Cazzer1604

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

reddit.com/r/oblivion/comments/tqmuiq…

@POOHEAD189

Stop right there, Oscar-winning scum!

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Added my bit to the collab.

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Hi guys,

Sorry it's been a busy couple of weeks and without Discord or anything I didn't know there was activity going on here!

I'll check out the collab and get up to speed ASAP.

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

1st Last Seed, 3E 433

The grand gates of Kvatch were wide open. The townsfolk were joyous and elated. A faint whiff of sulphur laced the air, but as a result of pyrotechnics, not the fire and brimstone of Oblivion.

There was no Daedric menace to be found here. No grand spectacle of doom and destruction.

Khamir scanned the entrance to the city with suspicion and a quiet bewilderment. These sights were not what he had expected following several sleepless nights of awful visions and terrible prophecy, from tossing and turning in the twilight hours as horrific scenes plagued his mind. Dismembered corpses, entire families slain without a second thought, blood trickling through the streets of the Imperial City, Kvatch and beyond. Tamriel on fire, her cities raped and pillaged and its peoples reduced to slaves and playthings of a cruel and merciless tyrant.

Were the dreams truly real?

* * *

The nightmares had begun a little over a week ago. The first, he dismissed. Who doesn't have a bad dream every now and then? The second time, he changed his evening routine. No more cheese and wine before bedtime. Upon the third consecutive night of being haunted, Khamir knew something was wrong. He visited the healer in Hallin's Stand, hoping for a diagnosis of Witbane or some mundane mental ailment that could be cured with a simple spell or a concoction. However the Healer could not explain the specific and recurring dreams as a symptom of any known disease. Instead, he suggested writing down what Khamir saw and attempt to interpret the dream's meaning and significance.

These were not words Khamir wanted to hear, because he understood the messaging of the dreams well enough. Those four words echoed through his mind each morning, afternoon and evening until they would reiterate within his mind once again come nightfall. In fact, their intensity grew by each passing day.

With not sleeping for the rest of his life a viable option, Khamir succumbed to the unexplainable urge to travel to Cyrodiil, and had prepared a trip to Kvatch, which he had instantly recognised from the visions and which was closer to him than the Imperial City. The journey had fallen at a convenient time - a trade run to Kvatch to sell another shipment of wine was overdue. Therefore, Khamir was gladly joined by his brother Arban and his nephew Aybar, who would at the very least do their familial duties and return to Bangkorai with gold and goods, should Khamir need more than a couple of days in Kvatch to investigate the cause of his dreaming.

* * *

It was a cryptic start, as Kvatch seemed normal, albeit more lively than usual. Clearly there was an event or some other gala occurring within the city walls - it was not uncommon for Count Ormellius Goldwine to put on such a debacle, if only to flaunt his wealth and status and not for the benefit of the townspeople. He was a vain man, and vainer than most Counts and nobility that Khamir has come across. Which was saying something given the indulgence of Cyrodiilic culture and the debauchery displayed in Sentinel.

"You still with us, brother?", said a voice to Khamir's right, beside him on the wagon upon which he was seated.

Snapped out of his pondering, Khamir turned his head towards his questioner. Arban was looking ahead, steadily guiding the horses forward into the city and taking care to not trample the many townsfolk shuffling in and our of Kvatch. However he had clearly noticed that Khamir was lost in thought in his peripheral. The younger brother was a large man, well-built and solid. A true worksman, with callused hands and refined, powerful muscles clearly observable even through his linen tunic.

"Just about. It's been a long journey", Khamir responded.

He had not told anyone besides his wife about his nightmares. And even then he had not described to Alha in full detail what he had seen behind closed eyes - not just death and destruction, but the Divines themselves. Most prominently a draconic and regal figure and a motherly matron. And also vague feelings of authority, love, fate, compassion and justice - but experienced as raw emotions, not as the concepts they are. Khamir felt it prudent to not divulge those details, for he did not understand them himself. Hopefully this trip to Kvatch would help with that.

