Kassarock

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Both of you are good, go ahead and move it over. I also wanted to get everyone's opinion, I'm remaking my character to be a barbarian. Should I make an npc healer we could all control, or do you guys think we'll be fine without one?

@Hyyde322

I mean we're not running this with stats or hitpoints, so there's no mechanical need for a party member to be a healer. I think we'll be fine without one.

Adventure Awaits! - Prompt Voting CYOA (Always Open)

Ah cool, I haven't seen one of these in ages, subbed!

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

@Kassarock
Approved, once again, please do not go overboard with the necromancy

@Hyyde322

Noted, like I said he's more interested in attempting to preform a perfect 'true' resurrection on one person as opposed to running around bringing up skeletal hordes etc etc. Although some of the spells he has do involve necromantic elements such direct attacking and draining of lifeforce etc. Think things like Blight or Inflict Wounds for D&D as a reference point.

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Eskel Rindarium, the Mad Mage of Ilmar

Excuse me sir, might you be one of the heroes from legend? Good turn to you, I have travelled-"

With a crackle of arcane energy, the dark figure looked up from the mess of scrolls and tomes they had been hunched over. Behind the lank strands of his black hair, his eyes were narrowed in suspicion and hostility, a fell and malicious invocation held ready cast in his right hand.

"Who are you and how the hell did you get into my sanctum?"

WAIT WAIT WAIT! Please great hero might you lend me your ear? I have travelled far and wide to hear your tale, my only wish is to tell your story. True, I suppose if I wanted to know of various deeds I could just visit my local tavern or library, but to get it from the horse's mouth, now that would be a treat, far better than any old watered down story you hear on the streets, wouldn't you agree?

"I don't agree. Get out of here. Leave me alone."

But surely you would appreciate the chance to set the record straight? Clear up any misconceptions and falsehoods that have sprung up in the wake of your glorious deeds?"

"Glorious deeds?" He laughed, it was not a pleasant sound. "I don't remember many of those. Though there are plenty of misconceptions and falsehoods, and a few outright lies."

He paused for a moment, staring at the reporter, thought not really looking at him, rather beyond him, before closing his hand and releasing whatever spell had been held there. With it, a strange sense darkness fled from the chamber, the many candle stubs that lined its cluttered surfaces returning to their usual brightness. He stood up from the work desk, stretching stiffly as he did so.

"Fine, ask your questions. You have until I get bored of this."

Oh you will? Joyous occasion! You shan't regret this my friend, I promise you!

The figure fixed the reporter with a look that suggested that he was already regretting this.

Now then, What is your name?

"You came all this way to ask me my name? Fine, fine, I guess I did just agree to this." He sighed. "Eskel Rindarium, the sage of Ilmare, although I hear some fools have taken to calling the Mad Mage as of late."

Splendid, and your age?

"Wait... what year is it again?" He quickly did some math on his fingers. "Twenty-nine, if I have the date right."

He looked older. There were streaks of premature grey in his hair, lines on his brow and around his mouth, dark circles beneath his eyes. None of those were there a few years ago, and made Eskel easily pass for almost a decade older than he actually was.

Fantastic, and your gender good hero?

"...Really?" He rolled his eyes. "Male."

Excellent and of course I know what you look like, but for the sake of our readers?

"Why, tall, dark and handsome of course." He answered with a snort. "Look, you can describe me yourself, or do you really want to keep wasting your time with these banalities?"

Eskel was certainly dark, and he might have once been considered quite handsome. He was pale, fine featured, with shoulder length black hair shot through with a scattering of grey. An old scar ran through his left brow and into the eye below, blinding it into milky white, the other eye was a brown so dark it almost looked black.

He was of average height and a light build. Previously he could have been described as lithe, but now he gave of the impression of being gaunt. In the past his features were perpetually twisted into some kind of smirk, but these days he rarely smiled. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept properly in weeks, and was so pale it was clear he hadn't left the darkness of his rooms for even longer.

Even those who hadn't know him before would think that he looked unwell. Something only be confirmed the bandages that covered his left arm that were peaking out from the end of his sleeve.

