[Thema]

The Gray Blood Company

Mission Two: Haven

RP Thread

Still accepting new players, but space is limited.

"It was at that moment I realized I needed to make my escape. No matter what - even if I died in the attempt - I had to slip the grasp of my captors. Better that than rot in some godsforsaken Thalmor jail until the end of time."

Flight from the Thalmor

Hadrik Oaken-Heart

Plot:

It is the 174th year of the Fourth Era. The Aldmeri Dominion, comprised of the former provinces of Valenwood, Elsweyr, and the Summerset Isles, has been at war with the fractured remnants of the Empire for three long years. The Thalmor, leaders of the Dominion, seem set on nothing less than the conquest of all of Tamriel. The main elven army, led by Lord Naarifen, has struck north from Elsweyr, and is now advancing on the Imperial City itself. The embodiment of ruthless ambition, Naarifen has ordered anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the army's path to be taken captive, to prevent advance warning from reaching the emperor. Focused on his goal, so close at hand, the Thalmor general had left his prisoners lightly guarded. A fact he has come to deeply regret.

Two nights before the siege was fated to begin, the alarm went up in one of Lord Naarifen's camps. The soldiers had set up for the night outside the remains of Fort Homestead, on the southern shore of the Rumare. The prisoners they had gathered along the way were forced into the crumbling ruins of the fort's yard, and at the blackest hour of the night they began their desparate plan for escape. The small but hardy crew managed to break free of their shackles and fight their way through the interior of the fort, killing almost two dozen Aldmeri soldiers in the process. After a bloody battle in the depths of the fort, the prisoners, led by a disgraced Bosmer commander, found a secret exit that led right onto the Rumare.

From there the prisoners made a reckless dash for freedom, skirmishing with several Thalmor patrols during their flight, and taking a few of their enemies captive. Many of their number were killed or wounded in the effort, but the prisoners had no time to grieve. After what felt like days running under the fading moonlight, the group stumbled across an Imperial patrol, just south of Weye. The captain of the patrol at first thought them Aldmeri spies, and was ready to give the order to attack when the prisoners managed to convince him of the truth. After that they were led, carefully watched but unharmed, to the first steps of the Imperial Bridge. Finally, bloodied and exhausted but alive, the prisoners had found their freedom.

And yet, with the Thalmor army approaching fast, none knew how long that newfound freedom would last. Now it is up to them to convince the emperor himself of his impending doom, and hope Titus Mede II will contrive a plan to save not only them, but the whole of the Empire.


"The Emperor's decision to fight his way out of the city rather than make a last stand was a bold one. No general dared advise him to abandon the capital, but Titus II was proven right in the end."

The Great War

By Justianus Quintius

The Scenario:

After their escape from the Thalmor, the prisoners have finally found their way to the Imperial City. Their task is not done yet, however; their freedom means nothing while their elven captors still live. Now, with the lives of an entire city in the balance, they must find a way to speak with the emperor himself, to inform him of the armies camped at his doorstep. The captain of the Imperial patrol that escorted them to the city at first laughed at their request, but the grave old Bosmer at their head soon convinced him otherwise. Now they are being led to a spare barracks, to rest until the emperor agrees to see them. In the meantime, the captain said, they are free to visit one of the city's many taverns or baths, and relax after their harrowing escape.

The rest of the Imperial City are always wary of a Thalmor attack, but as of yet have not heard of the current invasion. Rumors abound, of course, but for the most part the city is ignorant of their approaching doom . Some, however, may be more informed- or just more paranoid- and are already looking for a way out. For them, the bloodied band of prisoners may just mean their escape as well.


Rules:

Standard roleplaying rules apply, of course. If it breaks the forum rules, it is not allowed. Other than that just use common sense; no ubering, no character control, no all knowing characters. If Jonas or I tell you something, you'd be wise to listen, because we do reserve the right to kick you out of the RP. If you want to drop out, just tell me, and we'll do something about your character. If you leave without telling anyone, and don't return soon, your character will be killed, sorry. Anything other than that is fine, within reason. If you have a crazy idea that you're not sure about going through with, run it by one of us first. And remember the number one rule: have fun!