The wagon had breached the gates of Kvatch and Arban continued to gently control the horses through the sea of citizenry. The hustle and bustle did not agitate the beasts, and neither did the firecrackers and exclaiming street vendors they passed. They were well-trained, and well worth the coin paid for them.

As the troop approached the Market District, Khamir turned to look into the wagon itself, hoping that they had not left their nephew somewhere on the Gold Coast. It was no shock that Aybar was excitedly darting his eyes around the place, seemingly overwhelmed with the activity and camaraderie that the city was experiencing and exuberating. It would be more difficult than usual to keep the boy focused.

"Aybar", Khamir called. Not loud enough, for his nephew was still enthralled by a group of jugglers that plied their trad on the street-side.

"Aybar!", he repeated this time louder and more authoritative, which got the boy's attention.

"Yes, Uncle?", the lad responded.

"Run ahead to the market square and try and secure us a spot. As central as possible", Khamir commanded.

With just a nod, Aybar hopped out the back of the wagon as if he had been chained there for days, overtaking the Al-Damar brothers in a bounding and playful gallop. Khamir watched as the boy weaved between the crowds, his wiry hair quite distinctive among the straight-haired denizens of Kvatch and despite his low stature as a still-growing teenager. Eventually, though, the bobbing head disappeared and become one with the jovial herd.

As Khamir began to listen to the conversations they passed, he discerned that the event in question was a Summer Games festival - held in honour of the Count, of course. Nothing more than expected, but the increased traffic and business of the city was hardly ideal for his quest, of which he had no concrete ideas how to start. It would be hard enough at the best of times, but with such a fiasco going on there would be disruption to taverns, shops, politicians and people of note - all decent places to begin his investigation into... dreams?

The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous the situation became. Was a simply nothing more than a madman, chasing clues planted into his mind by an early onset of dementia? Where was one to begin looking for the reason behind premonitions of apocalypse, when no evidence of such thing existed?

The wagon was soon shepherded into well-positioned space in the market square by Aybar. What luck to find such a spot with Kvatch in such a state! Khamir and Arban disembarked and began to unload boxes of wine as well as furniture to display them on and signage to advertise them with. As the trio set up shop, Khamir figured that matters of crpytic nightmares and prophetic dreams could wait, for there was work to do. The familiarity of selling wine would bring him comfort and stability at the very least.

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Should we have a discord, or is OOC enough?

@POOHEAD189

Discord is always a great idea, for me. The notifications help!

Had a busier weekend than I expected. I'll get a post up tonight!

TES: The Second Great War

There was no less chaos surrounding the Legate than there had been elsewhere in the skirmish. The Thalmor force had their sights clearly set on him, and the reasons why were clear - even to a militarily ignorant Drelas. They were to assassinate a key component of the Legion's arsenal in the Imperial counter-insurgence. What they did not expect, however, was the Legate's insistence to remain alive.

And seemingly, not the Voice he commanded either.

Drelas was keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, his crimson gems darting left and right, his sword and shield raised and ready for an encroaching Altmer footsoldier. And yet to his surprise, none came, though the Dunmer did not go looking for a fight eagerly. As he anxiously waited, a booming and glottal roar shook his bones, and the entire world seemed to quiver. He had witnessed the source of the sound in his peripheral, but his mind could barely comprehend what he had seen. The Thu'um! No wonder those of the Dragonblood were so feared, and no wonder that the rivers of destiny bended to their will.

That draconic sentence somehow turned the tide of the battle. The Thalmor decided that they had caused enough carnage to be worth their current losses and so their leadership pulled back. If only mundane words could hold such power. Drelas watched as his comrades gave chase, butchering the Mer who were not quick enough or aware enough to flee. The Dark Elf felt no such urge, there was enough blood on the snow already, and he did not feel a zeal nor passion to the countless avenge nameless Imperial grunts that had predictably been slaughtered hours into their arrival into this grim North.

Instead, he inspected the wound on his leg once more as the pain had reignited. It did indeed seem like just a flesh wound, but a wound all the same. He glanced around for any nearby medic or healer, but struggled to identify one. Fatigue came over him in a rush, and so he slumped on the frosty ground beneath him, his sword stabbing into the ground to support a tired lean and his shield still over his arm. He took a few deep breaths and tried not to process the event of the past few minutes too much.

