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[CHAR] TES: The Second Great War
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Fading Memory The Final Flame of a Fiery Bird
Member
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24 hrs ago
Player Name: @Fading Memory, Fading Memory, alternatively 'Phoenix'.
Character Name
"Frelayne Ildered."
Formerly:Lady Gynabeth Nytvanne, minor noblesse of Glenumbra and heiress to the Nytvanne Estate.
Race
A Breton, hailing from the Kingdom of Daggerfall, Imperial province of High Rock.
Age
Twenty Four
Sex
Female
Physical Description
Frelayne presents a distinctive visage. Her uniform is well kept, meticulously maintained and clean, and she keeps herself in just as pristine a condition whenever possible. Her dedication to cleanliness and manicure can be witnessed even in her eating habits; a kerchief is kept close at hand and she practices a disdain for fussy eating. There are oft times where mess cannot be avoided and she does not seem troubled by these times- she is an Imperial Legion Mage after all, it is to be expected- but it is when circumstances wherein the wielding of caution could have avoided a mess arise that cause her frustrations to fly.
Moving on in short order, the first thing many people note about Frelayne is her height. She rises to a rather impressive stature, for a Breton, of 5'10"- a height that is wielded fully by a perfected posture. Where in some such height would lead to gangling or lanky demeanor, Frelayne appears to have filled her frame well and instead is possessed by a measure of grace and comeliness well suited to the social environs she used to operate within.
That is to say, she is by no means the most beautiful of women. She cleans up exceptionally well, and certainly knows how to wield her charms when the need arises, but these days the wear and tear of a life on the move and an enlistment into the Imperial Legions has, perhaps, hewn away the softer edges of a life in Bretony Courts and gentle politicking in favor of a more reserved and demure woman.
Thick hair that, frankly, seems like it would be a chore to maintain seems to be her quiet pride- it the primary focus of all her meticulous ministrations and something she seems to keep an intense focus on maintaining. Her eyes are a striking grey color, underlying hazel tones granting an almost golden-brown coloration to them in certain light. Her hands and body bear callouses and blisters- signs of hard work, but only recently gained- and while she was capable of keeping pace in the Enlistment and Training to join the Legion she lacks the overt musculature and tone of a practiced martial warrior.
Faith: Devout of Magnus and the Magne Ge, accepting of the Eight Divines and the Bretony Pantheon. Talos is a sore spot; he is NOT one of the Divines, but it is unmistakable that the cult of Talos has grown and that the figure represents a just ideal for all, and a great pride for the Empire. This means she respects those who choose to worship him, but she herself does not beyond the minimal offering of recognition and respect. To state it in a hierarchy, her faith is focused on the Magne Ge and, indeed, Magnus himself above all others, with the Eight Divines being on the forefront due to societal importance in an Imperial Province, then the Meri deities common of her ancestry, and Talos being accepted.
The contentions over the reinstatement of Talos trouble her, but she is patriotic in ideal and the Empire has officially welcomed Talos back. The Eight and One arise anew and she will defend people's legal right to worship.
Position - Mage
Frelayne is a Mage. A rather well trained one, indeed, who owes her particular education in magical application to the extensive tutoring received in the Nytvanne Estate in her youth, which coupled well with a natural knack for handling Magicka. Further experimentation and study while travelling has refined her magical abilities.
Magic
Her unique talents lie in the arts of Alteration and Illusion, though her travels have instilled within her an appreciation of Destruction magics as well.
Approximate skill level in the magical arts
Alteration - Adept
Illusion - Adept
Destruction - Apprentice [Favors Shock magic]
Else: Negligible practical capability, novice conceptual understanding
Specific Spells Known [1 Adept, 1 Apprentice, 3 Novice]
Alteration - Telekinesis [Adept], Equilibrium [Novice]
Illusion - Fear [Apprentice], Clairvoyance [Novice]
Destruction - Sparks [Novice]
Core
Character Name
"Frelayne Ildered."
Formerly:Lady Gynabeth Nytvanne, minor noblesse of Glenumbra and heiress to the Nytvanne Estate.
Race
A Breton, hailing from the Kingdom of Daggerfall, Imperial province of High Rock.
Age
Twenty Four
Sex
Female
Physical Description
Frelayne presents a distinctive visage. Her uniform is well kept, meticulously maintained and clean, and she keeps herself in just as pristine a condition whenever possible. Her dedication to cleanliness and manicure can be witnessed even in her eating habits; a kerchief is kept close at hand and she practices a disdain for fussy eating. There are oft times where mess cannot be avoided and she does not seem troubled by these times- she is an Imperial Legion Mage after all, it is to be expected- but it is when circumstances wherein the wielding of caution could have avoided a mess arise that cause her frustrations to fly.
Moving on in short order, the first thing many people note about Frelayne is her height. She rises to a rather impressive stature, for a Breton, of 5'10"- a height that is wielded fully by a perfected posture. Where in some such height would lead to gangling or lanky demeanor, Frelayne appears to have filled her frame well and instead is possessed by a measure of grace and comeliness well suited to the social environs she used to operate within.
That is to say, she is by no means the most beautiful of women. She cleans up exceptionally well, and certainly knows how to wield her charms when the need arises, but these days the wear and tear of a life on the move and an enlistment into the Imperial Legions has, perhaps, hewn away the softer edges of a life in Bretony Courts and gentle politicking in favor of a more reserved and demure woman.
Thick hair that, frankly, seems like it would be a chore to maintain seems to be her quiet pride- it the primary focus of all her meticulous ministrations and something she seems to keep an intense focus on maintaining. Her eyes are a striking grey color, underlying hazel tones granting an almost golden-brown coloration to them in certain light. Her hands and body bear callouses and blisters- signs of hard work, but only recently gained- and while she was capable of keeping pace in the Enlistment and Training to join the Legion she lacks the overt musculature and tone of a practiced martial warrior.
Faith: Devout of Magnus and the Magne Ge, accepting of the Eight Divines and the Bretony Pantheon. Talos is a sore spot; he is NOT one of the Divines, but it is unmistakable that the cult of Talos has grown and that the figure represents a just ideal for all, and a great pride for the Empire. This means she respects those who choose to worship him, but she herself does not beyond the minimal offering of recognition and respect. To state it in a hierarchy, her faith is focused on the Magne Ge and, indeed, Magnus himself above all others, with the Eight Divines being on the forefront due to societal importance in an Imperial Province, then the Meri deities common of her ancestry, and Talos being accepted.
The contentions over the reinstatement of Talos trouble her, but she is patriotic in ideal and the Empire has officially welcomed Talos back. The Eight and One arise anew and she will defend people's legal right to worship.
Position - Mage
Frelayne is a Mage. A rather well trained one, indeed, who owes her particular education in magical application to the extensive tutoring received in the Nytvanne Estate in her youth, which coupled well with a natural knack for handling Magicka. Further experimentation and study while travelling has refined her magical abilities.
Magic
Her unique talents lie in the arts of Alteration and Illusion, though her travels have instilled within her an appreciation of Destruction magics as well.