[Steven Hardman]

Character Sheets: (15)

Darkom - Faendal

Spoiler

Name: Faendal
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Male
Age: 116 (Appears mid sixties)
Sign: The Serpent
Home Country: Valenwood - Bal Fall

Faction and Rank: Ex-Sergeant of the Aldmeri Dominion
Faction Description: The Dominion war machine is one of the most dangerous and efficient bureaucracies Tamriel has ever seen. Even the Legion cannot match its discipline and order. As such, to be put in command of one of its elite advance squadrons is an honor indeed, reserved only for the most skilled, commanding soldiers. With that discipline, however, comes harsh punishments; the Thalmor have little time for mercy, or fair trials.

Class: Thalmor Scout
Class Description: Faendal served as commander of one of the most infamous Aldmeri squadrons. They called themselves the Fury of Y'ffre, and they were notorious for their efficiency in killing Imperials. The Thalmor would send them out, in front of the main army, to silently kill any sentries, then launch surprise attacks on enemy camps. As Faendal and his elves assassinated generals and dismantled fortifications, the main Aldmeri forces would march in, slaughtering the confused soldiers in vicious ambushes.
Skills: Growing up a warrior-hunter in Valenwood, Faendal's hands rarely left his bow. Even among his village, renowned for their archers, he was considered one of the best. Along with his bowmanship, Faendal was a skilled hunter, tracking large game for weeks before finally taking it down. Since his recruitment into the Thalmor army, he has grown from a warrior to a true soldier, and from there into a very capable leader.

Appearance: Faendal is a soldier. He cares little for his looks, other than what he needs to intimidate his men and terrify his enemies. As such, few would consider his tough, scarred visage the least bit attractive. It is, however, the face of a warrior, and fewer still can feel entirely safe when the Bosmer is around.
Hair: The Bosmer keeps his dark hair long, pushed back from his face, falling nearly to his shoulders. The black tresses are so dirty and matted, however, there is little chance of it interfering in a fight. There are usually bits of leaves and twigs sticking from it at odd angles, like the mane of some dark beast.
Eyes: Faendal's eyes are hard, and so dark a brown that they appear black.
Build: Bosmer are naturally short of stature, and Faendal is no exception, but despite his height the elf maintains an intimidating, muscular posture. His whole body is made of hard, sharp lines, his skin rough to the touch. He is a warrior- a survivor- and his physique is a testament to that fact.

Personality: To be revealed (Aka, I'm lazy)

Weapons: During his time serving under the Aldmeri, Faendal used a traditional Bosmeri horn bow, along with bone arrows, in accordance with the Green Pact. He also had several bone or tusk daggers that he kept on his person. Upon his expulsion from the Thalmor army and subsequent incarceration, all of his weapons were taken from him.
Clothing: When on duty, Faendal wore tight fitting leather and hide armor, specially fitted for silence and ease of movement. This too was taken from him, however, and he was left with a few thin hides woven into makeshift trousers that barely reach his knees. His guards, both Altmer, threw a woven shirt at him once. After dodging the garment, Faendal proceeded to grab the nearest one by the wrist and claw at his face. Since then no one has questioned his choice of attire.
Miscellaneous: The old soldier was allowed to keep his leather bracelet, intricately cut in the shape of the sigil of Y'ffre, patron diety of the Bosmer. Other than that he was not allowed any possessions.

Magic: None, other than his racial ability to commune with animals.

History: To be revealed.

Motivation for Joining: He desires his freedom over all else, and a chance to take his revenge on the Thalmor that stripped him of his rank and put him in chains.

Antlive - Ermac

Spoiler

Name: Ermac [Saraam Ko'Daas]
Race: Orsimer
Gender: Male
Age: 46
Class: Battlemage
Birthsign: The Ritual
Skills: One-Handed Blunt/Sharp, Two-Handed, Staff, Illusion, Reincarnation, Alteration (usually holds a war axe in one hand with a staff in the other)

Appearance: Old black beard with a thick streak of gray. He has what's left of his faded hairline pulled back into a slick ponytail. Hi eyes are slightly red, frm his weariness, his anger, or his natural pigment no one knows Walks with a slight limp.

