shivershiver

Star Wars: KOTOR Academy

Mrak

Name(s): Sre'vkk'lak (Sre), Mrak, “One Eye”

Age: 24

Species: Human

Appearance:


Mrak stands at a solid 6’1, with lean muscle from strenuous labor and combat on Tatooine. While not overly bulky, his physique shows through his almost total lack of body fat. His right eye is a scarred and ruined mess, permanently shut after a krayt dragon ripped it open with its deadly claws. Mrak keeps this concealed with a simple tan cloth wrapped at an angle around his head. Two more scars from the same incident dig into his left cheek. Mrak’s hands are coarse and callused, his right missing its pinkie finger from the first knuckle up. Most of Mrak’s body is coated in an ugly layer of scars, burns, and blaster marks.

Occupation: Former Tusken Raider, Guard

Skills: Mrak is a fierce melee combatant, his experience as both a Tusken Raider and partial training as a Force user giving him a competitive edge. Mrak favors a more aggressive style of fighting, despite the urging of Thul for a more neutral form, like Soresu, as opposed to Mrak’s favorite, Ataru. Despite his heavy-handed approach, Mrak is quite capable of moving in silence, a skill acquired from raiding colonists in the midst of night. Scavenging in the harsh desert forced Mrak to use every single resource available, so his repairing skills are quite impressive, although due to the archaic nature of Tattooine he is familiar mostly with older technology. The Tusken is an excellent tracker and hunter, and these abilities often translate from animals to sentient beings. Mrak speaks Tusken, Basic, Jawaese, and Huttese.

Personality: Mrak is a reserved man, saving his words for when he is spoken to. His grammar is fine, but the Tusken’s Basic vocabulary is somewhat lacking. This relative silence is typical of Sand People, a culture where words are generally reserved for important occasions, like stories and rituals, and body language is often substituted for real speech. Because of this, Mrak is very poor at concealing his emotions, and since his face was always covered by rags, facial expressions were never noticed. Mrak is wary of strangers, another characteristic from living among Tusken Raiders. His trust is hard to gain, having lived in a tight knit community for almost his entire life, but once his loyalty is acquired Mrak will die for his allies. Despite his origins as a raider, Mrak is a very honor-bound man. He keeps any promises he makes, stands fast by his friends, and upholds a strict moral code, much of which is from his origins on Tatooine. Some of his tribal side has been erased through Thul’s guidance, but it is very difficult to change so late in life. His social skills are limited, but he enjoys listening to the stories of others, as if they are a shaman from his tribe telling tales. Mrak is uncomfortable being seen or seeing others without being totally covered in clothing, physical contact with someone who isn’t his mate strikes him as uncomfortable, and many other issues bother him. The culture shock is still hitting him. His pride often gets the best of him, as he often denies or refuses to seek assistance to avoid appearing weak; weakness would mean death within his tribe. Mrak strives to control his anger, but sometimes he simply can’t help but engulf himself in rage as he once did while on raiding parties. He never has qualms about ending a life, especially when they threaten him, loved ones, but he tries to avoid killing the defenseless and innocent, a trait acquired from Thul’s guidance. While he doesn’t show it, Mrak is deeply religious, following the gods and rituals all Tuskens do. The man believes that he was found by Thul after wandering the desert because his mate, Jrr, wanted him to live, and become a greater man.

History: Mrak was born on Tatooine to a pair of young moisture farmers, but then, his name was Ilkea Jhoren. When he was barely a year old, the farm was attacked by Tusken Raiders, and his entire family was killed by the desperate Tuskens, whose water supply was depleted. Luckily, Ilkea was adopted by a female Tusken on the raid, Ora'jss'ask, who had just lost a young child of her own. Ora substituted her deceased babe with Ilkea, ensuring that none of their tribe knew the true identity of the human amongst their ranks. She named the adopted child Sre’skk’lak and raised him as her own with her mate.

Sre lived with the Tuskens in perfect, brutal harmony. As a child, or uli-ah, he proved himself as an exceptional combatant with a gaderfii, even besting a few adults. His skills with a blaster were sub-par, though marksmanship was not a vital part of their culture anyway. At 7, Sre was paired with a bantha cub of the same age and formed the mystical bond that existed between the Raiders and banthas. Life as a Tusken, however, was never easy. He was constantly exposed to pain, violence, and death, not exactly the ideal environment for a child, but it was typical for Tusken Raiders. By the age of 13, Sre had participated in three raids, killing a colonist on each. They did what they must to survive, and Sre never found it to disturb him much. After eight birthing seasons, or sixteen years, Sre, like all Tuskens, was required to prove himself in order to become a full member of the tribe. He set out into the desert on his bantha mount and into the Jundland Wastes, the breeding grounds of the vicious krayt dragon. It was here that Sre earned his place within the tribe by slaying one of these beasts with his gaderfii club, though the dragon badly damaged his right eye. Sre retrieved the precious dragon pearl from the animal’s gullet and returned to his tribe, hailed as a hero. Sre was given adult robes, a proper gaderfii staff, his own tent, and a mate. Sre and the female Tusken, Jrr'ssk'iis, married, slicing their hands open and allowing their blood to mingle, along with the blood of their bantha mounts. The newly married couple then returned to Sre’s tent, and for the first time since their birth, shed their clothes in the view of another. In Tusken culture, it is strictly forbidden to remove their protective clothing in front of others, except during childbirth and in the privacy of a tent with a mate. Breaking this rule would result in banishment, so no Tusken truly knew what the opposite sex looked like until their marriage night. Although Sre was a human, and Jrr a true Tusken, neither knew what to expect, so they simply assumed that male and female Tuskens looked radically different. Regardless, the couple still did what most do on the night of their marriage.