Approximate skill level in the magical arts
Alteration - Adept
Illusion - Adept
Destruction - Apprentice [Favors Shock magic]
Else: Negligible practical capability, novice conceptual understanding
Specific Spells Known [1 Adept, 1 Apprentice, 3 Novice]
Alteration - Telekinesis [Adept], Equilibrium [Novice]
Illusion - Fear [Apprentice], Clairvoyance [Novice]
Destruction - Sparks [Novice]
Core
- Young Noble Woman of the Kingdom of Daggerfall, well educated in the ways of Magic and the Court, who accidentally killed a young nobleman who was tormenting her after a spurned courtship visit from a neighboring realm. Seeking to cause as little harm to her family as possible, she fled from Daggerfall and changed her name.
- Now living on the road as "Frelayne Ildered", the woman had to struggle with the harsher realities of the Bretony Peasantry. Life was not as glamorous and bright at the bottom of High Rock's social strata, and she had to pick up several hard-knock lessons while on the run. A new appreciation for Destruction magics bloomed at this stage of her life out of sheer necessity, and dedicating herself to advancing her study of it consumed a vast majority of her resources and temporarily plateaued her rising mastery of Illusion and Alteration magics.
- Soon lacking in funds or safe havens, Frelayne was forced to seek alternatives to life in High Rock. She travelled for some time, visiting Cyrodiil and the center of the Empire. She never stayed in one place for long- which created a longing for somewhere to belong, a place to call her own. She missed having a family, friends. She missed having purpose. Survival was not enough.
- She enlisted into the Imperial Legions, the rising war effort calling to the patriotic hearth that burned in her heart, as a mage. She is enthusiastic, if afraid, of this decision; war is a terrifying thing, the scale of this conflict beyond most people's understanding, and the repercussions of it will have infinitely long reaching consequences. She just hopes to try and protect the memories she has of quiet days and peaceful learning.
I am not the most well versed in Elder Scrolls lore. I pretty much never played Skyrim beyond the beginning of the game, my time with Oblivion was so long ago that it's all fuzzy memory, and I spent far...far......far too much time with the game 'Daggerfall'. Thusly much of my knowledge is very dated, if present at all! To make this sheet I perused several wikipedia pages, remarked that Thaumaturgy and Mysticism magic no longer existed, exasperated over the fact that Bretons seemingly are no longer a 'tall' race and decided to make my character 'tall' anyway, and now have an ongoing research project into the deities of the elder scrolls universe.
I blame all of you for this newfound research project, but it will keep me busy and reading for some time as it seems it will be an important facet of this particular roleplay. Now that I've gotten the miscellaneous information about Fading Memory out of the way...
This is an orchestral piece I listened to just because I liked it, and it happened to be playing as I started the sheet. Decided to put it on repeat a few times. I find its slower pace and tranquil tones to be a good feeling for the underlying emotional state of the character. She just wants people to be able to live together in peace, and because of her life 'on the run' she longs for familiar places and a 'home' to call her own. The underlying tones of sorrow are also very fitting, in this regard.
youtu.be/S-Xm7s9eGxU
The largest chunk of inspiration for the character comes from my girlfriend, actually, who within the last few months had many Jane Austen audiobooks playing out loud in our home. Prim and proper upper class etiquette has been burned into my head because of this, and I needed an outlet to get those vibes out of my head before I went insane. I decided to dump those feelings into this particular character, with the twist that she had to leave it all behind and is struggling to fit in with lower class society even after years of being on the road.
I blame all of you for this newfound research project, but it will keep me busy and reading for some time as it seems it will be an important facet of this particular roleplay. Now that I've gotten the miscellaneous information about Fading Memory out of the way...
This is an orchestral piece I listened to just because I liked it, and it happened to be playing as I started the sheet. Decided to put it on repeat a few times. I find its slower pace and tranquil tones to be a good feeling for the underlying emotional state of the character. She just wants people to be able to live together in peace, and because of her life 'on the run' she longs for familiar places and a 'home' to call her own. The underlying tones of sorrow are also very fitting, in this regard.
youtu.be/S-Xm7s9eGxU
The largest chunk of inspiration for the character comes from my girlfriend, actually, who within the last few months had many Jane Austen audiobooks playing out loud in our home. Prim and proper upper class etiquette has been burned into my head because of this, and I needed an outlet to get those vibes out of my head before I went insane. I decided to dump those feelings into this particular character, with the twist that she had to leave it all behind and is struggling to fit in with lower class society even after years of being on the road.
As a mage of the Legion you will be granted Mage's robes. They are far heavier than the standard fare of mages for they are lined with chainmail to stop some strikes and fur to keep out Skyrim's cold. A steel shortsword is provided for self defence whilst a staff of alteration is handed over along with an alliance of lesser soul gems.
-Legion Issued Gear
This incident in training had earned Frelayne, whispered behind her back, the temporary nickname of 'Banshee'. She rather liked it, truth be told, but she would never openly admit this.
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Cazzer1604
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Player Name: @Cazzer1604, just Cazzer will do.
Character Name: Drelas Uvayn
Race: Dunmer
Age: 22, born under the Thief
Sex: Male
Physical Description:
Slender and athletic like most mer, Drelas stands at an average height for his race. His skin is ashen-grey and his crimson eyes are typical for a Dunmer and remain unscathed physically, while also not betraying any signs of psychological trauma or weariness of life. From this, and his general condition and demeanour, it is clear to see that Drelas hasn't experienced much in the way of hardships or difficulty, but he lacks snobbishness or sanctimony in his posture or the way he gazes upon others.
His hair is always shaved on both sides, with a streak of ragged jet black hair paved down the middle of his head and pointing towards the back of his neck. His features are angled and sharp, with no visible elements of genetic impurity in his Dunmer lineage. Drelas maintains a roguish goatee - not too dissimilar to (Captain!) Jack Sparrow's but less thick. His face bears no scars, but his clothes hide a small stab wound to the left of his abdomen.
Faith:
Born in the 4th Era, Drelas never knew a Dunmer society centred around the Tribunal. The reformation of the Temple had settled as Drelas reached adolescence, but Drelas' faith is as confused and volatile as the Dunmer that witnessed the transition. In truth, Drelas is not particularly engaged with any of it - the Tribunes, the Daedra and certainly not the Divines. Of course, he enjoyed the stories as a child - the tales of Saint Nerevar and the epics of Vivec would entice any wide-eyed young boy - but the affection ended as Drelas matured. He soon found that had no use for faith or religion, and since he was never pushed in any particular direction towards it by his family, it is a curiousity - nothing more.
Therefore, He finds the reliance and reverence of the Divines that is so prevalent in Imperial society confusing and alien, and this will surely not do him any favours in his current situation.
Position:
As a Dunmer and with the situation of his enlistment, Drelas has been given the role of Auxilia.
Magic:
As per Dunmeri tradition, Drelas was taught in the ways of Destruction to a degree. Though he did not show any particular aptitude for the arcane and so did not delve into the more mystical aspects of magic, he can throw a firebolt and control flames adequately enough (shock-based magic proved to be too difficult for him to master, and ice was not covered in his lessons).