Armor (pre-capture): He dons sleveless mages robes with Gauntlets, Spaulders, and boots made of Steel
Weapons (pre-capture): Dwarven Axe, Solid Silver Staff of Rite
Items (pre-capture): Knapsack parchment detailing all of Skyrim with names of cities as well as holds, Scroll of Fortify Magicka, Sigil Stone, 2 Health Solutions

Personality: Usually with his own kind, Ermac kept to the mountains of western Morrowind, often traveling to the smaller settlements in the bordering Cyrdill, which gave him a curt, but patet regard for the Imperial and Breton merchants he often dealt with in the black market. He is a man of words, often using them with cunning and wit, geting him out of and in some cases into situations a he pleased.

Strengths: Smarter than most Orcs, affinity for magic, dangerous close range skills

Weaknesses: His age has robbed him of his edge in combat, as he is now slower and less prone to rage, as well as the de-habilitating arrow to the knee.

Bio: To be very soon completed.

Sibera - Karzon

Spoiler

Name: Karzon
Race: Khajiit – Cathay-Raht
Gender: Male
Age: 32
Sign: Serpant
Home Country: Elsweyr

Faction and Rank: Shadowfang Resistance Cell; Captain
Faction Description: Khajiit who are opposed to the Aldmeri Dominions rule and lordship over Elsweyr and despise the split of the country. Shadowfangs specifically hunt down anyone or anything that comes from the Dominion, burning their caravans, kidnapping officials and performing all kinds of other activities to thwart the Dominion, even taking more extreme activities as well.

Class: Assassin
Major Skills: Blade, Security, Light Armour, Sneak, Marksman, Parkour
Minor Skills: Acrobatics, Illusion, Speech, Alchemy
Appearance: For a Khajiit, Karzon is fairly odd with slate grey fur colouration and white underside, though plain at first sight if one were to look closer they’d see feint stripes amongst the fur. He has a tiger tattoo on the side of his neck marking him as a member of the Terrorfang Resistance Cell in Elsweyr.
Hair: Long mane, Grey
Eyes: Deep Green
Build: Muscled, toned like a Monk.

Personality: Karzon can be described as having a very cold front to him, He treats most elves with disdain, especially Altmer who he thinks are nothing more than glorified Slavers or murderers. Not one to make friends easily as he sports a darker and somewhat dirty sense of humor, Karzon enjoys indulging in Vices of all sorts from drugs, alcohol, women… anything that takes his fancy.

Weapons: Ebony Dagger, Silver Shortsword, Elven Longbow with a quiver of 20 arrows and 12 Arrows of penetration
Clothing: Leather armour under a black robe and hood, fitted to conform to his body for maximum movement. He wears a prized gold amulet with a small emblem of his family on it with a small flawless Diamond in the middle.
Miscellaneous: Rope, Food, Gold Coins, Skooma Pipe and Moon Sugar

Magic: Chameleon, Light, Charm, Demoralize, Paralysis

History: Karzon was born into a wealthy family in Senchal, both parents owners of a very well to-do shipping company who shipped primarily arms and armour amongst other supplies. He was in a large family, many siblings and being the youngest made both a target and the one to be protected the most. His oldest brother he stuck to like glue, the pair being very hard to separate. They grew up well enough, Karzon getting into trouble from stealing things and hiding them elsewhere for kicks. When they got older the Dominion had come, his brother joined the resistance when they took control. Disliking the way Elsweyr had bent to the will of elves. Beings who enslaved them for whatever reasons they desired and so Karzon joined as well, despite their parents not liking it but supporting them anyway with small shipments of weapons and armour.

Karzon’s brother rose in rank very quickly, followed by Karzon and soon the pair worked well within raid groups targeting Altmer shipments in the ports though Karzon began targeting high up officials when the opportunity presented itself which resulted his induction into the Shadowfang cell, a well organized group who’s aim was to specifically assassinate targets of opportunity as best they could to weaken the altmer and their supporters. They rose in infamy as being the best assassins in the Resistance and the most hated from the Aldmeri, they even formed a force to try and wipe them out with little success. Those whom the dark brotherhood approached rarely accepted the offer, putting their own country above that of some cult of assassins.