Excellent Excellent, and how do you act on most days, you know, your mannerisms, your quirks and such. What makes you, you?

"Well, I've been told I have something of an abrasive manner, if you hadn't already guessed that. I don't suffer fools or idiots lightly. People and their petty concerns do not interest me, that's why I make my home out here away from the ignorant masses. I can focus on my work here, my research, without any meddling interference or distractions. I guess you could say I'm solitary in my nature."

Mhm, and your abilities magical or otherwise? If you use magic, what is your discipline? do you use it for battle, defense, healing?

"Frankly I probably know more about most types of magic than you could possibly comprehend. But my specialty has always been in summoning, the act of controlling the passage of people and powers from one plane of existence to another. Whether that is to draw something from across the gulf between worlds to our own, or seal and banish it back to its own realm. It's very complicated, I doubt you'd understand."

"My current research is just an extension of the same principles, and a unification of some other arts. What is death other than another plane of existence? The body but a construct for the soul to inhabit? Where does the physician end and the necromancer begin? It's just another reordering of spirit and matter between between worlds, these foolish labels and taboos just get in the way of a holistic understanding of life and death."

"Most of your kind think simple teleportation is the height of what we can do, and that only requires transportation of mind and matter across one plane, let alone... Oh never mind, the theoretical background I would have to spell out for you to even participate in this conversation is not a good use of my time."

Yes Yes, and before everything that transpired, what was your life like? Who were you?

"Oh, I was a product of the mage schools of Bradena. The old kind, that we had after the rebellion. Plenty of corporal punishment and indoctrinated self loathing. Never did me any harm, I turned out just fine." He laughed again at that, it was even less pleasant than before. "My gifts manifested young, I was scarce out of cradle when my parents dumped me on the threshold and abandoned me there. Part of the reason I'm one of the most gifted mages of his generation, the alignment of natural talent and a rigorous education."

"Of course I left as soon as I was able, and supported my continued research through the odd mercenary contract. Monster slayers are always on the lookout for someone who can cast a six hells trigram planar binding. That's how I met her... Octavia..."

I would have never guessed, and what were your relationships with your comrades, are you still friends? Maybe lovers? Bitter rivals? How do you see them in your eyes?

"I don't see much of them these days. It might have something to do with the fact I called them all traitorous cowards who lacked the resolve to do what needed to be done. They failed Octavia, we all did. I'm the only one trying to make things right."

So that's how you worked with each other, and how was your relationship with Madame Ravenwood? Nothing but good I hope.

"She was the best of us. I... I miss her deeply."

He looked like he had something more to say but could not bring himself to form the words. A terrible and desperate longing rose up from the inky depths of his one good eye. An unspoken need for something that had been forever pushed beyond his grasp.

I see, and.....did you know?

The question seemed to pull him out of his absent reverie.

Did you even guess, did you even have the slightest idea?

"Guess, guess what?"

Do you even realize the amount of shit you heroes are in?

A cold and horrible understanding began to dawn upon Eskel's face. There had been wards set around his tower, strong ones, how had a mere journalist managed to navigate his way through them?

What made you think you could defeat him so easily? WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD DEFEAT US SO EASILY?

"Impossible." He whispered. "I designed that seal myself. It was meant to hold for a thousand years."

We almost did it, almost, but then you heroes and that bitch! well no matter, you and your comrades will get yours soon enough!

Anger flared inside of him. He began to speak an twisted invocation that he would have never even dared to utter a few years previously.

YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT HIM, DEFEAT US! NEVER!

He released the spell. All the lights in the room went out, the thing before him dropped to floor as a smoking desiccated husk. He could feel blood trickling on his hand, the wounds on his arm had opened up again. As he relit the candles with a wave of his hand he stared once more at the corpse at his feet.

"You will not speak of her in that manner."

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

So writing this was very, very fun. Let me know if you want changes, revisions, etc etc etc.