The years passed, with Sre becoming an even more important figure in the Tusken tribe. He was a fierce warrior and smart salvager, ranking him high in his tribe. Sadly, Jrr never bore any children, since the two were biologically incompatible, though neither were overly heartbroken. The two bonded beautifully, caring more for the other than themselves. This life, while hard, was perfect to Sre. At the age of 23, however, the tribe was attacked by angry colonists in retaliation for the constant raiding parties that destroyed their towns. The colonists were fended off, but Jrr was slain in the midst of the battle, despite Sre’s attempts to defend her. In his shame and sorrow, Sre banished himself from the tribe without his bantha, like many Tuskens do after the death of their mate. He wandered the scorching desert, believing if Jrr’s spirit wanted him to live, she would allow him.

The weakened Sre was found face-down in the burning sand by Mythus Thul, an older Force-sensitive human living in a small village. Thul, sensing the Tusken was Force-sensitive too, dragged Sre to his home and cared for him, surprised to find a human face beneath the rags. Sre was equally shocked to discover that he was human. Though Sre spoke no Basic, the two communicated by projecting images into eachother’s minds using the Force. Thul dubbed Sre “Mrak” since Sre’vkk’lak didn’t roll off the tongue too well, and slowly taught Mrak both Basic and subtly began grooming him as a Force user, testing his strength. Thul also began conditioning Mrak to become more human, showing him how colonists live. Thul, who was a guardian of sorts for the community, recruited Mrak to assist him in his work fending off bandits and beasts. The members of the town took to calling their new guardian “One Eye” in a scathing tone at first, but after he warded off numerous savage beasts and became closer to the colonists, the nickname became more affectionate.

Thul continued to groom Mrak into a more civilized being, and moved into more advanced training. The older man took Mrak into his hut and revealed to him a lightsaber, which he stated he found on the corpse of a robed man in Mos Eisley. Thul began to teach his apprentice how to wield the weapon in the event he had to defend the village against any foes, though he never got any practical use from it, just sparring. The old man also taught Mrak how to use the Force to sense his surroundings, which helped to compensate for his missing eye. His attempts to train Mrak Force powers, however, proved to be fruitless, as the stubborn Tusken believed them to be evil. After months of working with his newfound friend, Thul finally explained to Mrak why he was doing all of this for a stranger, though the two came to be extremely close. Thul revealed that he had once been a member of an ancient peacekeeping guild known as the Jedi Order. the Jedi were almost completely wiped out, and rather than die at their service, Thul chose to return to his homeworld to defend it against the Sith menace. After several years, the aging Jedi heard rumors the Order was back and recruiting both children and adults. When he found Mrak in the desert, sensing both his strength in the Force and his anger, the Jedi knew he had to lure him away from the dark side. After introducing Mrak to the Force and reintroducing him to humanity, the Jedi was confident he could survive in training. He knew, however, that his shame from abandoning the Order would not allow him to return, so he sent Mrak off alone to Mos Eisley to find his own way into Jedi ranks.

Equipment/Possession: Mrak wears a combination of durasteel armor and his Tusken Raider attire. The metallic durasteel has been salvaged from various suits of armor, rarely matching. What the armor doesn’t conceal is wrapped in tan rags, and Mrak’s entire frame is usually obscured by a flowing earth-colored robe. The Tusken’s face is usually exposed, unless his hood shrouds his head in darkness. He keeps his old mask with him as a relic of his past, knowing that it likely won’t have any purpose anywhere else in the galaxy.

Gaderfii

Mrak reinforced his Gaderfii with a low-grade beskar alloy, allowing the deadly staff to withstand a vibroweapon equipped with a similar metal, though it would give way to the striking force of a lightsaber.

S-5 Heavy Blaster


Small leather backpack containing: Hydrospanner, F-187 fusioncutter, macro welder, RW-80 welding goggles, syntherope, force bar

Leather bandolier containing: Krayt dragon pearl, 2x thermal detonators, 5x ammo cartridges, sharpening stone, canteen

Force Powers: Mrak knows no true Force powers, but he is able to tune in to the Force around him in order to compensate for his lost eye, though he has yet to perfect this ability.

Strengths: Mrak’s midi-chlorian count is that of an average Jedi Knight, enabling him to tune into the Force and react faster in situations where a non-Force user could not. He was taught to meditate on the Force as well, but this is where his training was ended. Mrak’s pain tolerance is certainly higher than most, evident from his numerous scars and burns, and he is more than willing to sustain injuries to defeat his foes. Mrak’s physical endurance is quite a feat in itself; he is capable of fighting and running for hours on end without stopping. He is an excellent close-quarters combatant, years of sparring with other raiders and Thul honing his reaction time and form, though he likes to rely on his strength when possible. While it may also be seen as a disadvantage, Mrak is firm in his own beliefs, and a few instilled in him by Thul, and as a result he has a very strong will.

Weaknesses: Mrak’s right eye has been blinded, so his right side serves as a major weak spot in combat. He tries to make up for the lack of vision by probing his surroundings with the Force, but it is not as effective as true vision. Mrak’s aim is also quite poor, and he is usually restricted to close-range blaster fights where he would use his club anyway. His body, familiar only with the scorching Tatooine climate, is very susceptible to cold environments, and as a result his reaction time is much slower. Mrak is totally unable to swim, rarely having seen a pool of water deeper than that in his canteen, and has a general fear of water. The Tusken’s skills as a pilot are also nonexistent, forcing him to rely on others during space flight. Despite his conditioning to human nature by Thul, Mrak is still far from a social butterfly, his tribal nature still a huge part of his being. He is stubborn, reclusive, and all around a very difficult man to talk to. His emotions are extraordinarily easy to read through his facial expressions, though Mrak can conceal his body language. Steeped in his tribal tradition, he is very reluctant to learn any form of Force powers, favoring what he sees as honorable lightsaber duels to trading Force lighting or any other sort of combat. While he isn't naive, Mrak has never left Tatooine, and as a result is very unfamiliar with almost everything outside of his home planet, like different species, planets, politics, technology, and so on. His reading and writing skills are poor as well, since Tuskens don’t believe in a written language.