Werewolf & Vampire - Lycus the Hunter

Spoiler

Name: Lycus Castius Desselius. Nicknamed "Lycus The Hunter."
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Race: Imperial

Skills: Hand to Hand, Spear, Blade and Blunt as well as archery. No proficient skills in magic. Lycus has much skill in playing the drums and the lute.

http://oi42.tinypic.com/25eusy0.jpgLycus stood 1.82 meters tall. As his father Kraven, Lycus had brown colored skin and hazel eyes as well as the muscular build and the long black hair. However, he is much thinner than his father. His lips and eyes were full and lively, often capturing the attention of some women.

Despite his strong build and status as a warrior, Lycus was subtle when it came to being a hunter and often relied on his guile as on muscle and skill in melee in contrast of his sister’s speed. Unlike his father who spoke with gravelly voice which was raspy, Lycus had more of a simple and low voice, as if he was sad and with low self esteem. Such displays of sadness was often seen in his facial expressions as well.

Weapons: Lycus carries with him a silver spear and an axe. The spear had ancient inscriptions along the body and the edge as well, a weapon that was passed onto him by his father. His axe was also in remembrance of his mother, who was skilled in the use. Among these things, he also has a sharp hunting combat knife which he holds close.
http://oi42.tinypic.com/i4l7oy.jpg He is usually garbed with his own armor made of fur. The armor covered his waist and thighs and was very durable. When in warmer climates such as Cyrodiil and some environments in Skyrim, he walks freely sans shirt. Most of the time, however, he is armored with silver or steel with a insignia on the shoulders.
Other Items: A number of books; Lycanthropic Legends of Skyrim, On Lycanthropy, and Physicality of werewolves. Other books such as the Totems of Hircine and “Kraven’s Journal.” Items such as food and potions he can salvage from animals and abandoned forts. As for jewelry, Lycus carries an ancient wolf amulet. He also has a lute in his possession.

Personality: Lycus is instinctive and knowledgeable. He is distrustful of new people, but he is known to have a softer side when it came to the people he knows and cares about. Lycus had an honorable code which was passed onto to him by his father. Much of his life as a warrior was done under these guidelines. These moral codes would shape his life as a Bounty Hunter and a man of respect. Lycus was more of a lone wolf who usually kept to himself, this was due to his mother’s fate and his father’s destiny years prior to his maturity in his condition.
He also adopted traits from his mother when he became a Bounty Hunter to honor her name. He took on fugitives and criminals in which he could bring down with brutal justice and merciless honor. He paid close attention to his situations and always double-checked his surroundings. Even so, he is not enamored about the business in Bounty Hunting as Illana.

The fate of his mother inspired within him a deeply rooted animosity against the Vigilantes of Stendarr and the Silver Hand. The events after his mother’s death that molded and shaped his future and also scarred his life. This resulted in him honoring and glorifying his parents whenever he could in his actions and at times, his speech. He also had a special love for his sister, whom he obsessively tries to protect.

History: Born to a relatively wealthy family of warriors and hunters of an ancient bloodline, Lycus grew up alongside his younger sister, Illana, in the Darksky manor near the Great Forest. From a young age, he learned how to hunt and fight as a warrior from both of his parents skilled in such use. His father was a former slave gladiator which was famous in Hammerfell and in Cyrodiil for his title as Champion. His mother was a huntress and a infamous Bounty Hunter who retired after she bore offspring.

His childhood was one of peace and tranquility. Growing up, he was well-educated in various topics of family history and worldly affairs; Politics, hunting, ancient legends and etc. Even though he has studied the field of politics to an extent, he never cared to get involved with it as guidance from his parents. Even with his wealth, he was humble to other who had less than him. His relationship with his sister was superbly positive, aside from the small sibling issues they faced. At the age of twelve, he learned how to use a real sword after years of practicing with the wooden sword. He was taught how to hunt by his mother and father, and was schooled in the ways of a warrior. His later life as a mercenary would be ultimately his to choose.

Following the fate of his parents, Lycus inherited the family manor and belongings. He also claimed much territory within the Great Forest. He was also given direction to look over his younger sister by a year. The two began to expand their ideas on how to preserve the family bloodline. Both became bounty hunters in honor of Vera, and in hopes to be as successful as the huntress herself when she lived. The two often hunted for targets around the province and left the manor in the care of bodyguards and loyal servants. Lycus had mind to transport the family belongings to Skyrim and begin anew while preserving the legacy, a direct contrast to his sister’s wishes.