List of Spells known:
Core:
History
The last of four siblings, Drelas was born into the Uvayn family in Narsis, who were traditionally loyal servants of the Great House Hlaalu. Drelas' grandfather, Mervs, was a Lawman in the Hlaalu outfit in Balmora underneath Nileno Dorvayn, and his father Nalvyn was also a Lawman and scribe for the Hlaalu in Narsis.
When the Nerevarine disrupted the status quo of Velothi society, and the Oblivion Crisis and the Red Year caused the near-collapse of Morrowind - the vultures came for Great House Hlaalu and they did not spare the minor houses attached to them. Through guile and cunning, House Uvayn survived the absorption, domineering and culling that followed when Hlaalu was stripped of its power and influence and while today they are shadows of their former selves, the Uvayns are still here.
When his grandfather died, Drelas' father resolved to take back some semblance of respect and dignity that his family had lost in recent years, and endeavoured to push his children to become influential and powerful. For his brothers and sister, this meant establishing successful businesses and a focus on entrepreneurship, as was once the sphere of the Great House they sought to emulate.
Drelas did not take to this approach and emphasis as they did, for there was little time for him with such a focus on his elder siblings. Instead, while his parents' attention was elsewhere, Drelas found himself in crowds more unsavoury and disreputable. Trouble never seemed to be far away, and soon he found that he had the attention of his father for all the wrong reasons. Nalvyn's patience grew thin as each escapade Drelas was involved in was more serious than the last, culminating in Drelas' involvement with in Narsis' local crime ring and his arrest by the authorities.
Fortunately, Nalyn's influence had grown to the point where he was able to get Drelas off the hook, but was at his wits end with his youngest son who had tarnished the reputation of the Uvayn family that he had worked so diligently to salvage. A solution came to the patriarch with rumours of aggression from Alinor against the fledgling Empire, and Nalvyn shrewdly forsaw a way to simultaneously set Drelas straight, justifiably get him out of the way without exiling him (which would bring shame and controversy), and potentially generate some influence within Imperial circles.
Giving one last lecture to his son about the importance of familial loyalty, the power of connections and networking, and the debt that he personally owes, Drelas' father enlisted his unwilling but choice-less son within the Imperial Legion and secured passage on a caravan for him bound for Cyrodiil.
Personality
While Drelas was a difficult son, he is not a difficult man to deal with, platonically at least. He is socially competent if a little aloof at times, and his attitude is pleasant enough. His most destructive tendencies tend to be inward-focused and insular, and oftentimes he finds himself doing things and making decisions that are reckless and brash for reasons that he can't quite explain. Perhaps it is a innate need to be the centre of attention, or perhaps it he has a rebel's heart that did not temper after this teenage years were over. Regardless, Drelas' foolhardy nature can land him in much trouble - be it from pushing the wrong person's buttons too much on purpose or wanton acts of mischief unto anyone who he thinks deserves it.
He has never experienced true friendship or companionship, and therefore keeps most of those that he comes across at arm's length. This is not to say that he is callous or sociopathic, but rather unwilling to be disappointed or hurt. Though, he can be manipulative when the need arises, and is equipped to be as charming as he needs to be in most cases.
Misc.:
Nothing to note yet. Drelas' only possessions he was able to take with him are a Dunmeri-style steel dagger, 20 drakes/septims, some dried rations and a waterskin.
Character Name: Drelas Uvayn
Race: Dunmer
Age: 22, born under the Thief
Sex: Male
Physical Description:
Slender and athletic like most mer, Drelas stands at an average height for his race. His skin is ashen-grey and his crimson eyes are typical for a Dunmer and remain unscathed physically, while also not betraying any signs of psychological trauma or weariness of life. From this, and his general condition and demeanour, it is clear to see that Drelas hasn't experienced much in the way of hardships or difficulty, but he lacks snobbishness or sanctimony in his posture or the way he gazes upon others.
His hair is always shaved on both sides, with a streak of ragged jet black hair paved down the middle of his head and pointing towards the back of his neck. His features are angled and sharp, with no visible elements of genetic impurity in his Dunmer lineage. Drelas maintains a roguish goatee - not too dissimilar to (Captain!) Jack Sparrow's but less thick. His face bears no scars, but his clothes hide a small stab wound to the left of his abdomen.
Faith:
Born in the 4th Era, Drelas never knew a Dunmer society centred around the Tribunal. The reformation of the Temple had settled as Drelas reached adolescence, but Drelas' faith is as confused and volatile as the Dunmer that witnessed the transition. In truth, Drelas is not particularly engaged with any of it - the Tribunes, the Daedra and certainly not the Divines. Of course, he enjoyed the stories as a child - the tales of Saint Nerevar and the epics of Vivec would entice any wide-eyed young boy - but the affection ended as Drelas matured. He soon found that had no use for faith or religion, and since he was never pushed in any particular direction towards it by his family, it is a curiousity - nothing more.
Therefore, He finds the reliance and reverence of the Divines that is so prevalent in Imperial society confusing and alien, and this will surely not do him any favours in his current situation.
Position:
As a Dunmer and with the situation of his enlistment, Drelas has been given the role of Auxilia.
Magic:
As per Dunmeri tradition, Drelas was taught in the ways of Destruction to a degree. Though he did not show any particular aptitude for the arcane and so did not delve into the more mystical aspects of magic, he can throw a firebolt and control flames adequately enough (shock-based magic proved to be too difficult for him to master, and ice was not covered in his lessons).
List of Spells known:
- Firebolt [Apprentice]
- Flames [Novice]
Core:
History
The last of four siblings, Drelas was born into the Uvayn family in Narsis, who were traditionally loyal servants of the Great House Hlaalu. Drelas' grandfather, Mervs, was a Lawman in the Hlaalu outfit in Balmora underneath Nileno Dorvayn, and his father Nalvyn was also a Lawman and scribe for the Hlaalu in Narsis.
When the Nerevarine disrupted the status quo of Velothi society, and the Oblivion Crisis and the Red Year caused the near-collapse of Morrowind - the vultures came for Great House Hlaalu and they did not spare the minor houses attached to them. Through guile and cunning, House Uvayn survived the absorption, domineering and culling that followed when Hlaalu was stripped of its power and influence and while today they are shadows of their former selves, the Uvayns are still here.
When his grandfather died, Drelas' father resolved to take back some semblance of respect and dignity that his family had lost in recent years, and endeavoured to push his children to become influential and powerful. For his brothers and sister, this meant establishing successful businesses and a focus on entrepreneurship, as was once the sphere of the Great House they sought to emulate.
Drelas did not take to this approach and emphasis as they did, for there was little time for him with such a focus on his elder siblings. Instead, while his parents' attention was elsewhere, Drelas found himself in crowds more unsavoury and disreputable. Trouble never seemed to be far away, and soon he found that he had the attention of his father for all the wrong reasons. Nalvyn's patience grew thin as each escapade Drelas was involved in was more serious than the last, culminating in Drelas' involvement with in Narsis' local crime ring and his arrest by the authorities.