Can I join? :D I’m not overly familiar with the KOTR storyline, but I read through on wiki and got the gist of it. Not sure if its acceptable to have Thul in there, just let me know if I need to change anything!

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Cats, if worst comes to worst and not enough Imperials end up posting, we could have everyone meet up in Korvanjund where they could receive a speech from the Stormcloaks so inspirational and badass, they're compelled to fight alongside the Stormcoloaks. Or something like that :D

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Excellent posts from everyone! Looking forward to reading more posts from the Imperial side. I think Enalais wins the best first post award though, based solely on your reference to "The Lusty Argonian Maid." God, that had me laughing. If, at some point in the RP, we can have an Argonian character slip in a line from the book, I'll probably just die on the spot.

Also, Izaka, if you read my latest post, I left a spot for your character to make an entrance as "the final member of our little army down the road". Welcome aboard!

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

The young Breton mage was the first to introduce herself to the group, which seemed almost contradictory to her timid demeanor. The blacksmith wondered what caused her to be so apprehensive, but he finally realized the origin of her concern as she mentioned her origins. The College of Winterhold. In its prime, the college was a hub of activity, where all races would seek to sharpen their minds and learn a variety of magics. Even the Nords, a race so opposed to sorcery, supported the college, travelling from distant lands to have their gear enchanted by the master wizards there. But after the Great Collapse, the Nords shunned the college, believing the mages within were the ones responsible for the almost total destruction of the city below, leaving the college to rot. Whether the college was responsible for the Great Collapse or not, Brynjar did not know, but he was one of the few Nords who did not feel a deep-rooted hatred for all things magic. His wife, Faiela, had been a Nordic healer, trained in the arts of restoration and alteration, and he always admired her for pursuing such a noble profession. However, he understood that the Breton before him, Yuriah, was not familiar with him yet, assuming him to be another prejudicial Nord, and one who would take her into battle no less. He gave the girl a smile and a nod to ease her fears before the next member of their party spoke up.

The next speaker was the armored Argonian, who introduced himself as Kalien. Brynjar was still surprised to see an Argonian among their ranks, especially one from Windhelm, knowing all too well how poorly the race was treated by the Nords working in the docks. What intrigued Brynjar even more was the beautifully crafted ebony sword that hung from the Argonian’s belt. The blacksmith had worked with the material on several occasions, forging swords and armor for wealthy nobles who rarely used them, and hardened treasure hunters who relied on the gear with their lives. Brynjar never owned anything made from ebony himself though, as it was much too expensive, even with his pension from the legion. The black ingots were a true challenge to forge. It refused to alloy with other metals, and it had to be worked with heated or the ebony would shatter into pieces. Once the volcanic ash was melded into the desired shape, however, it was almost indestructible. Indeed, as he looked over his finished craft, Brynjar knew he had created something both beautiful and reliable. However, the blacksmith also knew that a strong blade or sturdy armor did not make a man; it was up to the wielder to get the most out of their weapon. Many times, he witnessed inexperienced nobles charge into battle with the finest equipment in all of Skyrim, only to be cut down by a seasoned warrior wielding a crude iron shortsword in leather armor. However, Brynjar was aware that Argonians were savage and admirable fighters, for he lacked an eye because of their keen abilities. He hoped that Kalien would be just as capable of a warrior as those he fought on the border of Morrowind. The Argonian stood at attention like soldiers he commanded during his time in the Empire, and wondered if he had served in the Emperor’s army like himself.

“Sir… Now there’s a title I haven’t heard in many years. In the Legion, you may have to grovel before officers, but here we are all equal, so there’s no need to call me sir, just Brynjar my friend,” the blacksmith replied . It made him a little uneasy as he recalled the years of service for the Empire, and all the men who fought and died under his command. “We’re all Brothers and Sisters of Skyrim here. Heh, you and me, we practically are brothers, being from Windhelm.” Brynjar chuckled, but mention of his home brought a flicker of pain and longing that flashed through his face, if only for a moment.

The elf in their party introduced himself last, the one which piqued Brynjar’’s interest the most. His name was Gladron, a native of the Summerset Isles, and a former subject of the Thalmor. Brynjar laughed deeply as the elf mentioned this relationship was no longer, pleased that someone in the group had a sense of humor, albeit a slightly dark one. He wondered what had driven the Altmer away from his comrades in the Thalmor. It was obvious the man was not a spy, for the Dominion almost exclusively left this task to other races due to the Nord’s inherent mistrust in elves. Perhaps Gladron’s allies betrayed him, and he now felt a burning desire for revenge. Brynjar knew how powerful revenge could be; in his youth, the blacksmith was practically drunk with it as he sought to avenge his sister, lost to him during the Great War. He also knew that seeking retribution in battle brought with it unnecessary risks, for anger clouded the mind, and the only thought present was who to cut down next. Brynjar bore many scars on his body attributed to his lust for bloody justice. Unfortunately, if Gladron did have a burning desire for revenge, it didn’t burn warm enough to stave off the freezing winds of Skyrim. He could tell from the Altmer’s quivering body that he was unaccustomed to the frigid region, and his winter attire didn't seem to help much. Brynjar sympathized with the man, knowing what it was like being in an alien land with a drastically different climate. When the Nord fought the Dominion in the burning deserts of Hammerfell, sweat poured down his face and into his eyes, rolling down his body and pooling in his boots. The steel armor itself burned like a boiling cauldron, and Brynjar felt as if he were being cooked alive before even reaching the battle. Many of the Nords who sought to continue fighting the Dominion in Hammerfell died from the intense heat as they journeyed into the country. Upon their arrival, the Redguards quickly re-equipped the Nords with light leather armor and flowing robes to protect them from the harsh sun, but even then it was hotter than a burning forge to Brynjar.