Werewolf & Vampire - Illana

Spoiler

Name: Illana Desselius
Race: Imperial
Gender: Female
Age: 23
Home Country: Cyrodiil
Faction and Rank: Freelance Bounty Hunter and mercenary.

Class: Bounty Hunter, Huntress.
Class Description: Works for anyone who pays well. Often hunts for food and is very resourceful, able to make almost any environment a temporary home. Also a worshiper of Hircine. She was crafty and efficient, having a keen sense of guile imbued in her own manner of pursing her career.
http://oi40.tinypic.com/15558yg.jpg Illana was a professional. Due to her condition, she was stronger in her physical power, but she was more inclined to rely on speed and guile to take down bounties and her enemies. She is proficient in archery and a great fighter when it came to brawling and hand to hand, able to take down even her own brother in playful combat. She trained in the art of the sword by her father and is also as skilled as Lycus.

http://oi40.tinypic.com/zinewh.jpg Having dirty blond hair and amber colored eyes, Illana looked very close to her mother, Vera. Although despite the similarities, she was less muscular and more lithe, bearing more distinguishing birthmarks on her arms and shoulder areas. She often has a sarcastic or a grinning malice to her facial expression.
Hair: Dirty blonde hair which falls to her shoulders.
Eyes: Amber and golden.
Build: Strong and also lithe, maintained by a healthy lifestyle of running and pursing.

Personality: During her youth, she was often hostile and aggressive to the point where she was often kept away from other people. Growing up, she was more tied to her mother, Vera, and thus was more inclined to mirror some of her mother’s ways as oppose to her brother’s ties to his father. She was confident and displayed a dry sarcastic wit about her. Unlike her mother, she understood the sad nature of tragedy and often sought to understand her families unfortunate history. She was also determined in her line of mercenary work and saw it as the only way of life. She was very decisive yet grim and uncaring most of the time. The death of her mother softened and yet hardened her personality. She respected those who had similar backgrounds as her, yet she understood the value of fighting her own battles and casting away pity in dangerous times. Her perspective on life is considered harsh and unforgiving by most, she values strength and knows each day could prove to be her last. This particular trait also hardened her.

When becoming a huntress of bounties, she filled and occupied the position her mother left behind as a Bounty Hunter. She shared the same traits as well; cold, calculating, and merciless when it came to tracking down criminals and fugitives of the law. She was less worried about the morality of her work than her brother, Lycus. She regarded coin and drakes as a matter of importance. Even so, she wasn’t hesitant to demand more payment when the opportunity allowed. Illana also was very dedicated to her career if the pay was good. She took on jobs that were considered to be very perilous, costly and nearly impossible to complete. The thirst for life and glory stemmed from her desire to eclipse her mother’s legacy as the infamous Bounty Hunter and to further improve the Desselius and Darksky legacy.

Weapons: Illana carries with her a elven bow and silver arrows, as well as her mother’s old hunting combat knife. She is skilled in the use of the blade and the axe, but she usually salvages what she can from her defeated foes.

Clothing: Illana uses light armor, donning the item as one of the inheritance left behind by her mother; Her steel and silver armor, properly built to sustain some damage sans degrading. The two black shoulder pads on each of her shoulder bearing an ancient and ritualistic tribal symbol. Her gauntlets bore sharp spiked edges on tip to give a painful punch that could result in death and they carefully covered her hands and fingers. The knee-pads could carry poison and paralyses darts while her custom-made boots could conceal her sharp and efficient hunting dagger. Her entire gear could cover her body, the only exception was the sleeves which could be modified and removed from the overall gear if she desired. In cold areas, she could easily cover her arms, but in climates such as Morrowind, her elbows and arms were uncovered. Her liner shirt beneath the armor was made of thin ceramic plating to protect from intense heat and cold. On her hips, she had a leather utility belt that usually had a number of leather pouches. But to add to her fearsome armor was her helmet. A large metal piece which could withstand brutal punishment. It served to conceal her identity in several high-risk missions when dealing with drug-lords and other types of dangers. The helm complete covered her head and face, only her eyes could be seen from them in small visors. It was the ultimate armor and one of her favorite items in her equipment of Bounty Hunting trade.

When in her comfortable gear, she wears metal pauldrons on her shoulders and has a huntsman’s vest that is more like a metal bra of sorts. For pants she wears leather pants or huntsman’s pants depending on her mood and the climate.

