her heart to see her brother in such a state, but it was another level of agony entirely to not know what to do about it. She didn't know how to console anybody, not really, and her words would have rung utterly hollow. So she did the only thing she knew how to do: stick by her brother. Just as she has always done. Just as he has always done for her. They will be each others' bulwark against the evils and pains of the world.
During the vampires' assault on the banquet, Piper had the privilege of watching true warriors in action. She was awe-struck by Narzul's finesse, and by Dar'Jzo's precision. This only worsened her embarrassment during their initial encounter after arriving in the castle via delivery crate, she she feels as though she made up for it by playing her part in dispatching the vampire's gargoyles and saving the nobles in attendance.
Now the company makes for Wayrest, and her confidence wanes upon seeing how her brother is slowly changing. She promises to herself that she will not allow Sagax to stray too far.
Capabilities
§ Skills
§ Flaws
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
§ Other
Expert: None
Adept: Smithing, Shield, Heavy Armor, One-Handed
Apprentice: Communication, Tailoring, Medicine
Novice: Hand to Hand, Alchemy
Adept: Smithing, Shield, Heavy Armor, One-Handed
Apprentice: Communication, Tailoring, Medicine
Novice: Hand to Hand, Alchemy
§ Flaws
Utter magical inability: For whatever reason, Piper just cannot seem to get a handle on magic. Varulae on several occasions tried teaching her some basic healing spells, but nothing ever came of it. Same for destruction spells, alteration spells, and all other spells the High Elf knew of; Piper is a martial combatant, not magical, and that's the end of it.
Insensitive: Piper can come across as rather cold and uncaring to the everyday passerby, and its very easy for her to offend without meaning to. This naturally makes it quite difficult for her to make many allies.
Poor Balance: Unfortunately, Piper does not share Sagax's uncanny ability to always stay on his feet. Though her armor helps in anchoring her, given the right amount of force, Piper can be toppled relatively easily.
Insecure: Having no real experience being outside of the Imperial City nor in live combat, deep down Piper doubts her supposed hardiness, so to prove to herself that she can handle the outside world she may lash out at those who criticize her abilities, even if all they may be doing is providing helpful advice. This insecurity hampers her ability to receive and absorb helpful information, and Piper will keep at something even if it's clear she could be doing it better.
Insensitive: Piper can come across as rather cold and uncaring to the everyday passerby, and its very easy for her to offend without meaning to. This naturally makes it quite difficult for her to make many allies.
Poor Balance: Unfortunately, Piper does not share Sagax's uncanny ability to always stay on his feet. Though her armor helps in anchoring her, given the right amount of force, Piper can be toppled relatively easily.
Insecure: Having no real experience being outside of the Imperial City nor in live combat, deep down Piper doubts her supposed hardiness, so to prove to herself that she can handle the outside world she may lash out at those who criticize her abilities, even if all they may be doing is providing helpful advice. This insecurity hampers her ability to receive and absorb helpful information, and Piper will keep at something even if it's clear she could be doing it better.
§ Spells
None.
§ Tactics
One could describe Piper's method of fighting as "Aggressively Defensive". Steadily advancing on her foe while her shield and armor deflect blows, Piper will strike out from behind her shield with heavy thrusts, alternating with swift cuts if her opponent is nimble. She will use her shield to try and knock her foe off balance, either by charging into them or simply hitting them with the front, as if she were punching. She operates as an anchor, an obstacle one must engage before getting to her squishier allies.
§ Relations & Affiliations
Equa Speculatus - Mother
Caius Speculatus - Father
Sagax Speculatus - Brother
Varulae - Family friend
Caius Speculatus - Father
Sagax Speculatus - Brother
Varulae - Family friend
§ Opinions
TBW
§ Crimes and Accomplishments
Accomplishments: Piper is a fairly competent smith, and forge and repair most kinds of gear. And some cooking implements.
§ Other
Strong Back: Her training in and continued usage of heavy armor has conditioned Piper's body for carrying large loads, and she can carry many things for a good distance before needing to rest.