The Nord greeted his new Altmer companion before turning to Yuriah, the Breton, who raised an important question. Why were the four of them chosen to carry out this mission? Galmar had informed the blacksmith that the group was not random, but chosen with extreme caution. The Altmer quickly replied before he had a chance to answer, stating that the Stormcloak’s resources were running thin. Brynjar chuckled at Gladron’s statement, as it was quite contrary to reality. “Gladron, you have half of it right. We will retrieve the crown,” the Nord said. “But each of you were handpicked by Stone-Fist to make a group that could slip through Imperial lines unnoticed. Each of your skills cover for what others lack, so we can crush anything in our way,” Brynjar answered. “This crown,” he continued, "is more important than you might think, and Ulfric wants to make sure he gets it. I don’t expect any of you to know why, though, but I’ll tell you on our way. Right now, it's best we get moving and meet up with the final member of our little army down the road,” Brynjar finished, and motioned for the others to follow.
“We’ll travel off the roads so we don’t run into any Imperials,” Brynjar said as they walked away from their camp, "but we’ll keep close to them. Should a blizzard pick up, its best to walk with stone beneath our feet, rather than risk getting lost. If anyone stops us, we’re just a group of adventurers travelling to Winterhold seeking work."

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Brynjar’s eye followed the licks of the crackling flame as they leapt from the dwindling stack of logs situated in the middle of the party. The warmth was not vital to him nor Galmar, for all Nords carried with them a fire in their belly to stave off the cold. His internal hearth burned brighter than most perhaps, being a native of Windhelm, one of the coldest cities in Skyrim. For his comrades, however, Bynjar was sure the heat was welcome, especially as the roaring winds whipped at their backs. The wind slowly began to die, allowing Galmar to speak amongst the troops, though he beckoned them closer anyway. Although he knew the mission already, Brynjar listened intently, ready to fill in any blanks the Stormcloak might forget. The blacksmith and Galmar shared a unique connection; both Nords served in the Imperial Legion in their youth, and were now fighting the very same Empire they bled for to protect.

Galmar told the party their mission to retrieve the Jagged Crown, though he failed to mention the importance of the crown. Brynjar figured his fellow Nord knew he would fill the others in on the details, but decided it was in their best interest to get moving as soon as possible. He couldn’t help but admire the Stormcloak’s confidence, stating not if but when Ulfric entered the city, and the crown will sit on his brow. It was this kind of faith, Brynjar knew, that would win the war against the Empire, a lot so unsure of themselves. The Legion didn’t trust they could win the war against the Thalmor, and so they were defeated. History was bound to repeat itself in Skyrim. But Brynjar was tired. Tired of war, tired of losing the ones he loved, tired of killing his brothers, and tired of being so far from home. He prayed to Talos the end of their fight would see him make it back to Windhelm, where he could stay with his feet planted for the rest of his days.

As Galmar continued, Brynjar reached down into the glimmering snow with a gauntleted hand and scooped up a handful before smearing it onto his steel breastplate. Slowly, as he worked the powder into water, the blue paint streaking his armor began to fade, dripping off his body. The blue paint identified Brynjar as a Stormcloak, and if they were to be marching through Imperial territory, it was best for them to slip through unnoticed. He looked down at his armor for a moment, admiring his own craftsmanship. A metal snake formed a high collar that protected his vulnerable, with the tail and head almost meeting at his sternum as snake became more slender. A massive eagle with its wings spread covered his heart, the creature embossed into the heavy steel. His eye returned just as Galmar was finishing his instructions.

“Brynjar, I’m trusting you to do this for us. You know how much rests on this task.”

The blacksmith nodded, knowing all too well what was at stake. It seemed that Galmar wanted him as the head of the operation, knowing that Brynjar commanded men during his time in the Legion. “Aye, consider the crown to already be on Ulfric’s head. I just hope it fits,” Brynjar replied, his voice gravelly and coated with a thick Nordic accent. With a grunt, Brynjar stood up and looked over the other three Stormcloaks. An Argonian, Breton, and Altmer, all travelling together might raise suspicions, but none would suspect them of being rebels. It was a silver lining to the Stormcloak’s lack of racial diversity, Brynjar knew, as the majority of rebels were Nords like himself. Brynjar was quite familiar with Argonians, occasionally working with them in the ports of Windhelm to ship out his wares. They were hard workers no doubt, but greatly discriminated against by Nords in the city. Brynjar always made sure to pay them the same wages he would a brother. The Bretons, he admitted he was less familiar with, knowing only a few when he served in the Legion. Brynjar did know that they were greatly inclined towards magic, and this one seemed to be no exception with her robes and staff. The final member of their party, an Altmer, intrigued him the most. Almost no high elves were seen serving the Stormcloaks; their race always stuck to the Thalmor. It would take a great hatred, Brynjar thought, to turn your back on your own kind, and this hatred could serve very well in battle.

“Well, we’d best move on towards Korvanjund, the sooner the better. The Imperial’s spies are everywhere, and it’s best we carry out this mission without any more company,” Brynjar said to the group. “Grab your gear and let’s head out.” With a booted foot, Brynjar kicked a blanket of snow over the bonfire, extinguishing the flame. He grabbed his claymore, from the log he had sat upon, sheathed in its scabbard, and slung it on his back before throwing his fur cloak over his armor. The blacksmith said his goodbyes to Galmar and returned to the group. “Oh, where are my manners?” The Nord scolded himself with a chuckle. “My name’s Brynjar War-Weary, of Windhelm.”