Miscellaneous: Poison of paralysis, various jerky for snack. Family amulet which hangs on her neck. A few other books and a flute.

Magic: Only healing abilities applied to herself.

History: Illana was born into a family of wealthy hunters living near the border of the Great Forest. In a secluded home, she was raised and taught in the ways of the hunter and the ways of the fighter by her mother and father, who also taught more mundane things such as speaking properly and living responsibly. Growing up, Illana was known to be hostile and aggressive toward her brother and even animals, causing the parents to be more cautious about her. This “negative’ traits was taken advantage of by her father, who took her into the forest to hunt and to practice more with her archery. At the age of eleven, she killed her first bear with her wooden bow.

Thrilled with the hunt, she obsessively went into the forest day upon day to hunt, and eventually learned the territory around her home like the back of her hand. It wasn’t until one day when her mother died when she was sixteen years of age that she truly began to spiral down into insanity, even with the wise council of her understanding, yet distraught father. Eventually, her father died and she was left to take care of the family name with her brother, Lycus. Both grew even more attached to each other and agreed to try and live up to their parent’s name. Illana began to live under the family guidelines and began to start her own career in becoming a Bounty Hunter.

Illana started in Bravil and the lowest areas of Cyrodiil, eventually growing in name among the criminals in the area. Although she was more hated than feared. For the past years she continued to attempt to keep the territory her mother purchased and live a peaceful life with what was left of her family. It wasn’t long before her professionalism began to blossom with her work that the Thalmor invaded Cyrodiil. She was taken prisoner while doing a job in Bravil after she took a bounty to her employer.

Motivation for Joining: To live up to the family name and to eclipse her mother in the Bounty Hunting trade by becoming famous and becoming the best at her career. Sees the Thalmor as the end of her lifestyle.

Jonas Vault - Fithvael

Spoiler

Name: Fithvael (Fith-vul) Hlaalu-Rikkavaanskyr
Race: Nord Bosmer-Dunmer (on his mother's side)
Gender: Male
Age: 126
Sign: The Steed
Home Country: Skyrim

Faction and Rank: The Gallowglass, Galloglaich of Arvaanskyr

Faction Description- The Gallowglass are a small sect of warriors that protect Arvaanskyr, a haven deep in the Velothi Mountains that belongs to both elves and Nords. It was founded by Fithvael's great-grandsires, a tribe from Valenwood, a tribe from Vvardenfell, and a clan of Skyrim. They fought the Falmer guarding the great Dwemer ruins and claimed it as their home. They founded an order of sentinels who would guard the newly named Arvaanskyr.

They wielded longswords, capable of being used both with one or two hands, it was a Gallowglass. This is what the order was named. For generations, the kin of the these great families protected its walls. Occasionally, they would go to Valenwood and seek anyone wanting to join them, as they were also a partial mercenary order.

Class: Gallowglass
Class Description: A warrior wielding the Gallowglass, a bastard sword. As a mercenary, when not defending Arvaanskyr, the Gallowglass learns to use his bastard sword, spear, bow, as well as training in medium armor. Usually a thick boiled-leather cuirass with steel plates, and a scale hauberk and padding underneath.

Skills: One/Two-Handed, Spear, Medium Armor, Marksman, Tracking, Ilusion

Appearance: Fithvael is of average height, around 6'1", but perhaps taller than other Bosmer. He has a rather athletic build, accented by his Nordic and Bosmeri tattoos. His face is somewhat gaunt, very hawk-like, with a blue hand-print on his face. A mark of his Bosmer Tribe. The Moon-and-Star is tattooed on the left side of his neck, with the Old Nordic rune of his Nord kin tattooed on the right side.

Hair: His hair is stark white, worn in a Mohawk style. He also sports a long goatee tied in a warriors-knot.
Eyes: Reddish-Orange
Build: Very Toned and Athletic

Personality: Fithvael is a hardened old mer, but not without compassion. He shows kindness should it be needed, and toughness when it too is needed. He is a fierce friend as well as a fierce enemy.