Inventory
§ Cash & Valuables 20 gold coins, Redoran amulet crafted in memory of Uradras Dreleth | § Keys & Lockpicks None |
§ Tools & Crafting Materials A smithing hammer, whetstone, and a steel ingot | § Clothing, Armor & Jewelry Piper's everyday attire consists of black cotton trousers with a leather belt, basic leather boots and a gray cotton long-sleeved shirt, with her blacksmithing apron and leather gloves on top of that when working. The medallion she crafted is always around her neck, and she watches it like a hawk. Over Piper's normal attire is her steel armor, crafted in her master's workshop just a day before his passing. The aesthetic of the armor itself is distinctly Cyrodillic, like the kind you'd find in illustrations of knights in popular fiction. A "bucket" helmet completes the set, resting atop a chainmail coif. |
§ Weapon & Ammo Steel longsword, an iron dirk and a teardrop shield, emblazoned with the signet of the Imperial Dragon | § Potion & Arcane Supplies Two potions of healing, and two potions of stamina |
§ Books & Documents Uradras' journal and the letters of correspondence to a mysterious person known only as "C", all written in Dunmeris | § Consumables & Ingredients Water canteen, four slices of dried meat, and three pieces of hardtack |
§ Bags & Containers A large backpack, and a harness consisting of four pouches she attaches to her cuirass | § Other One fur bedroll, a bar of soap and two wash rags, and a torch |
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
Seen
1 day ago
Nicely done, @Frizan. Go put the Speculatuses in for another round of suffering the char tab.
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
Seen
1 day ago
Two main options for our first encounter: Go through the werecroc inhabited cistern, or detour through the wastewater tunnel.
GM
ButtsnBalls Goderator
Member
Seen
1 day ago
Read by kings and emperors®
Last Seed 21st, 4E 205
Iliac Bay Edition | 6 Septims
Courage Amid Chaos!
Vampires strike at the victory banquet in Evermore! Notable casualties include Crown Prince Hrolfr Iron-Arm of Jehanna, Lord Hesse Arnault of Farnorth, and Cammen Goring, the interim treasurer of Wayrest1. While many other notable individuals are killed or injured in the attack, the vampires have been defeated thanks to unexpected outside help.
Piper Speculatus, sister of Sagax "Fury of Windhelm" Speculatus, and daughter of the Seventh Estate collaborationist Caius Speculatus2, distinguishes herself by saving Duchess Emmeria Guimard and her guests. Speculatus is instrumental in defeating the legendary vampire lord Nyrehtaud. Her fearless endeavor is aided by the mystic Ariane Fontaine, and the witchhunters Diarmid Groupeville and Marcel Gawain3. A Dunmer, Khajiit and two Argonians also make contributions.
For Speculatus' heroism, Duchess Emmeria grants her the title "Guardian of Evermore", an utmost honor bestowed to a scarce few4. Fontaine, Groupeville and Gawain are also recognized as "Friends of Evermore". Other contributors receive thanks on behalf of the Duchy.
Editor's notes:
1) Their deaths are likely to impact the situation in Wayrest. While Prince Hrolfr is vocal and temperamental, he has curtailed the use of subterfuge. Lord Hesse is one of the few moderates, and his demise will be a serious blow to those seeking middle ground. Lastly, Wayrest Treasury will face further turmoil without Goring.
2) The Speculatus matron, Equa, has been released by the Penitus Occulatus. She is recently spotted in Daggerfall.
3) Groupeville and Gawain are severely injured fighting Nyrehtaud. They are in critical, but stable, conditions. Many are tossing coins for the witchhunters' recoveries.
4) Our legal experts believe less than 100 people have been bestowed the title throughout history. However, it includes no tangible rewards.
Piper Speculatus, sister of Sagax "Fury of Windhelm" Speculatus, and daughter of the Seventh Estate collaborationist Caius Speculatus2, distinguishes herself by saving Duchess Emmeria Guimard and her guests. Speculatus is instrumental in defeating the legendary vampire lord Nyrehtaud. Her fearless endeavor is aided by the mystic Ariane Fontaine, and the witchhunters Diarmid Groupeville and Marcel Gawain3. A Dunmer, Khajiit and two Argonians also make contributions.
For Speculatus' heroism, Duchess Emmeria grants her the title "Guardian of Evermore", an utmost honor bestowed to a scarce few4. Fontaine, Groupeville and Gawain are also recognized as "Friends of Evermore". Other contributors receive thanks on behalf of the Duchy.
Editor's notes:
1) Their deaths are likely to impact the situation in Wayrest. While Prince Hrolfr is vocal and temperamental, he has curtailed the use of subterfuge. Lord Hesse is one of the few moderates, and his demise will be a serious blow to those seeking middle ground. Lastly, Wayrest Treasury will face further turmoil without Goring.
2) The Speculatus matron, Equa, has been released by the Penitus Occulatus. She is recently spotted in Daggerfall.
3) Groupeville and Gawain are severely injured fighting Nyrehtaud. They are in critical, but stable, conditions. Many are tossing coins for the witchhunters' recoveries.