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Okie doke, I made a quick roster of the Stormcloaks just for reference, and I'll be doing the same for the Imperials in a moment. It looks like Gladron got drafted into the Stormcloaks since Galmar makes referance to a high elf, and I couldn't find any other high elves in the bios :P Let me know if I made any mistakes!
Stormcloak Rebels

Yuriah Cariic, by Enalais

Name: Yuriah Cariic
Gender: Female
Race: Breton
Age: 22
Skills: Restoration, Enchantment, Alchemy, Destruction
Class Type: Healer
Equipment: A staff that shoots fire balls, it can also make fire runes if a fireball hits a surface, A elven dagger, Mages Robes enchanted to help her heal
Background: Yuriah was born in high rock, to a family of nobles, at a young age she was taught the inner workings of politics and the court, but at young age she also took an interest in magic, so her family hired her a teacher, who taught her magic, she took to it very quickly and became a great mage for her age, and for once things seemed at peace but that didn't last for long.

At 16 years old she was to be married, despite her protests she was going to be married off to a more higher ranking noble family so her own family could move up on the ladder. But instead of getting married she ran away to Skyrim, where she joined the Mages College of Winterhold there she furthered her studies for a long time, then things got desperate during the civil war, The Stormcloaks were drafting mages for the war effort and Yuriah being a skilled healer, was drafted, for the Stormcloaks and there she fights for them and heals the wounded, hoping this war would just end already.

Appearance: Yuriah has shoulder length fiery red hair, and pale skin, her eyes are sky blue and color, and she has a scar on her right arm from a accident with magic.
Personality: Yuriah is a kind and caring person, even if things seem bad she is always ready to help those in need, despite orders she sometimes even heals imperial forces, she can also be really really talkative sometimes going on long winded talks about magic.

Gladron, by Sylvaky

Name: Gladron
Gender: Male
Race: Altmer
Age: 36
Skills: Conjuration, Archery, One Handed, Sneak
Equipment: Gladron carries nothing in the way of weapons, prefering instead to conjur one in the time of need. Clothing wise, Gladron can always be seen sporting black leather armor with matching cloack. Under the leather he wears black, gold embroidered cotton. Pouches line his waist and are always filled with various potions and poisons as well as keys he has collected from his various jobs.
Biography: Gladron was born and raised in the Summerset Isles. From a young age he was trained in the ways of magic, choosing to persue conjuration unlike his kin who instead focused on destruction. Early in his childhood, the young Altmer was drafted into the Thalmor ranks and climbed the chain of command to become a Thalmor wizard. He was soon sent across the continent to fight those that would not submit to the Aldmeri Dominion and put them down.

Despite Talos being banned as a figure of worship, Gladron was unable to rid the story of Tiber Septim's ascension to godhood. Though he did not believe the story himself, he saw the hope and joy it gave to those that did and wished to preserve their rights to worship whom or whatever they wished, going so far as to defend the rights of daedric worshippers. Gladron left the Thalmor at the age of thirty to travel north to Skyrim. It was in Skyrim where Gladron found his own path. Agreeing with neither side, Stormcloaks or Imperials, Gladron decided to fight for both as an assassin though he loathes being compared to the likes of the Dark Brotherhood.

Two years into his stay in Skyrim, Gladron was stricken with vampirism. Being hated and shunned took a large toll on his psyche and after three years sought a cure. It took nearly half a year to find someone capable of curing him. His quest brought him to Falion in Morthal who, with a black soul gem, was able to cure Gladron.
Appearance:

Personality: Gladron before acquiring vampirisim was an open and generally content man but after being cured he turned in on himself. Years of being a vampire gave him a sense of sadism and all around enjoyment of killing. Catch him at the right time and he can be as friendly as he once was but make any sort of threat, insult, joking or otherwise and be prepared for a fight. Despite all this, Gladron really only longs for someone to call his friend as his isolation has made him feel more than lonely.

Brynjar War-Weary, by Shivershiver

Name: Brynjar War-Weary

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Age: 38

Skills: Smithing, Two-Handed, Heavy Armor, One-Handed

Background: Brynjar comes from a long line of blacksmiths and warriors on both sides of his family. His father, Kotgar, met his mother, Runa, in battle while serving in the Imperial Legion, and the two married shortly after. Runa birthed three children, Brynjar, and his two older sisters, Hiltte and Idra. When Brynjar was 8 years old The Great War began, and his mother, father, and sisters went off to fight the Aldmeri Dominion while he stayed in the rear, helping his uncle forge shields, armor, and weapons for the Imperial soldiers. His parents survived the war, but Hiltte was never seen again, presumed dead or captured. The family returned to Skyrim after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, but the peace was not bound to last. After settling into Markarth, an uprising occurred, and once again Korgar and his family were in battle, but this time led by a Nord by the name of Ulfric Stormcloak. Brynjar, still a young boy, looked up to the man, even forging a sword for the commander. Once the rebellion was quelled, Kotgar and Runa heard word of Hammerfell, who chose to continue resisting the Aldmeri Dominion even after the White-Gold Concordat. Seeking revenge for their daughter, the family migrated to the desert kingdom, along with many other Nords, to fight.

Brynjar, now a young man, got his first taste of battle in the dunes of Alik’r desert, where he discovered his potential as a warrior. The family fought well together, impressing both the Redguards and Nords alike. After five years, the Aldmeri Dominion withdrew from Hammerfell, and Brynjar’s family returned to Skyrim for good. They settled in the city of Windhelm, and here Brynjar mastered his smithing skills under the guidance of his father, while his sister Idra started her own family with a retired soldier. Finally, the family enjoyed peace. Brynjar met a girl, a Nord healer named Faiela, and quickly fell in love with her. When Brynjar was 25, like his father, he signed up to serve in the Imperial Legion, and he left his family to start his career as a warrior, promising to marry Faiela when he returned.