Tragic Magical A-hole

Excuse me sir, might you be one of the heroes from legend? Good turn to you, I have travelled-"

With a crackle of arcane energy, the dark figure looked up from the mess of scrolls and tomes they had been hunched over. Behind the lank strands of his black hair, his eyes were narrowed in suspicion and hostility, a fell and malicious invocation held ready cast in his right hand.

"Who are you and how the hell did you get into my sanctum?"

WAIT WAIT WAIT! Please great hero might you lend me your ear? I have travelled far and wide to hear your tale, my only wish is to tell your story. True, I suppose if I wanted to know of various deeds I could just visit my local tavern or library, but to get it from the horse's mouth, now that would be a treat, far better than any old watered down story you hear on the streets, wouldn't you agree?

"I don't agree. Get out of here. Leave me alone."

But surely you would appreciate the chance to set the record straight? Clear up any misconceptions and falsehoods that have sprung up in the wake of your glorious deeds?"

"Glorious deeds?" He laughed, it was not a pleasant sound. "I don't remember many of those. Though there are plenty of misconceptions and falsehoods, and a few outright lies."

He paused for a moment, staring at the reporter, thought not really looking at him, rather beyond him, before closing his hand and releasing whatever spell had been held there. With it, a strange sense darkness fled from the chamber, the many candle stubs that lined its cluttered surfaces returning to their usual brightness. He stood up from the work desk, stretching stiffly as he did so.

"Fine, ask your questions. You have until I get bored of this."

Oh you will? Joyous occasion! You shan't regret this my friend, I promise you!

The figure fixed the reporter with a look that suggested that he was already regretting this.

Now then, What is your name?

"You came all this way to ask me my name? Fine, fine, I guess I did just agree to this." He sighed. "Eskel Rindarium, the sage of Ilmare, although I hear some fools have taken to calling the Mad Mage as of late."

Splendid, and your age?

"Wait... what year is it again?" He quickly did some math on his fingers. "Twenty-Nine, if I have the date right."

He looked older. There were streaks of premature grey in his hair, lines on his brow and around his mouth, dark circles beneath his eyes. None of those were there a few years ago, and made Eskel easily pass for almost a decade older than he actually was.

Fantastic, and your gender good hero?

"...Really?" He rolled his eyes. "Male."

Excellent and of course I know what you look like, but for the sake of our readers?

"Why, tall, dark and handsome of course." He answered with a snort. "Look, you can describe me yourself, or do you really want to keep wasting your time with these banalities?"

Eskel was certainly dark, and he might have once been considered quite handsome. He was pale, fine featured, with shoulder length black hair shot through with a scattering of grey. An old scar ran through his left brow and into the eye below, blinding it into milky white, the other eye was a brown so dark it almost looked black.

He was of average height and a light build. Previously he could have been described as lithe, but now he gave of the impression of being gaunt. In the past his features were perpetually twisted into some kind of smirk, but these days he rarely smiled. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept properly in weeks, and was so pale it was clear he hadn't left the darkness of his rooms for even longer.

Even those who hadn't know him before would think that he looked unwell. Something only be confirmed the bandages that covered his left arm that were peaking out from the end of his sleeve.

Excellent Excellent, and how do you act on most days, you know, your mannerisms, your quirks and such. What makes you, you?

"Well, I've been told I have something of an abrasive manner, if you hadn't already guessed that. I don't suffer fools or idiots lightly. People and their petty concerns do not interest me, that's why I make my home out here away from the ignorant masses. I can focus on my work here, my research, without any meddling interference or distractions. I guess you could say I'm solitary in my nature."

Mhm, and your abilities magical or otherwise? If you use magic, what is your discipline? do you use it for battle, defense, healing?

"Frankly I probably know more about most types of magic than you could possibly comprehend. But my specialty has always been in summoning, the act of controlling the passage of people and powers from one plane of existence to another. Whether that is to draw something from across the gulf between worlds to our own, or seal and banish it back to its own realm. It's very complicated, I doubt you'd understand."

"My current research is just an extension of the same principles, and a unification of some other arts. What is death other than another plane of existence? The body but a construct for the soul to inhabit? Where does the physician end and the necromancer begin? It's just another reordering of spirit and matter between between worlds, these foolish labels and taboos just get in the way of a holistic understanding of life and death."