Was this just the first of many battles? How many lives did he have left? For it was surely by divine intervention that he was still able to see his steamy breath in front of him. That, or sheer dumb luck, which would hardly last forever.

Drelas just knew that he needed to find a way out of his service. It was just a matter of an opportunity presenting itself...

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

<Snipped quote by Cazzer1604>

Alright, what's the magic word?

@Gcold

It WAS there when I originally posted (in the wrong tab lol).

Victor
Alpha
Lima
Indigo
November
Oscar
Romeo

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

I'll review both your sheets this weekend!

@POOHEAD189

Great! I believe I have finished my Redguard merchant and he's ready for approval.

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Whoops, accidentally posted in the wrong tab. My bad. My brain was getting tired at that point.

Great to hear its all good so far. I'll finish it up tonight.

@POOHEAD189, @Gcold

_valinor

Khamir Al-Damar

Khamir Al-Damar

"Trust me when I say that blood stains darker than the deepest wine."

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Height 6'0" / 183cm Weight 188 lbs Gender Male Race Redguard Age 36 Birthsign The Lover ___________________________________ C A P A B I L I T I E S Deity Mara (a.k.a. Morwha) Attributes MAJOR: Personality minor: Endurance Skills Mercantile (Expert) Blunt (Journeyman) Speechcraft (Journeyman) Athletics (Apprentice) Light Armour (Apprentice) Alchemy (Apprentice) Hand-to-Hand (Novice) Spells None ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y Weapons and tools Reinforced Wooden Quarterstaff Bangkorai-style Dagger (only used in dire circumstances, more of an accessory than anything) Outfit Redguard Travelling Gear with Moonstone Armour, dyed the deep burgundy colour of Damari wine Consumables - Plenty of Wine Taster Vials - Various Traveller Snacks - Health Potion x 1 - Stamina Potion x 2 Valuables - 700 Septims - An Orichalcum Damar family signet ring, engraved with a knotted grapevine Misc - Arrived in Kvatch with a small caravan stocked with Damari wine and other miscellaneous goods to trade - Khamir's family is moderately wealthy and he has personal business connections & favours across northern Hammerfell, western Cyrodiil and southern High Rock should he ever have use of them ___________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Khamir is an average height, neither towering nor short. He has a somewhat stocky build, naturally muscular and honed through countless stints on the roads and dusty trails between Hammerfell and other parts of Tamriel. The desert storms of his homeland has worn on the parts of his face unprotected by garments, giving his features a hardened, ashy complexion slightly beyond his age. His skin is middling for a Redguard, lighter than the Alik'r consistently scorched by the sun, but darker than his city-dwelling kinsman or those in that call more temperate climes the country home. When free of his travelling headgear that protects him from dust and weather of western Tamriel, Khamir wears his black, wiry hair as dreadlocks, pushed towards the back of his head and always shaved on the sides, and sports a knotted beard. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK Khamir is loyal to his family first, and his business second. Though they are pretty much one and the same. Everything he does is for the benefit and wellbeing of those he adores, not for personal gain nor glory. Any profits made when peddling the familial wine is merely a bonus that further secures the future of the Damar family, not the overarching goal of his profession. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy what he does. The Al-Damar Vintage is a fine wine and therefore easy to sell to commoners and nobility alike, and the thrill of bringing its sweet and tender nectar for a new settlement to savour is beaten only by the warmth and welcome of returning to a town that has ran dry of his last sold batch. He thoroughly enjoys immersing himself into the market squares and districts, and relishes in his trade as any good merchant should. The thrill of bargaining a trade deal with his fellow punters or securing a large contract with a esteemed House or Count is always a tantalising feeling. But all that is secondary to the glow of his family, of his wife and children. He tries to live by the wholesome ideals set by the Divines - hybridised as they are by the conflicting cultures and pantheons of Yokuda and Cyrodill. He sees no reason not to assist his fellow travellers should they require help, or show compassion where there is absence of distrust. He is, quite simply, a good and honest businessman who does the best for himself and his loved ones. Khamir avoids death and violence if he can, but is not above eliminating threats that force his hand. His choice of weaponry limits bloodshed as much as possible, though certain concussions he can and does inflict are not in any way mild. ____________________________________________________________________________ HISTORY Tall Papa. Akatosh. Zenithar. Morwha. Someone in the stars has seen fit to bless the Damar family with everything they could need in recent centuries. Despite their vineyard being within the mostly dry and desolate Fallen Wastes in the ever-tulmultous Bangkorai region of northern Hammerfell, the family has consistently thrived ever since an unfortunate incident in the Second-Era. Muasi Al-Damar was the first to see the potential of producing a wine local to the region, instead of importing expensive vintage from Sentinel. Though the wider climate surrounding Halinn's Stand was inconsistent with rain, the Damar Farmstead's altitude and proximity to the mountains provided ample precipitation for crops to grow, and the soil was rich with nutrients as a result of hardy flora dotting the locale as a result. And so with the blessings of the Gods, the Damar Farmstead took a gamble and changed their crops from grain to grapes. And they never looked back. The acidity of the soil and the enrichment and novelty of the terrain and climate made the resulting Damari wine into a huge regional hit, and before long the family was establishing themselves as an minor noble house well-loved for their product and expertise in producing and selling the wine. Fast-forward to the late Third-Era, and Alab Al-Damar has 7 healthy sons born to his much-adored wife. The secured status of the family and economy give him ambitions to expand the operation to a continent-wide scale. Until an overly-eager contingent of Breton hedge-knights happened upon the vineyard and felt entitled to one-too-many bottles of the local produce. A scuffle broke out between Alab and the Breton leader, resulting in the accidental murder of the Damar patriarch and the subsequent fleeing of the self-proclaimed keepers of the peace. Khamir was 13 at the time of his father's death - the second-eldest of his brothers. The family vineyard was left without its expertise and without any plan as to how to sustain itself. The eldest Damar son, Qadim, had barely begun his tutelage in the winemaking arts, nevermind the cultivation and maintenance of the maincrop. Any uncles, aunties or cousins of the family had long since left the nest, not set on assisting in the family legacy. Through sheer perseverance, willpower and dumb luck, the family managed to pull through, but the production and quality of the Damari vintage was a shadow of its former self. Hard work and unconditional familial support was the key pillars in the recuperation of the family following sudden tragedy, and Khamir's mother was a cornerstone in maintaining hope and faith that all would be well, eventually. Qadim eventually settled into the role as patriarch and head-winemaker, and Khamir dutifully accustomed to his role as chief liaison and salesmen to re-establish the trade network lost in the interluding years where the family was getting back on its feet. It wasn't easy - competitors quickly swooped in to fill the void left by the gap in production, and the pride and faith in the local favourite was quickly forgotten as the taverns ran dry without excuse or explanation. In essence, Khamir had to start from scratch. Through guile and charisma, and supported by his elder brother's tenacity and talent for winemaking, Khamir fought the well-funded peddlers from Sentinel and regained the Damar family's reputation and hegemony in the local area. When journeys began to involve perilous roads and shady patrons, Khamir defended himself valiantly and found that he was a natural at utilising a sturdy walking staff to do so. But to ensure his wellbeing, Khamir spared no expense in procuring self-defense lessons for any highwayman that threatened to harm him or his family's income. Halinn's Stand housed a few veterans who were happy to expand and build on his innate skills with a blunt staff for coin. For similar reasons, he invested in light armour and education on how best to wear and utilise it for those long treks in the arid deserts. As his brothers matured, the burden lightened. And soon enough they were back to square one and ready to move past the family tragedy and onto the future. For there were many mouths to feed as wives were married and more Damari children were born. Khamir's mercantile skills were tested and honed in the sandstone jungle of Sentinel. He initially had failings and successes in equal number, but each informed his increasingly lucrative career as a winemerchant. It was in the Forebear capital where he met his wife, Alha. A florist, Alha was as alluring to Khamir as the scent of her wares. And as captivatingly curious as the context of her profession - being a curator of flowers in a land so hostile to them. Flirtation led to flings, which led to more and more trips to and from Sentinel, originally under the guise of furthering business ventures but became increasingly and truthfully for leisure purposes as his excuses wore thin with his brothers. Soon enough, they married under the sunset of the Illiac Bay, with members of both extensive families