Brynjar served in the Legion for eight years, and while he learned valuable skills as a warrior, even receiving a commanding position, the blacksmith found the experience to be disappointing at best. Instead of plotting to strike back against the Aldmeri Dominion, his time was spent stomping out rebellions across the empire and fighting bandits and mercenaries. His career came to an end in the Morrowind when he sustained severe wounds, including the loss of his left eye, fighting invading Argonians. He returned home to Windhelm to his parents and married Faiela the day he arrived. The two purchased a home in Windhelm and Brynjar continued to work with his father in the forge, and shortly after, Faiela gave birth to a girl, who they named Hiltte. Two years later, Faiela had a boy, and she died giving life to her son. Brynjar was devastated by the loss of his wife, and held on to his children closely in fear of losing them.

Three years later, Brynjar’s mother Runa died and his father retired from the forge, handing it all over to Brynjar. Just as the world around them seemed to settle, the Aldmeri Dominion slowly began creeping into Skyrim, their influence felt even in Windhelm. Their Jarl, Ulfric Stormcloak, killed the High King of Skyrim, Torygg, and rebelled against the Empire. Knowing the cruelty of the Dominion towards Nords, Brynjar immediately pledged his allegiance to Ulfric, believing the only way to secure a safe future for his children would be for Skyrim to completely break free from the Empire, away from the Dominion.

Personality: Looking at his past, it would be expected that Brynjar be a cold, distant man with a hatred for any race other than Nords, but this is quite far from the truth. In his youth, after the death of his sister, Brynjar was an angry soul, which earned him many of the scars he bears today. Now, his anger has dissipated through years of discipline and work, and he is a very level-headed and patient man, traits earned from both his age and experiences as a widowed father. It is quite hard to get a rise out of Brynjar, as he usually brushes off insults with a chuckle and light jab back at the offender. A threat to his family, though, will quickly infuriate him. If a situation should come to blows, Brynjar will never back down, a quality obtained from his parents. Brynjar enjoys his work as a blacksmith much more than being a warrior, preferring to create rather than destroy, but he understands that sometimes, blood must be spilled. When in battle, Brynjar does not fight with reckless abandonlike other Nords seeking to reach Sovengarde, but takes on a more cautious, calculated approach of a seasoned veteran who will do anything to survive. The thought of death alone does not frighten Brynjar, but knowing that in the event of his demise his children would be without parents, and possibly be subjected to the harsh rule of the Aldmeri Dominion frightens him to no end.

Brynjar, while not an extraordinarily social man, can maintain a conversation effortlessly, his warm, soft-spoken nature being quite agreeable, though he likely won’t be the one initiating the chat. He enjoys listening to others more than anything, as he has grown lonely without the presence of his beloved wife, Faiela. Brynjar’s father encourages him to find another wife as he has done, but Brynjar cannot bring himself to abandon Faiela, the love of his life and mother of his children, even after all the years.

Unlike some Nords, Brynjar holds no prejudice against those not of his race and judged individuals based on their interactions with him rather than their reputation. He understands that not all Altmer enjoy torturing innocents, and not all Nords are necessarily his allies. His bloodlust for elves is gone now, and he is weary of war after participating in so many. However, he fights along the Stormcloaks, knowing that Ulfric’s ideals might be the only chance for his children to live a life free from oppression like that which he saw while serving in the Legion.

Equipment: Brynjar wears a set of steel plate armor he crafted himself, with thick black leather clothes beneath. The armor takes on a more Nordic appearance than others, the angles more defined, and several animals are embossed into the metal chestplate, including a snake wrapping around the neck, a dragon on the back, and an eagle soaring on the chest. It is also relatively lighter than other sets, geared more towards more towards mobility than heavy defense, although it still serves this function well. The left pauldron is significantly larger than its counterpart, comprised of a large steel piece resembling a bear's head without the lower jaw, and the gauntlet’s vambraces are shorter than most. Brown fur lines the inside and out of his collar to prevent uncomfortable rubbing. Brynjar does not wear a helmet, as his vision is already impaired with one eye. Unlike most Nords, Brynjar opted not to don the traditional loincloth as he found it impeded his movement. The steel armor is painted with occasional streaks of blue paint, signifying his loyalty to Ulfric Stormcloak. When travelling in colder climates, Brynjar wears a fur cloak over his armor. The blacksmith carries with him a large claymore he created after swearing allegiance to the Stormcloaks. Brynjar smelted down his old Imperial Legion armor and combined the molten steel with quicksilver so the blade retains its edge. Starting at the hilt and extending almost to the blade's tip, Brynjar has carved his history into the blade, similar to the carvings within Nordic burial chambers. There is little space left on the blade for any more carvings. When not in his hands, the claymore is sheathed on his back in a black leather scabbard. Slung at his hip, Brynjar also bears a steel simple shortsword in case he is disarmed, or he finds himself fighting in confined spaces.

Appearance:

Brynjar stands at 6’4, his large frame wrapped with thick, corded muscle from a lifetime of physical labor. A thin layer of fat covers most of his body, giving him an overall sleeker appearance rather than looking as if he were carved from stone, though his muscles are still fairly defined. Brynjar’s hands are rough and callused from wielding both hammer and sword. Much of the flesh on his hands is splashed with burn scars from working his forge. The rest of Brynjar’s body is a roadmap of scars as well, the majority of which were earned in battle. Some are more faded than others, but a few still burn red as if they just recently healed. His face is not unscathed either, with a large scar carving itself from his forehead to cheek. Brynjar’s left eye is completely blinded, existing only as a mass of scar tissue. The blacksmith’s hazel hair is sparsely streaked with grey and falls to his shoulders, though he generally ties it in a bun. Brynjar normally allows a generous amount of facial hair to accumulate on his face as well to guard him from the harsh winter winds of Skyrim.