"Most of your kind think simple teleportation is the height of what we can do, and that only requires transportation of mind and matter across one plane, let alone... Oh never mind, the theoretical background I would have to spell out for you to even participate in this conversation is not a good use of my time."

Yes Yes, and before everything that transpired, what was your life like? Who were you?

"Oh, I was a product of the mage schools of Bradena. The old kind, that we had after the rebellion. Plenty of corporal punishment and indoctrinated self loathing. Never did me any harm, I turned out just fine." He laughed again at that, it was even less pleasant than before. "My gifts manifested young, I was scarce out of cradle when my parents dumped me on the threshold and abandoned me there. Part of the reason I'm one of the most gifted mages of his generation, the alignment of natural talent and a rigorous education."

"Of course I left as soon as I was able, and supported my continued research through the odd mercenary contract. Monster slayers are always on the lookout for someone who can cast a six hells trigram planar binding. That's how I met her... Octavia..."

I would have never guessed, and what were your relationships with your comrades, are you still friends? Maybe lovers? Bitter rivals? How do you see them in your eyes?

"I don't see much of them these days. It might have something to do with the fact I called them all traitorous cowards who lacked the resolve to do what needed to be done. They failed Octavia, we all did. I'm the only one trying to make things right."

So that's how you worked with each other, and how was your relationship with Madame Ravenwood? Nothing but good I hope.

"She was the best of us. I... I miss her deeply."

He looked like he had something more to say but could not bring himself to form the words. A terrible and desperate longing rose up from the inky depths of his one good eye. An unspoken need for something that had been forever pushed beyond his grasp.

I see, and.....did you know?

The question seemed to pull him out of his absent reverie.

Did you even guess, did you even have the slightest idea?

"Guess, guess what?"

Do you even realize the amount of shit you heroes are in?

A cold and horrible understanding began to dawn upon Eskel's face. There had been wards set around his tower, strong ones, how had a mere journalist managed to navigate his way through them?

What made you think you could defeat him so easily? WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU COULD DEFEAT US SO EASILY?

"Impossible." He whispered. "I designed that seal myself. It was meant to hold for a thousand years."

We almost did it, almost, but then you heroes and that bitch! well no matter, you and your comrades will get yours soon enough!

Anger flared inside of him. He began to speak an twisted invocation that he would have never even dared to utter a few years previously.

YOU WILL NEVER DEFEAT HIM, DEFEAT US! NEVER!

He released the spell. All the lights in the room went out, the thing before him dropped to floor as a smoking desiccated husk. He could feel blood trickling on his hand, the wounds on his arm had opened up again. As he relit the candles with a wave of his hand he stared once more at the corpse at his feet.

"You will not speak of her in that manner."

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Alrighty then, I'll get working on sheet.

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Okay, I have a couple of ideas, one of which would most definitely require GM approval as I noted in the Int Check we have a necromancy ban in place. But I will make my humble petition nonetheless.

So, my first idea is for a mage, who was in unrequited love with Octavia Ravenwood. When she died, he became obsessed with the possibility of true resurrection and plunged headfirst into a misguided exploration of forbidden magicks and reviled necromancy, much to the dismay and horror of his former comrades.

Idea two, a hardened sellsword gone to seed. Used to be one of the best blades around, but has spent all his time trading on his heroic reputation to get plastered and is basically a washed up drunk by this point.

I have another idea about some guy who's like literally given up being an adventurer and retired to live on a farm with his wife and kids, but it don't know if it really works, as 'I don't want to be here' doesn't make too much of a fun character motivation.

We have to save the world again? I thought we were done with this crap!

Damn, that's weird, I was toying with a premise really similar to this myself recently. Not 100% sure I can commit, but I'll keep my eye on this, might bounce some character ideas around later.