Fortunately, Nalyn's influence had grown to the point where he was able to get Drelas off the hook, but was at his wits end with his youngest son who had tarnished the reputation of the Uvayn family that he had worked so diligently to salvage. A solution came to the patriarch with rumours of aggression from Alinor against the fledgling Empire, and Nalvyn shrewdly forsaw a way to simultaneously set Drelas straight, justifiably get him out of the way without exiling him (which would bring shame and controversy), and potentially generate some influence within Imperial circles.
Giving one last lecture to his son about the importance of familial loyalty, the power of connections and networking, and the debt that he personally owes, Drelas' father enlisted his unwilling but choice-less son within the Imperial Legion and secured passage on a caravan for him bound for Cyrodiil.
Personality
While Drelas was a difficult son, he is not a difficult man to deal with, platonically at least. He is socially competent if a little aloof at times, and his attitude is pleasant enough. His most destructive tendencies tend to be inward-focused and insular, and oftentimes he finds himself doing things and making decisions that are reckless and brash for reasons that he can't quite explain. Perhaps it is a innate need to be the centre of attention, or perhaps it he has a rebel's heart that did not temper after this teenage years were over. Regardless, Drelas' foolhardy nature can land him in much trouble - be it from pushing the wrong person's buttons too much on purpose or wanton acts of mischief unto anyone who he thinks deserves it.
He has never experienced true friendship or companionship, and therefore keeps most of those that he comes across at arm's length. This is not to say that he is callous or sociopathic, but rather unwilling to be disappointed or hurt. Though, he can be manipulative when the need arises, and is equipped to be as charming as he needs to be in most cases.
Misc.:
Nothing to note yet. Drelas' only possessions he was able to take with him are a Dunmeri-style steel dagger, 20 drakes/septims, some dried rations and a waterskin.
Gained Equipment: As an auxiliary with little of his own, Drelas has been provided some of the grandfathered equipment that the Legion used in Skyrim during its civil war for the Nordic irregulars. A full set of Imperial light armour is provided, along with a hunting bow, a steel sword and shield, and a telescope.
Edward Gonard
______________________________________________________________________
=========Basic Info=========
______________________________________________________________________
Player Name: Auz
Character Name: Squire Edward Gonard
Race: Breton
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Position: Hastati/Medic. Can double as a Ballistarii if need be but prefers a sword.
______________________________________________________________________
=========Physical Description=========
______________________________________________________________________
Edward has grown to be quite the dashing young fellow. Sporting prominent cheekbones, a jaw line that could cut glass and piercing blue eyes; the young squire stands at 5’9 with a wiry but sturdy frame. The sides of his head are shaved almost clean, revealing small scars obtained from routine sword practice. On top, his hair is ruffled with a messy look that actually takes almost half an hour to achieve in a mirror or in the reflection of a river. At the base, clinging to his chin, lays what his superiors call “bum fluff”, threatening to turn into a fully-fledged beard as soon as the boy is of age.
With a natural affinity to charge headfirst into danger and further training to compound that, Edward walks barrel chested and head held high. When not dressed by the Imperial Army he chooses to wear thick cotton tunics, along with a heavy fur coat and leather boots. Though the squire would’ve preferred a decent sword, the gear was a departing gift from his Lord, dull in colour but high in quality.
______________________________________________________________________
=========Faith=========
______________________________________________________________________
With all the trouble stemming from the worship of the Nine in the south and then again to the east, many in Daggerfall have turned to worshipping (or at least respecting) the age old view of the Light and the Dark. Edward is one such case, believing that all there is stems from these two entities. There is no true good and no true evil; there is only Order and Chaos, the Bird and the Serpent, Night and Day. Immortal, these entities exist in opposition to each other, locked in an eternal conflict with neither one truly gaining the upper hand.
All mortals are aligned with the Light but their actions can draw from and be influenced by both of the cosmic powers. The undead and many of the creatures from Oblivion tend to be aligned with the Dark but this is not always so. For such reasons it’s all too easy for those who don’t grasp the concept to see this as Good vs. Evil but it’s merely to do with the position you are born in. Those in the Light see that as the truth and the way of things while those in the Dark believe the exact same from their end, with neither being correct.
In the end, the goal is to strike a balance between the worlds and entities. If Nirn falls in the Light, then that must be protected from the Darks domination and vice versa. Edward is devout to the cause, seeing his powers of restoration as an extension of the Light. The Nine and any and all other Gods are merely extensions of this eternal conflict and as such, those that follow them are respected by the young squire. So long as you keep to the balance, Edward will be on your side.
______________________________________________________________________
=========Magic=========
______________________________________________________________________
Despite being a part of the Knights of the Dragon and learning the Dragonic tongue, Edward cannot produce a Thu’um as yet. He has, however, trained in restoration for most of his life, verging towards a level of expertise with the school of magic. He even prefers his own ward to the shield that the Imperials handed him.
• Greater Ward - Adept Spell
• Close Wounds - Apprentice Spell
• Sun Fire (Ball of Sunlight that damages undead) - Apprentice Spell
______________________________________________________________________
=========Background=========
______________________________________________________________________
• Edward was born to a pair of mages who directly served the crown of Daggerfall as healers.
• He followed in his parents’ footsteps, honing a natural affinity towards magic through the school of restoration.
• The family’s unique position in the Kingdom enabled them to sidestep the political intrigue and infighting that dominated the province. This led them to having relatively simple lives with very few hardships ever arising.
• When he was 13, he managed to save the life of his father and a knight of the Knights of the Dragon from an Ogre using his restoration abilities.
• Impressed with the boy’s courage and skill, the knight offered Edward an apprenticeship within the Order, becoming his Squire.
• Accepting, he was taught how to swing a sword, how to pluck a bow and how to manoeuvre in heavy armour. He was also schooled in the tongue of Dragons, which after the events in Skyrim, were met with both shock and awe.
• By the time the second Great War rolled around, Edward still had not been fully inducted into the Order and therefore could not avoid conscription into the Imperial Army. So he was drafted and sent to Cyrodiil for further training and eventual deployment.
• He followed in his parents’ footsteps, honing a natural affinity towards magic through the school of restoration.
• The family’s unique position in the Kingdom enabled them to sidestep the political intrigue and infighting that dominated the province. This led them to having relatively simple lives with very few hardships ever arising.
• When he was 13, he managed to save the life of his father and a knight of the Knights of the Dragon from an Ogre using his restoration abilities.
• Impressed with the boy’s courage and skill, the knight offered Edward an apprenticeship within the Order, becoming his Squire.
• Accepting, he was taught how to swing a sword, how to pluck a bow and how to manoeuvre in heavy armour. He was also schooled in the tongue of Dragons, which after the events in Skyrim, were met with both shock and awe.
• By the time the second Great War rolled around, Edward still had not been fully inducted into the Order and therefore could not avoid conscription into the Imperial Army. So he was drafted and sent to Cyrodiil for further training and eventual deployment.
______________________________________________________________________
=========Personality=========
______________________________________________________________________
Edward loves to work with his hands, preferring to get stuck in and down in the mud whenever he can. Grounded in rationalism and curiosity, the young man constantly seeks the next challenge, no matter how small or big they are. Brave, confident and loyal, the squire presents all the qualities you could want in a soldier bar having ever truly been in a fight. Though his idealism for heroism can get him caught up, causing him to break rank whenever he feels is necessary. Then there are the times where he can be blunt or even stubborn if he believes himself to be right. Rubbing others the wrong way and even coming off as preachy.