witnessing. The wine of course, was free for all attending. As Khamir's family business grew, so did his immediate family. Alha birthed first a son, Awal, and another, Thanin, not long after. As many fathers have said and as many will continue to say: there is nothing in this world that Khamir would not do for his children. The Damari wine business continued to steadily grow - in revenue, in size, in quality - and Khamir found that his reach could extend beyond the immediate region of Bangkorai and the Kingdom of Sentinel. He found he could sell boxes of bottles in every direction and method he travelled: On the roads, from the highlands of Skaven to the spires of Wayrest; Via the sea, from the palms of Stros M'Kai to the terracotta domes of Anvil. He often brought his brothers, nephews and nieces along with him for companionship and to teach them the trade. Life was good. Business was booming. The family was thriving. And then the dreams started. Khamir recognised the gates of Kvatch instantly, for he had visited a few times. And the spire of the Imperial City was not hard to imagine from the many descriptions he had heard. But the rest? It terrified him. And yet he felt compelled to make sense of it. Alha was fully supportive of his reasons to go, and did not object to Khamir's hasty preparing for an expedition to the golden plains of western Cyrodiil. He took one his younger brothers, Arban, and his nephew, Aybar, along with him under the pretence of allowing Aybar to see more of the world and to sell heaps of Darmari wine to an ever-thirsty Kvatch. But deep-down Khamir knew this may not turn out to be an ordinary business trip. ____________________________________________________________________________ RELATIONSHIPS AND OPINIONS As established, Khamir has quite the large family that he can rely upon for comfort, advice and aid. He is one of 7 brothers, and today the family is quite a bit larger than that. He has different but mostly positive relationships with different brothers. However he has brought along one brother and one nephew on his journey to Kvatch: Arban - At 32 years old and the quietest of the Al-Darmars, Arban is stoic, reserved and wise beyond his years. Khamir very much enjoys his company and they have been on many ventures together - the noise levels back home are elevated, to say the least. It's fair to say that Khamir would trust Arban before many of his other siblings. It doesn't hurt that Arban is a decent fighter and has a brutish figure that can see off any would-be attackers. Aybar - Aybar is insofar the opposite of his father: curious, gregarious and brash. At a tender age of 12, he is keen to know and understand more of the world, and pesters his father and uncle to no end with inane questions. The boy means well, of course, but these journeys are not tourist visits and has gotten himself into trouble before by asking an impatient citizen a question too far. Not initially invited along to Kvatch, Aybar insisted on accompanying Khamir and Arban and the two adults eventually gave in. Beyond his family, Khamir has few connections or particular affiliation with the wider factions of Tamriel. He is an Associate Member of the Merchants Guild, specifically associating with the Sentinel chapter. Though for pragmatic reasons only as it makes business much easier to conduct - Sentinel more than most cities can be a nest of opportunistic vipers, and business-based greed can be the sharpest venom of all. Khamir always feels he needs to watch his back within the Guild. In regards to the internal politics of Hammerfell, Khamir leans more toward the Forebear school of thinking. Like it or not, the Empire is the dominant force in Tamriel and Khamir largely believes that the ends justify the means - tolerance, continent-wide stability and free and fair trade are more than worth the price of subservience to a larger authority. He feels no need to antagonise the Empire for the sake of traditions from a Yokuda long-since lost. ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC Character Flaws / Weaknesses Breto-phobic: Khamir harbours a deep resentment towards Bretons, especially those of a knightly disposition, as a result of what happened to his father. To him, Bretons are distrustful and two-faced, their haughty disposition merely a façade for being little more than savage bandits in shinier armour and nicer clothes. "I'm a Seller, not a Fighter": Khamir is a merchant and his trade is selling wine. While physically strong and more than capable of defending himself, he is neither a soldier nor an adventurer and sees little reason to take risks to his wellbeing. He has seen his fair share of combat but has no taste or appetite for it, and would be hard-pressed to be a hero. Middle-Aged Businessman: Khamir has lived most of his adult life on the road, and the thousands of miles travelling to and from northern Hammerfell have taken their toll. His knees and joints are not ones of a young man, much less a career warrior. That being said, he is far from decrepit and has experience on his side in a fight.