Kalien, by Mortarion

Name: Kalien
Gender: Male
Race: Argonian
Age: 30
Skills: Heavy Armor, One Handed, Alchemy, Restoration
Equipment: Steel plate armor (customized for his argonian features such as tail and snout), Ebony sword, steel sword and an old Talos amulet
Background: Kalien was born during the beginning years of the war against the Aldmeri Dominion and orphaned the same year, two years later he was adopted by the wife of an Imperial legionary. Despite the times of hardship, Kalien's childhood was relatively happy since his new adoptive mother tried to shield him from the horrors of the war; and when the war ended with the White-Gold Concordat the father he had never known returned home, by this time Kalien was five and after a few months of getting to know his father he was taught the arts of swordplay to complement the lessons his mother had already given him (which revolved around alchemical practices and in the school of restoration).

By the time he was twenty, his father disappeared without leaving a trace, this was most likely because his father was an outspoken supporter of continuing the war against the Dominion and of reinstating the open worship of Talos; after this his mother, disappointed that the empire her husband had fought bravely to protect did nothing, fled to Skyrim with him, trying to get as far away from Cyrodiil and the memories of her lost husband, but shortly after that died when crossing the border. The once again orphaned Kalien roamed the land of Skyrim, the ebony sword that had belonged to his father the only link to his past, until he reached Windhelm and was accepted by the Argonian community there, which in time he adopted as his new family. When the Civil War began he joined the Stormcloack's, seeing it as a chance to allow his fathers dream of restored Talos worship to become possible and to try and improve the lot of the Argonian community of Windhelm.
Appearance:
Personality: Kalien is usually quiet, but tries to be friendly with his comrades in arms and once people get to know him better is quite warm and talkative. As a result of being adopted from a young age, he follows the belief in the Nine Divines with special emphasis on the worship of Talos and Akatosh on account of the preference of his father and mother to both gods respectively. Apart from that, he holds his father and mother in high regard for all that they gave him and holds any items he has left of them very close to his being.

His motive for joining the Stormcloack rebellion is to follow in his fathers desire for the restoration of Talos worship and to try to improve the lot of the Argonian community in Windhelm by showing to the nords the value of the Argonian people.

Imperial Legion

Rosenna Carius, by Cats

Name: Rosenna Carius
Gender: Female
Race: Imperial
Age: 31
Skills: One-handed, Block, Heavy Armor, Alteration
Equipment: Steel Plate Armor, Steel Sword, Amulet of Stendarr, several resist magic potions

Background: Born and raised in a long line of Imperial officers, Rosenna knew from a young age where her place in life was. It was this focus which led her to become such a formidable warrior in only thirty years of life, little more than a blink of the eye in the lives of some races. While other girls learned how to tend the household or the farm, Rosenna practiced the art of war with her father and brothers, day in and day out. Her parents made it clear that she was under no obligation to enlist with the Legion if she felt a different calling in life, but for Rosenna, service in the Legion was a foregone conclusion. She had been born at the close of the Great War, and had been raised under its lingering shadow; she knew that the elves would return to Cyrodiil one day.

Appearance: img=https://frontierskyrim.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/femknight.jpg

Tall for an Imperial, which means maybe of average height among Nords. Short reddish-brown hair, dark eyes; she picked up the tradition of wearing war paint from her time among the Nords of Skyrim, though she still wears less than many Nord warriors would. All obscured by her winged helmet during battle, though.

Personality: Rosenna's loyalty to the Empire is undying, and she does not tolerate those who would act against it. She's not fond of those who would speak ill of it, either, though she will tolerate their presence if necessary. She respects strength, believes in the rule of law, disdains those whose goals are selfish, and identifies with those who live to serve a higher cause of some sort. Despite her hatred of the Dominion, Rosenna harbors no ill will towards the people who live under its rule, understanding that not all members of those races believe in the Dominion's cause.

Alarine Arysden, by baskets

Name: Alareine Arysden
Gender: Female
Race: Bosmer
Age: 34
Class Type: Ranger
Skills: Archery, One Handed, Light Armor, Alchemy

Equipment: Alareine carries twin Elven daggers and a handcrafted bow, with arrows created with just about any material Alareine can get her hands on. She wears sleeveless leather armor, steel greaves, and leather leggings and boots, with the Legion's insignia painted on her chest, shoulders, and boots. Alareine has tied on a cloth hood for simple protection from nature. Finally, she often carries a number of vials in which she puts and potions or poisons she has created.

Biography: The majority of Alareine’s early life in Valenwood was spent in fear and hiding. Her family, wary of the Dominion’s rule and proclaimed belief in “mer over men,” lived far from the cities, moving from place to place within the jungles of Valenwood. This nomadic lifestyle forced Alareine to learn basic wilderness survival skills; by her teenage years she was an incredibly talented hunter. She had mastered the bow and the art of moving quickly and silently.

However, that life could not last. Her family could only remain in hiding for so long; they were ultimately found by Thalmor Justicars when Alareine was 17. Alareine’s parents were arrested on the charge of being Imperial spies, although there was no evidence to support the claim. Alareine was forced to watch as her parents were executed on the spot. She was taken to the Summerset Isles and put into service of the Thalmor. For the next five years, she found herself working in the Imperial City as a servant to the Thalmor ambassador to the Empire.