4) Our legal experts believe less than 100 people have been bestowed the title throughout history. However, it includes no tangible rewards.
News
Sea of Ghosts: According to several terrified sailors, the tiny island of Icereach, north of Jehanna, has been overrun by thousands of undead. Similar undead hordes are also reported for Olenveld and Vounoura. One report even claims reanimated giants and whales.
(Authorities of Northpoint and Blacklight have issued travel warnings, but Jehanna denounces such measures.)
Morrowind: The Nerevarine has not been seen in the last three weeks. Some believe he is quietly abdicating, while others suspect he has been assassinated. In the meantime, Chancellor Ildoryn Sarano is directing the war.
Cyrodiil: The Cyrodilic Disconnect ravages the Imperial Province, claiming over thousands of lives as of this time. Major cities are quarantined, while many affluent Imperials are relocating to High Rock. While previously observed to affect only Imperials, the plague has mutated to infecting Bretons, Nords and Redguards. The cure devised by Angela Venarius declines in effectiveness, causing some to suspect her sabotaging her own formula out of spite.
High Rock: There is much uncertainty regarding the Imperial Legions in High Rock. The 11th legion is called to Cyrodiil to aid in quarantine efforts, while legates from the 12th legion resigned en masse in protest of a similar order. The reserve legion is expelled from Jehanna when General Cassia expands recruitment, though some suspect it is due to a leadership struggle with Legate Duilis.
Elsweyr: The island of Caspherion recently opened its exclusive shores to Khajiit refugees. Its leaders promise safe haven from Maormer raids.
(Win your very own trip to Caspherion! Cyrodiil residents not eligible.)
Topal Bay: A Tsaesci fleet, supported by Maormer ships, enters Leyawiin harbor. This coincides with a Seventh Estate-led uprising in the city. The vampires of the Estate (under vampire Caius Speculatus' command) take control of Leyawiin and join forces with the invaders. Imperial and Khajiit loyalists (led by a resurfaced Ri'Nhazi-Do) are currently resisting.
(Martial arts experts break down Tsaesci dragonknight tactics. Page 9)
Orsinium: Falkreath rebels arrive to bolster their besieged Orc allies. The fresh and eager Nord troops mount a surprise attack against the Redguard lines; they are unsuccessful and suffer heavy casualties (including Lodjolf Thorn-Raker).
Summerset Isles: The semi-secret Dominion-Pyandonea alliance breaks down as a Maormer delation is killed by populist mobs on Alinor. Pyandonea responds by withdrawing its remaining envoys, ending naval cooperation and announcing its support for Cyrodiil (though some interpret this as support for the Seventh Estate).
Stros M'kai: Maormer ships leave the blockade. Redguard navy takes advantage and breaks the blockade with new ships and experimental magic weapons. The Dominion fleet withdraws and the island returns to Hammerfell control.
(Tamrielic Gazette will resume distribution on Stros M'kai next month! First ten subscribers receive one month free!)
Skyrim: Advisers from Black Marsh attempt to enter Skyrim through the Imperial Protectorate of Riften. However, they are detained by the orders of Jarl Maven Black-Briar.
Black Marsh: Advisers from Skyrim have arrived, as part of their anti-Morrowind coalition. They are poorly received and generally ignored by Argonian commanders.
(What advice would you give them? Share with us!)
Celebrities
Music: A song of redemption! Bard Felix aep Caileach has been pardoned of all crimes of treason! Following the publication of his inspiring memoir (exclusively by Tamrielic Gazette), the Elder Council and Imperial Bards Guild declare aep Caileach a champion of Cyrodiil.
Poetry: Renowned poet and translator of Akaviri haiku, Sylette, has been killed. Her remains are lost.
(Sylette's admirers pay respect with the deadric letter Hefhed. Page 7)
Jewelry: The Lover's Knot, a mastercrafted tiara loaned for display in Evermore, has been stolen. Its owner offers a one million septim bounty for the tiara's return and the thief's capture. Dozens of bounty hunters have already set out in search.
(Bet on the successful bounty hunter! Notable contenders on page 3)
Performing Arts: Notable investor and patron of the arts, Horace Fontaine, is dead. His estates, along with significant debt (due to the destruction of Daggerfall Theatre), are inherited by his niece, Ariane Fontaine.
Justice: Pirate Maj Noor will be executed on Last Seed 23. Nathaniel Sangrouge, the provisional governor of Wayrest, says Noor is "a prime example of delinquency and subversion", and her execution will be "a triumph for the liberated citizens of Wayrest".
(Maj Noor's original sketches are now on sale! Previews on page 8)
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