Yet, for the most part, he is kind; dominated by a strong sense of fairness brought upon by his religion. A very “do unto others” attitude that sees him makes friends relatively easy. Being from High Rock, he has only ever really been amongst Bretons, only ever hearing the caricatures of other races and provinces from stories or brief interactions. He harbours no real ill will against anyone, curious to see if the Elves of the south are really falling out of alignment or if the Imperials are spinning a tale.
Though conscripted, Edward wishes to prove himself in battle and envisions himself returning to High Rock as a champion of the Imperial Army. He looks through rose tinted glasses at figures like the famous knight, Lord Bridwell, who returned to the Knights of the Dragon from the War of Betony as one of their greatest hero’s. However, like most youth, he is yet to consider the perils of the journey that would lead him there.
Starting Equipment: As a member of the Hastatii Edward is provided with the standard fare for them. A set of Imperial plate armour, a spear, a steel shield, and a sidearm of a short sword. Some quantity of plumbatas would be set aside from the Legion's stockpile for him to use.
3x Like
Character Name: Tylmaesa Hlaalu
Race: Dunmer
Age: 77
Sex: Intersex, slightly female-presenting
[spoiler]
Position: Auxilia
Misc.: Due to the unusual, esoteric nature of the martial arts Tylmaesa practices, Tylmaesa uses a pair of unique weapons to compensate for their lack of claws - clawed weapons with protruding blades, similar to some forms of the Indian 'tiger claws' of the real world. She fights mostly unarmored, though their fighting style and experience make them more resilient than normal, as might be expected of someone born under the Steed.
Race: Dunmer
Age: 77
Sex: Intersex, slightly female-presenting
Although their bluish-grey skin isn’t terribly unusual for a Dunmer, nor are their blood-red sclera, there is little else about Tylmaesa’s appearance that is typical for their species aside from their long, pointed ears.
Towering above most of their kin at an impressive 7’3”, Tylmaesa is, in a word, imposing, and everything about them aside from their hairstyle is cultivated to enhance this. Years upon years of incredibly harsh physical training have sculpted a body that would otherwise be disconcertingly lanky into a brick shithouse of a figure, a body packed with powerful, battle-toned muscle from head-to-toe. They’re not especially curvy as a result, likewise, having forgone femininity in favour of the pursuit of physical perfection. Their black hair, though not shaven down completely, is pulled together into an almost-painfully tight bun, kept well out of the way both during and outside of combat, rarely (if ever) framing the sharp, chiseled angles of their face.
The attention they pay to their appearance, then, can mostly be described as meticulous maintenance, rather than any effort to look pretty. They keep themself generally quite clean, though their skin is nonetheless badly marred by a number of scars, the most notable of which is a wicked gash across their chest. The skin on their left forearm has likewise been left mottled by an extremely old electrical burn, and a large bite mark is situated beneath their right shoulder blade.
Towering above most of their kin at an impressive 7’3”, Tylmaesa is, in a word, imposing, and everything about them aside from their hairstyle is cultivated to enhance this. Years upon years of incredibly harsh physical training have sculpted a body that would otherwise be disconcertingly lanky into a brick shithouse of a figure, a body packed with powerful, battle-toned muscle from head-to-toe. They’re not especially curvy as a result, likewise, having forgone femininity in favour of the pursuit of physical perfection. Their black hair, though not shaven down completely, is pulled together into an almost-painfully tight bun, kept well out of the way both during and outside of combat, rarely (if ever) framing the sharp, chiseled angles of their face.
The attention they pay to their appearance, then, can mostly be described as meticulous maintenance, rather than any effort to look pretty. They keep themself generally quite clean, though their skin is nonetheless badly marred by a number of scars, the most notable of which is a wicked gash across their chest. The skin on their left forearm has likewise been left mottled by an extremely old electrical burn, and a large bite mark is situated beneath their right shoulder blade.
[spoiler]
As with most Dunmer, Tylmaesa pays service to the three “Good Daedra”, Azura, Boethiah, and Mephala. Their faith in them is not necessarily worship, however, and is more accurately described as high respect for some of the ideals within their spheres, for a rebellious, counter-traditional Dunmer holds little love for dogged rules and persistent conservatism. Much of Their ‘faith’ follows this pattern of eclectic, syncretic ideals, so much so that Tylmaesa even pays respect to the Sugar God, though this is perhaps less surprising in the context of the last several years of their life. Among the Three, they most favor Boethiah.
At the forefront of their belief, however, is Saint Vehk - more specifically, the hidden notes of dogged self-actualization in its purest form scattered throughout his Sermons. His works, if one looks closely enough, are a guideline to perfection and independence of the self, much in the same way that the Khajiiti Two-Moons Dance is a guideline to another kind of self-perfection. In this sense, Tylmaesa’s faith verges on the cynical, despite the genuine respect they hold for the beings they draw their beliefs from.
At the forefront of their belief, however, is Saint Vehk - more specifically, the hidden notes of dogged self-actualization in its purest form scattered throughout his Sermons. His works, if one looks closely enough, are a guideline to perfection and independence of the self, much in the same way that the Khajiiti Two-Moons Dance is a guideline to another kind of self-perfection. In this sense, Tylmaesa’s faith verges on the cynical, despite the genuine respect they hold for the beings they draw their beliefs from.
Position: Auxilia
Although they don’t use magic, through their intense, decade-long (and still ongoing) study of the Khajiiti Claw-Dances, Tylmaesa is able to produce effects similar to magic, though they lack the potency of true magecraft. Their preference for Goutfang allows them to manipulate the flow of energy in themself and those they strike, enhancing the power of their blows, hardening their body, or disrupting the flow of magicka. Their study is still in its relative infancy, however - so while they make a fearsome warrior, they are well eclipsed by true masters of the arts, evidenced by the necessary use of weapons to supplement their budding skill.
Born into a wealthy branch of the Hlaalu family, despite the recent misfortunes of their House, Tylmaesa had an ostensibly bright future ahead of them. Morrowind’s relatively rapid recovery under the watchful eyes of House Redoran offered plenty of opportunities for the growth of a business, even if it was in the ruins of the once-glorious House Hlaalu. Her parents took advantage of this situation to buy up enormous amounts of highly fertile farmland at extremely low prices, though Tylmaesa had far more interest in the business of their father - the captain of a mercenary company - than their mother, a merchant and full-blooded Hlaalu. She threw themself into swordwork wholeheartedly, often hunting down dangerous creatures simply to fight them. What time they didn’t spend fighting, they spent socializing or engrossing in the folk tales of their people; in particular, they found Vehk’s sermons to be the most interesting.