Her escape was completely spur of the moment. Having worked her way into a trustworthy light with her Thalmor overlords, she had been given a moment alone within the Thalmor embassy. She snuck her way out of the embassy, being forced to kill two Thalmor soldiers on her way out, stealing their weapons. They were her first two kills, and haunted her for months following her escape. She fled to Hammerfell with the help of an underground railroad of sorts in Cyrodiil, seeking shelter from the Thalmor.

She spent two years in Hammerfell before she moved to Skyrim. Comforted by the relatively lesser Thalmor presence but motivated to do something greater with her life, Alareine joined the Imperial Legion in its struggle against the rebellion. She found herself inspired by the Imperials’ nationalism and rallying sense of unity. In between fighting the Stormcloaks, Alareine does what she can to quietly sabotage the growing Thalmor influence in Skyrim in any way she can. Although she often gets away with her actions, she has been caught in a number of instances by her superiors. No serious action has been taken against her, but Alareine has faced minor reprimands for her dirty work.

Personality: Alareine is incredibly compassionate. She is constantly looking for some kind of companionship to fill the void left by the loss of her family. Most of her life has been spent in some form of isolation; as such, Alareine lacks noticeably in social skills and conventions. However, while Alareine is awkward and uncomfortable socially, she shows a great affection and empathy with those close to her. Due to her social inability, Alareine is a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.

However, behind all her compassion is her hatred of the Thalmor. Fighting the Thalmor will almost always take precedence for Alareine, as nothing else motivates her more than avenging her family. Often, her hatred of the Thalmor blinds her rational thinking and causes her to be reckless and overly aggressive, and it typically gets in the way of her job in the Legion.

Arnand, by Golem

Name: Arnand

Gender: Male

Race: Breton

Age: 25

Skills: Arnand is skilled with both sword, spear and shield. He is also used to wearing his heavy armor.

Equipment: Sword, spear, shield, chainmail haubergon, chain hood, open helmet with noseguard, clothes.

Background: As one of the middle children of a noble family, Arnand never had a shot at inheriting his parents fortune and had to carve a living for himself. The mercenary life came easy to him, mainly because of the sparring lessons he'd recieved as a young man in his parents hold. He's been cutting his way through Tamriel his entire life, living off of other peoples conflicts and wars. He was even the head of a crew of thieves and bandits for a while, until he got bored with it and moved on. The current conflict in Skyrim is just his cup of tea, and so he's come to offer his services to the Legion (since he dislikes the Nords and always go for the winning side).

Appearance:

Personality: Easy-going but arrogant. Arnand doesn't take anything but his own life seriously and can be quite irritating at times, although you'd have to search far and wide for a better drinking partner. His goal in life is to get rich and famous, and he lives for the glory of the battlefield and reveling in wine and goos food.

Ukaraz Pehrcalees, by Javier

Name: Ukaraz Pehrcalees

Gender: Male

Race: Argonian

Age: 21

Skills: Destruction, Restoration, Alteration, Conjuration

General Equipment: Mage robes with the Magicka Regenerates 75% faster, 10 potions of Health (restore 75 points of health).

Background: Ukaraz was born in a southern area of Black Marsh where he was raised by his family as a warrior, however, when he was 7, his family died in while out in the woods by an unknown cause, leaving Ukaraz alone to fend off for himself in Black Marsh. All that was over when a mage took a trip to the outskirts of Black Marsh to study the unforgiving land, one day during his trip, he found Ukaraz all alone near the coast. The mage approached him and gave him some food as he saw that the little Argonian looked rather weakened. The mage took him to his camp and gave him a home so he could get better.

After Ukaraz was well, he woke up, cofused as to where he was, when he saw the mage he became afraid, but the mage quickly assured him that he wasn't his enemy and that he was a friend. When Ukaraz got up, the mage began asking him questions about his life, about Black Marsh, about pretty much everything. When the mage's trip was over, he was about to leave until Ukaraz showed up and asked him to take him back to the mage's home as he had no family. The mage agreed and took him to Skyrim, where he enrolled Ukaraz in the College of Winterhold so he may master the arcane arts. After he graduated, Ukaraz went to Cyrodiil to join the Mage's Guild there. He is now returning to Skyrim as he was asked to help the Legion by a member of the Mages Guild in Cyrodiil.

Personality: Ukaraz is very reserved and doesn't like to spend time around other people. He is very serious about his duties in the Mage's Guild. Since he was saved from certain death in Black Marsh by that mysterious mage, he is very keen on helping people and will not hesitate to provide food or shelter for those in need of it, He is also very devoted to the arcane arts and considers himself a master wizard, which leads to him being very arrogant and unpleasant to be around but deep down, he is a good person.

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

@Mortarion: Ah, understood, either would work really!

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

@baskets: Exactly! The game world is roughly 14.8 square miles, while elder scrolls wiki tells me its actually 105,500 square miles. Not even Forest Gump could cover that in a day.

@Cats:Huzzah! Our only limit is our iiiimmaaaaginationnn.

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Perhaps all of our characters could meet in Whiterun? To me, it seems like a neutral town where Stormcloaks and Imperials could meet without slashing eachother's throats to bits. Also, another thing; would it be possible to increase the size of the landscape, cities, and population of Skyrim in our RP? The epic battles, like in the Battle of Whiterun, didn't really do much for me in game since it was basically 20 on 20 :P I'd like to see something massive, like whole armies meeting in the city's surrounding fields and fighting for days. The cities, too, could be a little larger, just so we all aren't lined up at the one blacksmith in town to sharpen our swords. That, and make the world a little bigger so your character can't run from city to city in half a day. Just a suggestion!

The Elder Scrolls V: Cycle of War

Woo! Also, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think I've seen a character from you. Did I miss it, or have you just not posted one?