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Khamir Al-Damar

Khamir Al-Damar

"Trust me when I say that blood stains darker than the deepest wine."

---

___________________________________ P R O F I L E Height 6'0" / 183cm Weight 188 lbs Gender Male Race Redguard Age 36 Birthsign The Lover ___________________________________ C A P A B I L I T I E S Deity Mara (a.k.a. Morwha) Attributes MAJOR: Personality minor: Endurance Skills Mercantile (Expert) Blunt (Journeyman) Speechcraft (Journeyman) Athletics (Apprentice) Light Armour (Apprentice) Alchemy (Apprentice) Hand-to-Hand (Novice) Spells None ___________________________________ I N V E N T O R Y Weapons and tools Reinforced Wooden Quarterstaff Bangkorai-style Dagger (only used in dire circumstances, more of an accessory than anything) Outfit Redguard Travelling Gear with Moonstone Armour, dyed the deep burgundy colour of Damari wine Consumables - Plenty of Wine Taster Vials - Various Traveller Snacks - Health Potion x 1 - Stamina Potion x 2 Valuables - 700 Septims - An Orichalcum Damar family signet ring, engraved with a knotted grapevine Misc - Arrived in Kvatch with a small caravan stocked with Damari wine and other miscellaneous goods to trade - Khamir's family is moderately wealthy and he has personal business connections & favours across northern Hammerfell, western Cyrodiil and southern High Rock should he ever have use of them ___________________________________