Kass's Kharacters

---

F A Z A H R A A L - H A M I N A

Art from TES: Legends ____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name - Captain Fazahra al-Hamina Gender - Female. Race - Redguard. Age - Late twenties to mid-thirties. Height - Taller than average, around 5'9". Profession - Sailor. Family Origins - Hammerfell, Abah's Landing Birth Sign - The Thief. ____________________________________________________ S K I L L S & A B I L I T I E S E X P E R T Blade Redguards are said to be the most naturally talented warriors in Tamriel, Fazahra is no exception to this. Shipboard life can be violent, put a blade in her hands and she will produce dead men for you. A D E P T Acrobatics A lifetime of climbing rigging and running over heaving decks has left Fazahra more nible than most, with an excellent sense of balance. Mercantile Commerce and trade is the lifeblood of most ships. Goods must be acquired and sold, ships provisioned, crews hired and paid. N O V I C E Athletics Hauling rope and canvas makes one develop certain muscles. Smithing Minor repair work on vessels is often undertaken by the crew, Fazahra has a working knowledge of cold metal working and carpentry. Unarmoured The greatest danger at sea is the sea itself, what sort of fool wears armour on a boat? ____________________________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T Weapons A curved steel sword and dagger, of traditional Yokundan design. Armour Nothing put some light cloth and leather boots. Miscellaneous Items A water skin. Unenchanted gold jewellery and medallions, carriable wealth. Several bottles of good Stros M'Kai Rum. Carpentry and miscellaneous tools. A suspiciously large bag of gold, well hidden. Rope, so much rope. One ship, in a ruinous state of repair. A broken compass, kept close to the heart. ____________________________________________________

A P P E A R A N C E Captain Fazahra al-Hamina is an imposing Redguard woman of larger than average height and build. Wide hipped and thick waisted, her figure looks stocky and strong. She has spent over half her life hauling rope and canvas or pulling at an oar, activities which have placed a significant amount of muscle on top of her already oversized frame. The dark skin of her muscled arms are lined with the pale scars of old injuries, some from the lash of an overtightened line snapping free, others from slash of a steel blade. Her hands are similarly marked, they bear callus upon callus, forged through hard and heavy work, leaving them as tough and unyielding as the timbers of a ship. The features of her face bear a similarity to that of her build. A broad nose, a wide forehead, dark eyes spaced perhaps a little too far apart to be considered a model for classical standards of feminine beauty. The lower half of her face is dominated by a set of full lips, most often parted in a open smile showing white pearlescent teeth. She wears her hair long, pushed back away from her face, but left to hang freely about her shoulders. The tightly coiled black hair is teased into numerous braids, adorned with beads and golden rings. Her ears are clearly visible when her hair is worn in this fashion, showing off a glimmering array of golden earrings, some simple hoops, others dangling large pedants of semi-precious stones or seashells. The captain dresses simply, loose linen shirts tucked into tight fitting dark breeches. She wears thigh high black leather boots of undeniable quality. From a shoulder slung sword belt a curved Redguard scimitar of plain and mean looking steel hangs along with a matching dagger. The adorned hilts contrasting with the gilded medallions and talismans they jingle alongside with. This are utilitarian weapons, tools for killing. In colder and wetter weather she has a long oil skin coat that she wraps about her person, along with a wide brimmed hat to keep the sun from her eyes and the rain from the face. ____________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y Fazahra is undoubted a woman who has endured much and led a tough life. One might expect evidence of this toughness, this hard and unyielding nature, to give her character a similar quality, that she would be some stern figurehead from some veteran warship, harshly carved from the boughs of a blackened oak. But the demeanour of Captain Fazahra could not be further from this image. Her face most often bears a smile so wide and open, it disarms those around her of the dangerous nature that hardened body forebodes. It is a friendly face. One that welcomes bosom buddies and heart companions to entrust their hopes and desire to her. Her husky voice has a singsong quality to it, and when she laughs they are full and hearty. Fazahra has a temper to her though, one that can whip up as quickly as a summer squall, though it is as apt to disappear just as fast as it emerged. She is not particularly violent by nature, even when wroth she is unlikely to reach for her sword unless threatened. And there is not much she feels threatened by. Overall the captain gives of an air of confidence and easy bravado. She seems self-assured of her abilities, and at ease in any company. This combination of self belief and friendliness makes her a very outgoing and extraverted individual. When at port and in taverns she draws in the people around her, making friends easily, attracting lovers easily. But like the seas she calls her home, many may swim in those warm and shallow waters without ever knowing the abyss that lies beneath them. A chasm of dark fathomless depths, in which one could easily drown. There is an ocean of hurt and pain inside of this woman, no matter how much sun shines on the surface. She rarely shows it when around others. Perhaps only when particularly deep in her cups might those mournful truths take hold and the perpetual smile she wears falters and fades. Her hand might creep to the pouch on the sword belt, the one that lies closest to her heart, close around the broken compass that resides there. Glass shattered, no direction left to give. Her greatest regret is the man that owned that compass once. The one who loved Fazahra more than anything, who would have done anything for her. The one she killed. Her goal? Happiness, Freedom, Escape. Escape from the past, the past of who she was, what she did, and what she had others do for her. Maybe out there, on the open sea, the wind at her back once more, she will be able to leave behind all of the pain and all of the guilt that has brought with her to Anvil. ____________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y Captain Fazahra is a talkative individual, she will freely converse on many different themes and topics. She tells many tall tales of the strange far off lands that she has seen, of the raucous nights spent in ports all over Tamriel, of ghost stories featuring phantom ships and dread sea monsters. If required she will even talk of more mundane things, of her craft as a sailor, of the fluctuating price of trade goods, even of the weather. But there is one thing she very, very rarely talks about directly. Who exactly she is, where she comes from, and what exactly she was doing before she came to Anvil.