By the time they reached adulthood, Tylmaesa had become a fully-fledged warrior; an intelligent, powerful built woman that revelled in the thrills of battle. Still, despite the many duties they now found themself saddled with as both a mercenary and a noblewoman, they always managed to find plenty of time to immerse themself in the debauchery only the wealth of a noble could afford. In their case, that meant frequent trips to Elsewyr to spend time among the Bandaari, a developing tolerance for Moon Sugar, and a scandalous excess of lovers and other flings. Nonetheless, they remained mostly effective at their duties (when they bothered to pay them any attention, at least), leaving them plenty of opportunities to indulge in their various adventures.
With the beginning of the Skyrim Civil War and the death of their parents due to old age, Tylmaesa found themself thrust into a position of leadership, managing their family's branch of the House. She quickly found themself more interested in the opportunity offered by the Civil War, offering their services to the Imperials as a mercenary. Though the Stormcloaks outwardly despised the Empire, Tylmaesa could not abide by the rampant racism in their ranks (though the Empire was itself hardly immune to such things), and their more politically savvy hatred of the Altmer made them see a strengthened Empire as a necessary bastion against the Aldmeri Dominion, especially with the continued control of their Khajiiti friends, many of whom, they insisted, had been duped into loyalty that was slavery in all but name. Her stint of service, though somewhat meritorious, was brief, quickly moving on from it as they did many other things.
Eventually, however, they were made aware of the Empire's attempts to bring Morrowind back into the fold, and although they preferred their home country's independence, their opinions on the Dominion hadn't changed. More importantly, however, they grew increasingly dissatisfied with Dunmeri politicking, to the point where it eventually became naught but a distraction from their self-perfection. Increasingly shifting their duties to trusted, skilled advisors, they eventually departed Morrowind to study under Khajiiti masters of the Claw-Dances, abandoning spellcraft entirely, in hopes of honing their body into a powerful weapon all on its own. They spent the next decade in deep study, until the Empire declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion.
Tylmaesa was quick to offer their services as a mercenary yet again, and was shipped off to Skyrim, hoping to temper the drastic shift in their martial focus in the hostile North.
By the time they reached adulthood, Tylmaesa had become a fully-fledged warrior; an intelligent, powerful built woman that revelled in the thrills of battle. Still, despite the many duties they now found themself saddled with as both a mercenary and a noblewoman, they always managed to find plenty of time to immerse themself in the debauchery only the wealth of a noble could afford. In their case, that meant frequent trips to Elsewyr to spend time among the Bandaari, a developing tolerance for Moon Sugar, and a scandalous excess of lovers and other flings. Nonetheless, they remained mostly effective at their duties (when they bothered to pay them any attention, at least), leaving them plenty of opportunities to indulge in their various adventures.
With the beginning of the Skyrim Civil War and the death of their parents due to old age, Tylmaesa found themself thrust into a position of leadership, managing their family's branch of the House. She quickly found themself more interested in the opportunity offered by the Civil War, offering their services to the Imperials as a mercenary. Though the Stormcloaks outwardly despised the Empire, Tylmaesa could not abide by the rampant racism in their ranks (though the Empire was itself hardly immune to such things), and their more politically savvy hatred of the Altmer made them see a strengthened Empire as a necessary bastion against the Aldmeri Dominion, especially with the continued control of their Khajiiti friends, many of whom, they insisted, had been duped into loyalty that was slavery in all but name. Her stint of service, though somewhat meritorious, was brief, quickly moving on from it as they did many other things.
Eventually, however, they were made aware of the Empire's attempts to bring Morrowind back into the fold, and although they preferred their home country's independence, their opinions on the Dominion hadn't changed. More importantly, however, they grew increasingly dissatisfied with Dunmeri politicking, to the point where it eventually became naught but a distraction from their self-perfection. Increasingly shifting their duties to trusted, skilled advisors, they eventually departed Morrowind to study under Khajiiti masters of the Claw-Dances, abandoning spellcraft entirely, in hopes of honing their body into a powerful weapon all on its own. They spent the next decade in deep study, until the Empire declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion.
Tylmaesa was quick to offer their services as a mercenary yet again, and was shipped off to Skyrim, hoping to temper the drastic shift in their martial focus in the hostile North.
Misc.: Due to the unusual, esoteric nature of the martial arts Tylmaesa practices, Tylmaesa uses a pair of unique weapons to compensate for their lack of claws - clawed weapons with protruding blades, similar to some forms of the Indian 'tiger claws' of the real world. She fights mostly unarmored, though their fighting style and experience make them more resilient than normal, as might be expected of someone born under the Steed.
3x Like
Yam I Am Indefinitely Retired
Banned
Seen
10 mos ago
Player Name: I am Yam; Yam I Am
Character Name: Kara Knight-Breaker1
Race: Nord
Age: 21 (Born 23 Midyear, 4E 200, under the sign of The Steed)
Sex: Female
Physical Description:
A spry young Nord, Kara stands at an impressive 192 centimeters, no doubt assisted by an extra few centimeters of boot support and almost a decade of physical activity. She tends to keep her bellowing, crimson hair held into a high ponytail, from which it on an impressive day may sweep like the mane of a lion. Even a passing glance at her presents the icon of a sprightly figure, eager and impatient to get a move on. Her bombastic demeanor assists this image, forming together an image of fiery youth so befitting unto her.
Like many of the "truer" Nords, Kara is - if one must use euphemism - assumptive in regards to other races of Tamriel. Quick to draw conclusions based on background and affiliation, her first impressions might come across as prejudiced, and it would be naive to insist that she is free of such. While she might be far from supremacist, Kara displays the usual assumptions to come from the perspective of a Nord: Altmer are arrogant and self-righteous, Dunmer are strange and standoffish, Khajiit are dishonest and unreliable, Orcs are austere and joyless - and these all certainly play into her first impressions of most people. These, to the surprise of many who might speak of Kara, are all well broken with time and experience, but like all factors of bias, such inevitably takes time. And besides, she knows from experience that there are few problems that a few bottles of sujamma cannot fix.
Faith:
Kara is a worshiper of the Nine Divines of the Empire: Her fidelity, on the other hand, solely seems to depend on how her week happens to be going. When things are going poorly, she will always be the first to get down on her knees and raise her head towards the heavens, and when the going grows calm, nary a prayer gets passing from her lips. Asking her to pick select her favored god would be akin to a mother being asked of their favored child: All but the most sincere of mothers will have their answer in secret, and declare in public that they cannot choose. Such a view transpires well into Kara's views on religion, for the loss of any of the beloved nine divines would spell the hallmark of demise for the pantheon as a whole, and that simply will not do. Religion to Kara is such a messy affair of gods and demons asides that she has even taken to praying to the unknown, just in hopes that she might not incur the wrath of a deity she finds herself unaware of.
Position: Hastati
Magic:
Over the years, Kara picked up a parcel of knowledge regarding Restoration and Destruction, but she is a far cry from even an elementary mage. She may perhaps make a few incantations of flame or healing if no other situation might do, but Kara neither has the experience nor the particular interest to classify as a thaumaturgic practitioner by any professional stretch.