____________________________________________________________________________ APPEARANCE Khamir is an average height, neither towering nor short. He has a somewhat stocky build, naturally muscular and honed through countless stints on the roads and dusty trails between Hammerfell and other parts of Tamriel. The desert storms of his homeland has worn on the parts of his face unprotected by garments, giving his features a hardened, ashy complexion slightly beyond his age. His skin is middling for a Redguard, lighter than the Alik'r consistently scorched by the sun, but darker than his city-dwelling kinsman or those that call more temperate climes of the country home. When free of his travelling headgear that protects him from dust and weather of western Tamriel, Khamir wears his black, wiry hair as dreadlocks, pushed towards the back of his head and always shaved on the sides, and sports a knotted beard. ____________________________________________________________________________ MOTIVATION AND OUTLOOK Khamir is loyal to his family first, and his business second. Though they are pretty much one and the same. Everything he does is for the benefit and wellbeing of those he adores, not for personal gain nor glory. Any profits made when peddling the familial wine is merely a bonus that further secures the future of the Damar family, not the overarching goal of his profession. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy what he does. The Al-Damar Vintage is a fine wine and therefore easy to sell to commoners and nobility alike, and the thrill of bringing its sweet and tender nectar for a new settlement to savour is beaten only by the warmth and welcome of returning to a town that has ran dry of his last sold batch. He thoroughly enjoys immersing himself into the market squares and districts, and relishes in his trade as any good merchant should. The thrill of bargaining a trade deal with his fellow punters or securing a large contract with a esteemed House or Count is always a tantalising feeling. But all that is secondary to the glow of his family, of his wife and children. He tries to live by the wholesome ideals set by the Divines - hybridised as they are by the conflicting cultures and pantheons of Yokuda and Cyrodill. He sees no reason not to assist his fellow travellers should they require help, or show compassion where there is absence of distrust. He is, quite simply, a good and honest businessman who does the best for himself and his loved ones. Khamir avoids death and violence if he can, but is not above eliminating threats that force his hand. His choice of weaponry limits bloodshed as much as possible, though certain concussions he can and does inflict are not in any way mild. ____________________________________________________________________________ HISTORY Tall Papa. Akatosh. Zenithar. Morwha. Someone in the stars has seen fit to bless the Damar family with everything they could need in recent centuries. Despite their vineyard being within the mostly dry and desolate Fallen Wastes in the ever-tulmultous Bangkorai region of northern Hammerfell, the family has consistently thrived ever since an unfortunate incident in the Second-Era. Muasi Al-Damar was the first to see the potential of producing a wine local to the region, instead of importing expensive vintage from Sentinel. Though the wider climate surrounding Halinn's Stand was inconsistent with rain, the Damar Farmstead's altitude and proximity to the mountains provided ample precipitation for crops to grow, and the soil was rich with nutrients as a result of hardy flora dotting the locale as a result. And so with the blessings of the Gods, the Damar Farmstead took a gamble and changed their crops from grain to grapes. And they never looked back. The acidity of the soil and the enrichment and novelty of the terrain and climate made the resulting Damari wine into a huge regional hit, and before long the family was establishing themselves as an minor noble house well-loved for their product and expertise in producing and selling the wine. Fast-forward to the late Third-Era, and Alab Al-Damar has 7 healthy sons born to his much-adored wife. The secured status of the family and economy give him ambitions to expand the operation to a continent-wide scale. Until an overly-eager contingent of Breton hedge-knights happened upon the vineyard and felt entitled to one-too-many bottles of the local produce. A scuffle broke out between Alab and the Breton leader, resulting in the accidental murder of the Damar patriarch and the subsequent fleeing of the self-proclaimed keepers of the peace. Khamir was 13 at the time of his father's death - the second-eldest of his brothers. The family vineyard was left without its expertise and without any plan as to how to sustain itself. The eldest Damar son, Qadim, had barely begun his tutelage in the winemaking arts, nevermind the cultivation and maintenance of the maincrop. Any uncles, aunties or cousins of the family had long since left the nest, not set on assisting in the family legacy. Through sheer perseverance, willpower and dumb luck, the family managed to pull through, but the production and quality of the Damari vintage was a shadow of its former self. Hard work and unconditional familial support was the key pillars in the recuperation of the family following sudden tragedy, and Khamir's mother was a cornerstone in maintaining hope and faith that all would be well, eventually. Qadim eventually settled into the role as patriarch and head-winemaker, and Khamir dutifully accustomed to his role as chief liaison and salesmen to re-establish the trade network lost in the interluding years where the family was getting back on its feet. It wasn't easy - competitors quickly swooped in to fill the void left by the gap in production, and the pride and faith in the local favourite was quickly forgotten as the taverns ran dry without excuse or explanation. In essence, Khamir had to start from scratch. Through guile and charisma, and supported by his elder brother's tenacity and talent for winemaking, Khamir fought the well-funded peddlers from Sentinel and regained the Damar family's reputation and hegemony in the local area. When journeys began to involve perilous roads and shady patrons, Khamir defended himself valiantly and found that he was a natural at utilising a sturdy walking staff to do so. But to ensure his wellbeing, Khamir spared no expense in procuring self-defense lessons for any highwayman