Despite her silence on these matters, a discerning mind and well trained eye would be able to puzzle a good deal of her history out of her just by looking and listening, filling in the gaps with the odd well reasoned guess.

Firstly, Fazahra is a Redguard that much is clear by her dark skin. Her accent places her as a native of Hammerfell, and to a trained ear, south east Hammerfell with a enough Tamrielic creole mixed in to presume that she grew up in one of the large port cities that dot the coast along those bleak shores. Rihad or Taneth, Abah's Landing perhaps.

Secondly, Fazahra up poor, that's in her accent too, as well as the evidence of a lifetime of hard work on those callused hands of hers. The flashy displays of gold that she wears at her ears and belt speak to this as well, it is most often those who come into some deal of wealth later in life that have the greatest desire to flaunt it.

Third, though she claims to be a sailor and merchant, Fazahra is no stranger to violence. The scars on her arms, her self assurance around dangerous company, and the casual way she carries the blade at her hip makes this all to evidently clear.

Then there's what can be learned about Fazahra since she arrived in Anvil a month past as a passenger on merchant vessel. The first thing she did was sour the docks for a ship to purchase herself. She found one that satisfied her, although in need or some serious work, and set about repairing and provisioning the vessel herself. All of this was paid for upfront, in cold hard cash. Golden septims, not letters of credit or bankers drafts.

So, we have a woman who grew up poor, spent her life at sea and around violence, who suddenly finds herself with a significant deal of hard currency, and is purposefully obscure about what exactly she was doing before she arrived in her current port of call.

There is one explanation for these traits that fits much better than any other:

Fazahra is a pirate.

Or rather, Fazahra was a pirate. Anvil is not generally known as a safe harbour for the the buccaneers of the Abecean Sea, its a well maintained Imperial Port, not a haven of criminals like Port Hunding or Abah's Landing. A Pirate Captain, flush with gold in need of a new ship could certainly find somewhere much better to buy a raiding vessel and raise a crew of marauders.

Perhaps that explains the slight edge that the good Captain seems to have developed of late, the one that keeps her checking the shadows, and has her always sat in the taverns where she can keep one eye on the door. A pirate who broke faith with their compatriots, especially one who may have swindled more than their fair share of booty, would certainly have reason to keep looking over their shoulder.

But then again, it seems that everyone in Anvil is watching the shadows these days...