Core:
There's something so intoxicatingly romantic about fighting for a lost cause. Both her parents were true Sons and Daughters of Skryim - Stormcloaks to the fullest - and dutifully followed King Ulfric all the way unto the headsman's axe. This, of course, gave her little time for any meaningful interaction with the either of them, nor their tales nor fables for Skyrim's righteous fate - her older brother Vikord, of course, would gladly step up to fill their position, and likewise her head with larger-than-lies of their parents and their cause. The True High King may feast in Sovngarde - Ysmir rest his soul - but the impressionable Kara was led on by the tales spun by her vengeful elder, who so routinely derided the Imperial efforts henceforth as little aside than cheap penitence that at times Kara gave it the same thought as much the day's snowfall.
Her brother had done his best to ensure his younger sister would grow to be a True Nord, one their ancestors might smile upon from the heavens. Though a few years behind fatherhood - and many behind basic responsibility - Kara accordingly spent much of her childhood in Vikord's care, hopping from hold to hold as his constant shenanigans ran the duo into trouble as right as rain. When his contract with guarding or caravaning left and he was left septimless, the guard would become a brigand. Such a lifestyle ran the pair into a ambulatory lifestyle, often living in one hold for a time before having to leave for the next. Kara had met many people in her times as a youth, of course, and never for long. She had many masters - and twice as many parents - and only the voice of her elder brother to guide any of the lessons together, through the vestige of action for Skyrim.
Of course, Vikord inevitably ran out of holds from which to flee too, and rather than incur the wrath unto both of them, had decided he might make better beneath the wings of another - The Thieves' Guild or even the Camonna Tong, he'd last said - than risk the life of her younger sister with his. Before he left, Vikord had entrusted her to the care of a homely family in Shor's Stone, but so fleet and wanderlusting a young lady as Kara could never find herself tied there. Before long, she had departed from the hamlet, determined to so see the world by iron and steel. At thirteen, Kara had largely taken to the service of caravan guards, bounty hunter posses, and other such escapades, from where she would travel all across Skyrim through her years. She had grown particularly adept with the greatsword over the years, as such prowess proved potent as a deterrence factor (Kara even as a youth proved impressively tall) and only as Kara advanced through her life did she continue to live much in the fashion that she had only known from then on, refusing to plant her feet steadily somewhere while she moved from place to place.
Come her twenty-first year, the rapid-fire declarations of the Emperor seemed far too dreamlike to possibly be true. Even more chimerical, so open defiance against the White-Gold Diktat. And again, even so bold as to declare a war of vengeance and honor. It had earned her respect, true - and the outright admonishment of what she had known, even. Well...yes, perhaps the Dragonborn has saved their world thricefold. And yes, perhaps her brother had made himself scarce one too many times. And yes, maybe her brother wasn't a crack guerilla who had picked off Imperials even years after the Battle of Windhelm, and instead was little aside from a boisterous bandit who couldn't hold his brandy. Her feelings on the ideals of the Stormcloaks are tempered - much like an Ebonsmith guides along his ingot as it motions, lest a more firm gesture cause its shatter. Perhaps she might be served right, protecting caravans through these arduous times as Skyrim still yet healed. Demand for it was in no shortage, after all, and she'd certainly have made her right fortune staying right where she was.
But where is the fun to be had in that? Where is the honor? The glory? The pride to lead the righteous march against the greatest tyrants to assail Tamriel? No, the news of the latest declaration would do her too great a wound to forsake, and so too did she impatiently enlist within the ranks of the Legion. Leyawiin. Anvil. Markarth. Windhelm. They will all be avenged. And when her time shall come and she go to Sovngarde, with the last of enemies to be destroyed, in hands and hearts with all the children of Skyrim, they shall be together in Paradise.
Misc.:
1) Knight-Breaker refers to Kara's title, as she has no Clan Name and Nords typically do not have surnames. She earned the moniker following a fistfight which broke out while she was alongside a caravan in Bruma, in which she had gotten into a scrap with a knight who could hold neither his tongue nor his ale. Three minutes, 40 septims paid to the guards, and 80 septims paid to the local chapel's staff for restoration services later, Kara earned the title.
Character Name: Kara Knight-Breaker1
Race: Nord
Age: 21 (Born 23 Midyear, 4E 200, under the sign of The Steed)
Sex: Female
Physical Description:
A spry young Nord, Kara stands at an impressive 192 centimeters, no doubt assisted by an extra few centimeters of boot support and almost a decade of physical activity. She tends to keep her bellowing, crimson hair held into a high ponytail, from which it on an impressive day may sweep like the mane of a lion. Even a passing glance at her presents the icon of a sprightly figure, eager and impatient to get a move on. Her bombastic demeanor assists this image, forming together an image of fiery youth so befitting unto her.
Like many of the "truer" Nords, Kara is - if one must use euphemism - assumptive in regards to other races of Tamriel. Quick to draw conclusions based on background and affiliation, her first impressions might come across as prejudiced, and it would be naive to insist that she is free of such. While she might be far from supremacist, Kara displays the usual assumptions to come from the perspective of a Nord: Altmer are arrogant and self-righteous, Dunmer are strange and standoffish, Khajiit are dishonest and unreliable, Orcs are austere and joyless - and these all certainly play into her first impressions of most people. These, to the surprise of many who might speak of Kara, are all well broken with time and experience, but like all factors of bias, such inevitably takes time. And besides, she knows from experience that there are few problems that a few bottles of sujamma cannot fix.
Faith:
Kara is a worshiper of the Nine Divines of the Empire: Her fidelity, on the other hand, solely seems to depend on how her week happens to be going. When things are going poorly, she will always be the first to get down on her knees and raise her head towards the heavens, and when the going grows calm, nary a prayer gets passing from her lips. Asking her to pick select her favored god would be akin to a mother being asked of their favored child: All but the most sincere of mothers will have their answer in secret, and declare in public that they cannot choose. Such a view transpires well into Kara's views on religion, for the loss of any of the beloved nine divines would spell the hallmark of demise for the pantheon as a whole, and that simply will not do. Religion to Kara is such a messy affair of gods and demons asides that she has even taken to praying to the unknown, just in hopes that she might not incur the wrath of a deity she finds herself unaware of.
Position: Hastati
Magic:
Over the years, Kara picked up a parcel of knowledge regarding Restoration and Destruction, but she is a far cry from even an elementary mage. She may perhaps make a few incantations of flame or healing if no other situation might do, but Kara neither has the experience nor the particular interest to classify as a thaumaturgic practitioner by any professional stretch.
Core:
There's something so intoxicatingly romantic about fighting for a lost cause. Both her parents were true Sons and Daughters of Skryim - Stormcloaks to the fullest - and dutifully followed King Ulfric all the way unto the headsman's axe. This, of course, gave her little time for any meaningful interaction with the either of them, nor their tales nor fables for Skyrim's righteous fate - her older brother Vikord, of course, would gladly step up to fill their position, and likewise her head with larger-than-lies of their parents and their cause. The True High King may feast in Sovngarde - Ysmir rest his soul - but the impressionable Kara was led on by the tales spun by her vengeful elder, who so routinely derided the Imperial efforts henceforth as little aside than cheap penitence that at times Kara gave it the same thought as much the day's snowfall.