that threatened to harm him or his family's income. Halinn's Stand housed a few veterans who were happy to expand and build on his innate skills with a blunt staff for coin. For similar reasons, he invested in light armour and education on how best to wear and utilise it for those long treks in the arid deserts. As his brothers matured, the burden lightened. And soon enough they were back to square one and ready to move past the family tragedy and onto the future. For there were many mouths to feed as wives were married and more Damari children were born. Khamir's mercantile skills were tested and honed in the sandstone jungle of Sentinel. He initially had failings and successes in equal number, but each informed his increasingly lucrative career as a winemerchant. It was in the Forebear capital where he met his wife, Alha. A florist, Alha was as alluring to Khamir as the scent of her wares. And as captivatingly curious as the context of her profession - being a curator of flowers in a land so hostile to them. Flirtation led to flings, which led to more and more trips to and from Sentinel, originally under the guise of furthering business ventures but became increasingly and truthfully for leisure purposes as his excuses wore thin with his brothers. Soon enough, they married under the sunset of the Illiac Bay, with members of both extensive families witnessing. The wine of course, was free for all attending. As Khamir's family business grew, so did his immediate family. Alha birthed first a son, Awal, and another, Thanin, not long after. As many fathers have said and as many will continue to say: there is nothing in this world that Khamir would not do for his children. The Damari wine business continued to steadily grow - in revenue, in size, in quality - and Khamir found that his reach could extend beyond the immediate region of Bangkorai and the Kingdom of Sentinel. He found he could sell boxes of bottles in every direction and method he travelled: On the roads, from the highlands of Skaven to the spires of Wayrest; Via the sea, from the palms of Stros M'Kai to the terracotta domes of Anvil. He often brought his brothers, nephews and nieces along with him for companionship and to teach them the trade. Life was good. Business was booming. The family was thriving. And then the dreams started. Khamir recognised the gates of Kvatch instantly, for he had visited a few times. And the spire of the Imperial City was not hard to imagine from the many descriptions he had heard. But the rest? It terrified him. And yet he felt compelled to make sense of it. Alha was fully supportive of his reasons to go, and did not object to Khamir's hasty preparing for an expedition to the golden plains of western Cyrodiil. He took one his younger brothers, Arban, and his nephew, Aybar, along with him under the pretence of allowing Aybar to see more of the world and to sell heaps of Darmari wine to an ever-thirsty Kvatch. But deep-down Khamir knew this may not turn out to be an ordinary business trip. ____________________________________________________________________________ RELATIONSHIPS AND OPINIONS As established, Khamir has quite the large family that he can rely upon for comfort, advice and aid. He is one of 7 brothers, and today the family is quite a bit larger than that. He has different but mostly positive relationships with different brothers. However he has brought along one brother and one nephew on his journey to Kvatch: Arban - At 32 years old and the quietest of the Al-Darmars, Arban is stoic, reserved and wise beyond his years. Khamir very much enjoys his company and they have been on many ventures together - the noise levels back home are elevated, to say the least. It's fair to say that Khamir would trust Arban before many of his other siblings. It doesn't hurt that Arban is a decent fighter and has a brutish figure that can see off any would-be attackers. Aybar - Aybar is insofar the opposite of his father: curious, gregarious and brash. At a tender age of 12, he is keen to know and understand more of the world, and pesters his father and uncle to no end with inane questions. The boy means well, of course, but these journeys are not tourist visits and has gotten himself into trouble before by asking an impatient citizen a question too far. Not initially invited along to Kvatch, Aybar insisted on accompanying Khamir and Arban and the two adults eventually gave in. Beyond his family, Khamir has few connections or particular affiliation with the wider factions of Tamriel. He is an Associate Member of the Merchants Guild, specifically associating with the Sentinel chapter. Though for pragmatic reasons only as it makes business much easier to conduct - Sentinel more than most cities can be a nest of opportunistic vipers, and business-based greed can be the sharpest venom of all. Khamir always feels he needs to watch his back within the Guild. In regards to the internal politics of Hammerfell, Khamir leans more toward the Forebear school of thinking. Like it or not, the Empire is the dominant force in Tamriel and Khamir largely believes that the ends justify the means - tolerance, continent-wide stability and free and fair trade are more than worth the price of subservience to a larger authority. He feels no need to antagonise the Empire for the sake of traditions from a Yokuda long-since lost. ____________________________________________________________________________ MISC Character Flaws / Weaknesses Breto-phobic: Khamir harbours a deep resentment towards Bretons, especially those of a knightly disposition, as a result of what happened to his father. To him, Bretons are distrustful and two-faced, their haughty disposition merely a façade for being little more than savage bandits in shinier armour and nicer clothes. "I'm a Seller, not a Fighter": Khamir is a merchant and his trade is selling wine. While physically strong and more than capable of defending himself, he is neither a soldier nor an adventurer and sees little reason to take risks to his wellbeing. He has seen his fair share of combat but has no taste or appetite for it, and would be hard-pressed to be a hero. Middle-Aged Businessman: Khamir has lived most of his adult life on the road, and the thousands of miles travelling to and from northern Hammerfell have taken their toll. His knees and joints are not ones of a young man, much less a career warrior. That being said, he is far from decrepit and has experience on his side in a fight.