The Elder Scrolls: Endless Night

Fazahra al-Hamina

---

F A Z A H R A A L - H A M I N A

Art from TES: Legends ____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name - Captain Fazahra al-Hamina Gender - Female. Race - Redguard. Age - Late twenties to mid-thirties. Height - Taller than average, around 5'9". Profession - Sailor. Family Origins - Hammerfell, Abah's Landing Birth Sign - The Thief. ____________________________________________________ S K I L L S & A B I L I T I E S E X P E R T Blade Redguards are said to be the most naturally talented warriors in Tamriel, Fazahra is no exception to this. Shipboard life can be violent, put a blade in her hands and she will produce dead men for you. A D E P T Acrobatics A lifetime of climbing rigging and running over heaving decks has left Fazahra more nible than most, with an excellent sense of balance. Mercantile Commerce and trade is the lifeblood of most ships. Goods must be acquired and sold, ships provisioned, crews hired and paid. N O V I C E Athletics Hauling rope and canvas makes one develop certain muscles. Smithing Minor repair work on vessels is often undertaken by the crew, Fazahra has a working knowledge of cold metal working and carpentry. Unarmoured The greatest danger at sea is the sea itself, what sort of fool wears armour on a boat? ____________________________________________________ E Q U I P M E N T Weapons A curved steel sword and dagger, of traditional Yokundan design. Armour Nothing put some light cloth and leather boots. Miscellaneous Items A water skin. Unenchanted gold jewellery and medallions, carriable wealth. Several bottles of good Stros M'Kai Rum. Carpentry and miscellaneous tools. A suspiciously large bag of gold, well hidden. Rope, so much rope. One ship, in a ruinous state of repair. A broken compass, kept close to the heart. ____________________________________________________

A P P E A R A N C E Captain Fazahra al-Hamina is an imposing Redguard woman of larger than average height and build. Wide hipped and thick waisted, her figure looks stocky and strong. She has spent over half her life hauling rope and canvas or pulling at an oar, activities which have placed a significant amount of muscle on top of her already oversized frame. The dark skin of her muscled arms are lined with the pale scars of old injuries, some from the lash of an overtightened line snapping free, others from slash of a steel blade. Her hands are similarly marked, they bear callus upon callus, forged through hard and heavy work, leaving them as tough and unyielding as the timbers of a ship. The features of her face bear a similarity to that of her build. A broad nose, a wide forehead, dark eyes spaced perhaps a little too far apart to be considered a model for classical standards of feminine beauty. The lower half of her face is dominated by a set of full lips, most often parted in a open smile showing white pearlescent teeth. She wears her hair long, pushed back away from her face, but left to hang freely about her shoulders. The tightly coiled black hair is teased into numerous braids, adorned with beads and golden rings. Her ears are clearly visible when her hair is worn in this fashion, showing off a glimmering array of golden earrings, some simple hoops, others dangling large pedants of semi-precious stones or seashells. The captain dresses simply, loose linen shirts tucked into tight fitting dark breeches. She wears thigh high black leather boots of undeniable quality. From a shoulder slung sword belt a curved Redguard scimitar of plain and mean looking steel hangs along with a matching dagger. The adorned hilts contrasting with the gilded medallions and talismans they jingle alongside with. This are utilitarian weapons, tools for killing. In colder and wetter weather she has a long oil skin coat that she wraps about her person, along with a wide brimmed hat to keep the sun from her eyes and the rain from the face. ____________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y Fazahra is undoubted a woman who has endured much and led a tough life. One might expect evidence of this toughness, this hard and unyielding nature, to give her character a similar quality, that she would be some stern figurehead from some veteran warship, harshly carved from the boughs of a blackened oak. But the demeanour of Captain Fazahra could not be further from this image. Her face most often bears a smile so wide and open, it disarms those around her of the dangerous nature that hardened body forebodes. It is a friendly face. One that welcomes bosom buddies and heart companions to entrust their hopes and desire to her. Her husky voice has a singsong quality to it, and when she laughs they are full and hearty. Fazahra has a temper to her though, one that can whip up as quickly as a summer squall, though it is as apt to disappear just as fast as it emerged. She is not particularly violent by nature, even when wroth she is unlikely to reach for her sword unless threatened. And there is not much she feels threatened by. Overall the captain gives of an air of confidence and easy bravado. She seems self-assured of her abilities, and at ease in any company. This combination of self belief and friendliness makes her a very outgoing and extraverted individual. When at port and in taverns she draws in the people around her, making friends easily, attracting lovers easily. But like the seas she calls her home, many may swim in those warm and shallow waters without ever knowing the abyss that lies beneath them. A chasm of dark fathomless depths, in which one could easily drown. There is an ocean of hurt and pain inside of this woman, no matter how much sun shines on the surface. She rarely shows it when around others. Perhaps only when particularly deep in her cups might those mournful truths take hold and the perpetual smile she wears falters and fades. Her hand might creep to the pouch on the sword belt, the one that lies closest to her heart, close around the broken compass that resides there. Glass shattered, no direction left to give. Her greatest regret is the man that owned that compass once. The one who loved Fazahra more than anything, who would have done anything for her. The one she killed. Her goal? Happiness, Freedom, Escape. Escape from the past, the past of who she was, what she did, and what she had others do for her. Maybe out there, on the open sea, the wind at her back once more, she will be able to leave behind all of the pain and all of the guilt that has brought with her to Anvil. ____________________________________________________ H I S T O R Y Captain Fazahra is a talkative individual, she will freely converse on many different themes and topics. She tells many tall tales of the strange far off lands that she has seen, of the raucous nights spent in ports all over Tamriel, of ghost stories featuring phantom ships and dread sea monsters. If required she will even talk of more mundane things, of her craft as a sailor, of the fluctuating price of trade goods, even of the weather. But there is one thing she very, very rarely talks about directly. Who exactly she is, where she comes from, and what exactly she was doing before she came to Anvil.