Her brother had done his best to ensure his younger sister would grow to be a True Nord, one their ancestors might smile upon from the heavens. Though a few years behind fatherhood - and many behind basic responsibility - Kara accordingly spent much of her childhood in Vikord's care, hopping from hold to hold as his constant shenanigans ran the duo into trouble as right as rain. When his contract with guarding or caravaning left and he was left septimless, the guard would become a brigand. Such a lifestyle ran the pair into a ambulatory lifestyle, often living in one hold for a time before having to leave for the next. Kara had met many people in her times as a youth, of course, and never for long. She had many masters - and twice as many parents - and only the voice of her elder brother to guide any of the lessons together, through the vestige of action for Skyrim.
Of course, Vikord inevitably ran out of holds from which to flee too, and rather than incur the wrath unto both of them, had decided he might make better beneath the wings of another - The Thieves' Guild or even the Camonna Tong, he'd last said - than risk the life of her younger sister with his. Before he left, Vikord had entrusted her to the care of a homely family in Shor's Stone, but so fleet and wanderlusting a young lady as Kara could never find herself tied there. Before long, she had departed from the hamlet, determined to so see the world by iron and steel. At thirteen, Kara had largely taken to the service of caravan guards, bounty hunter posses, and other such escapades, from where she would travel all across Skyrim through her years. She had grown particularly adept with the greatsword over the years, as such prowess proved potent as a deterrence factor (Kara even as a youth proved impressively tall) and only as Kara advanced through her life did she continue to live much in the fashion that she had only known from then on, refusing to plant her feet steadily somewhere while she moved from place to place.
Come her twenty-first year, the rapid-fire declarations of the Emperor seemed far too dreamlike to possibly be true. Even more chimerical, so open defiance against the White-Gold Diktat. And again, even so bold as to declare a war of vengeance and honor. It had earned her respect, true - and the outright admonishment of what she had known, even. Well...yes, perhaps the Dragonborn has saved their world thricefold. And yes, perhaps her brother had made himself scarce one too many times. And yes, maybe her brother wasn't a crack guerilla who had picked off Imperials even years after the Battle of Windhelm, and instead was little aside from a boisterous bandit who couldn't hold his brandy. Her feelings on the ideals of the Stormcloaks are tempered - much like an Ebonsmith guides along his ingot as it motions, lest a more firm gesture cause its shatter. Perhaps she might be served right, protecting caravans through these arduous times as Skyrim still yet healed. Demand for it was in no shortage, after all, and she'd certainly have made her right fortune staying right where she was.
But where is the fun to be had in that? Where is the honor? The glory? The pride to lead the righteous march against the greatest tyrants to assail Tamriel? No, the news of the latest declaration would do her too great a wound to forsake, and so too did she impatiently enlist within the ranks of the Legion. Leyawiin. Anvil. Markarth. Windhelm. They will all be avenged. And when her time shall come and she go to Sovngarde, with the last of enemies to be destroyed, in hands and hearts with all the children of Skyrim, they shall be together in Paradise.
Misc.:
1) Knight-Breaker refers to Kara's title, as she has no Clan Name and Nords typically do not have surnames. She earned the moniker following a fistfight which broke out while she was alongside a caravan in Bruma, in which she had gotten into a scrap with a knight who could hold neither his tongue nor his ale. Three minutes, 40 septims paid to the guards, and 80 septims paid to the local chapel's staff for restoration services later, Kara earned the title.
2x Like
Player Name: Joseph or joe
Character name: Lucas Flavius
Race: Imperial
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.
Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.
Position: Hastati
Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.
Core: Lucas spent all of his early life in the dilapidated city of Bravil were he had to deal with living in squalor and his drunken father’s abuse. His father claimed to be an ex imperial officer who left the Legion with a lot of honours, but the older Lucas got the more he heard rumours of his father's desertion. At first Lucas defended his father but the older he got, the more it made sense. Living in a shack and having to scrounge for food made him start to realise. A few times though he did overhear his father crying to himself when he was a drunken state muttering about mages burning his men alive. Lucas always wanted to know what his father had witnessed but was always too scared to ask. Ever since he could remember though, he knew his father hated mages and magic believing it was evil. Lucas’s mother would always try and protect her son from her husband’s wrath but just in case she was ever not there she taught him some alteration in secret to protect himself.
When Lucas was around thirteen years old his mother passed away leaving him with just his father and quite a bitter out look on life. As soon as he turned of age, he left his father without saying good bye and enlisted in the army. Lucas spent the next few years in training because all the training he had was from fighting with sticks with his friends in the streets of Bravil. He also arrived very malnourished and skinny from years of not eating properly so he needed to bulk up and get a bit of muscle to deal with the heavy armour and weapons he had to carry. When he was in the boot camp he started to learn how to read and write knowing if he wanted to advance in the legion, he had to have those skills. He had no problem with being able to charm his commanders, but that could only take him so far. All he knew though was that he didn’t want to go back to his old life of basically living in the sewers and being a second-class citizen.
Character name: Lucas Flavius
Race: Imperial
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Physical Description: Lucas is a beautiful looking Imperial even to an Imperials standard. He’s around six foot and incredible shape with hardly any fat on him. His thick wavy brown hair is pulled back to just above his shoulders and has a well-trimmed stubble. He’s usually tanned but being so far north for a while it’s started to fade and for someone who’s been a part of the legion for a few years he has hardly any scars and his teeth are still perfect. He has big dark brown eyes which make people believe he’s a nice and caring person.
Faith: Lucas acts like the pious saint when people in higher ranking positions are around but really, he doesn’t care or put much faith in the Gods believing they have nothing to do with someone’s outcome in life. He thinks if someone wants a better life they should go out and get it for themselves instead of praying. He usually looks down at people who worship the Daedra seeing them as barbaric.
Position: Hastati
Magic: He can cast a basic Oakflesh spell on himself.
Core: Lucas spent all of his early life in the dilapidated city of Bravil were he had to deal with living in squalor and his drunken father’s abuse. His father claimed to be an ex imperial officer who left the Legion with a lot of honours, but the older Lucas got the more he heard rumours of his father's desertion. At first Lucas defended his father but the older he got, the more it made sense. Living in a shack and having to scrounge for food made him start to realise. A few times though he did overhear his father crying to himself when he was a drunken state muttering about mages burning his men alive. Lucas always wanted to know what his father had witnessed but was always too scared to ask. Ever since he could remember though, he knew his father hated mages and magic believing it was evil. Lucas’s mother would always try and protect her son from her husband’s wrath but just in case she was ever not there she taught him some alteration in secret to protect himself.
When Lucas was around thirteen years old his mother passed away leaving him with just his father and quite a bitter out look on life. As soon as he turned of age, he left his father without saying good bye and enlisted in the army. Lucas spent the next few years in training because all the training he had was from fighting with sticks with his friends in the streets of Bravil. He also arrived very malnourished and skinny from years of not eating properly so he needed to bulk up and get a bit of muscle to deal with the heavy armour and weapons he had to carry. When he was in the boot camp he started to learn how to read and write knowing if he wanted to advance in the legion, he had to have those skills. He had no problem with being able to charm his commanders, but that could only take him so far. All he knew though was that he didn’t want to go back to his old life of basically living in the sewers and being a second-class citizen.
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