Despite her silence on these matters, a discerning mind and well trained eye would be able to puzzle a good deal of her history out of her just by looking and listening, filling in the gaps with the odd well reasoned guess.

Firstly, Fazahra is a Redguard that much is clear by her dark skin. Her accent places her as a native of Hammerfell, and to a trained ear, south east Hammerfell with a enough Tamrielic creole mixed in to presume that she grew up in one of the large port cities that dot the coast along those bleak shores. Rihad or Taneth, Abah's Landing perhaps.

Secondly, Fazahra up poor, that's in her accent too, as well as the evidence of a lifetime of hard work on those callused hands of hers. The flashy displays of gold that she wears at her ears and belt speak to this as well, it is most often those who come into some deal of wealth later in life that have the greatest desire to flaunt it.

Third, though she claims to be a sailor and merchant, Fazahra is no stranger to violence. The scars on her arms, her self assurance around dangerous company, and the casual way she carries the blade at her hip makes this all to evidently clear.

Then there's what can be learned about Fazahra since she arrived in Anvil a month past as a passenger on merchant vessel. The first thing she did was sour the docks for a ship to purchase herself. She found one that satisfied her, although in need or some serious work, and set about repairing and provisioning the vessel herself. All of this was paid for upfront, in cold hard cash. Golden septims, not letters of credit or bankers drafts.

So, we have a woman who grew up poor, spent her life at sea and around violence, who suddenly finds herself with a significant deal of hard currency, and is purposefully obscure about what exactly she was doing before she arrived in her current port of call.

There is one explanation for these traits that fits much better than any other:

Fazahra is a pirate.

Or rather, Fazahra was a pirate. Anvil is not generally known as a safe harbour for the the buccaneers of the Abecean Sea, its a well maintained Imperial Port, not a haven of criminals like Port Hunding or Abah's Landing. A Pirate Captain, flush with gold in need of a new ship could certainly find somewhere much better to buy a raiding vessel and raise a crew of marauders.

Perhaps that explains the slight edge that the good Captain seems to have developed of late, the one that keeps her checking the shadows, and has her always sat in the taverns where she can keep one eye on the door. A pirate who broke faith with their compatriots, especially one who may have swindled more than their fair share of booty, would certainly have reason to keep looking over their shoulder.

But then again, it seems that everyone in Anvil is watching the shadows these days...