Weapons: A simple bastard sword, sporting a Bosmeri blade with leaf, vine, and elvish filigree. The guard, hilt, and pommel all being of Nordic work. 4' blade, 1' from guard to pommel. 5 ft total. Named
Astherion

Clothing: A simple cotton shirt, thick padded baldric, leather vambraces, black cloth pants and boots. Also wears a green cloak with hood.
Armor (worn over clothing): A hauberk of thick, polished bronze scale and ring mail. The hauberk extends to elbows, and down to the knees. Polished bronze greaves. At last, he wears an open face helmet with oval Bosmeri style cheek-guards, and Nordic style lobster-tail neck-guard.
Miscellaneous: Flask of sujamma, bottle of mead, bola of water, jerky, bread, journal w/quill and ink, pipe, tobacco, matches.

Magic: Detect Life, a few Destruction spells.

History: Fithvael was raised in a secluded life, being born of the people of Arvaanskyr. A refuge where Man and Mer lived in harmony. His mother was a half-dunmer Bosmer, shunned by her family and exiled. When Fithvael's father, Rorke, fell in love, he too was disowned. One day, an old Dunmer asked them to follow him into the Velothi mountains, bearing claim that he was grandfather of Fithvael's mother. With the promise of a home, they went. This home was the true birthplace of Fithvael, Arvaanskyr.

He was taught many things, in the ways to balance, hone, and be at harmony; mind, body, and soul. Not only these philosophies, but far more practical things as well, the ways of a warrior. The Way of the Galloglaiche. For years, he lived in this secluded paradise of knowledge and understanding. When he became 42, he was inducted as Gallowglass of Arvaanskyr, a protector to all races, oppressor of none, and defender of those who could not defend themselves.

But with this noble cause, Fithvael and his order were hired at times, though if it involved the killing of an innocent, the contract would be reversed. The man who hired was to be killed, and his money given to the innocent who was wished dead, the Gallowglaiche taking a small cut of their own. Most of the time, it was bandits and terrible creatures they were hired out for. But when the Aldmeri Dominion arose, the Galloglaiche taught and led guerrilla war parties in Valenwood and Elsweyr.

Reason For Joining: Fithvael was captured in Valenwood, in Riverhold. He was overwhelmed when they found he held a sword. Fithvael has always hated the Thalmor, but now he really [censored] hated them. The Thalmor bastard, Aulrindel, now keeps Fithvael's sword on his person. But now he has it back!

Polish Gamer - Tyranus

Spoiler

Name: Tyranus Florentius
Race: Imperial (Colovian)
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Sign: The Lord
Home Country: Cyrodiil
Faction and Rank: Civilian, Citizen of the Empire

Class: Farmer
Class Description: Up until his capture, Ty had been working as a farmer on his family’s farm outside Chorrol. Colovia is good hunting country, and so Ty has been taught how to use a bow, and his become quite the shot despite his dislike for hunting. His father, an ex-legion solider, taught him some tricks with a bow, as well as teaching him to use a shield and sword combo. Ty is comfortable using the light armor of hunters, which he would be much more familiar with than heavy armor, despite his desire to use it. Learning to hunt has also helped him to move unseen and unheard, avoiding detection with relative ease. As with many Imperials, Tyranus is gifted with a silver tongue, and can be very persuasive. He’s also screwed around with a lock or two, but isn’t much of an expert.
Skills: One-handed (Blade), Block, Archery, Sneak, Light Armor, Speech, Lockpick

Appearance: Ty is pretty average in size, he stands at just under six feet and weighs in a bit under 180 lbs. His satin blond hair falls just above his straight brow, covering his ears and extending to the nape of his neck. He keeps it above his collar, although sometimes it finds its way there before he can get it cut. It’s typically swept away to the left, however a few gaps allow his forehead to show through. His eyes are a sharp gray-blue color, but very friendly, seemingly on the edge of a laugh most of the time. He has a wide smile which lights up his face, as well as his eyes. His nose curves downwards, although its rounded shape makes it only noticeable when viewed from the side. Ty has a cleft chin, a bit more heroic looking than most. Ty doesn’t have an abundance of muscle, although he isn’t lacking either. Farming has made him broad shouldered, and discreet muscle lines his entire body. He carries himself with a strong set to his shoulders, indicative of his confidence.
Hair: Blond
Eyes: Gray-blue
Build: Average

Personality: Tyranus is quite intelligent, however he doesn’t lord it over people; rather he refers to it when needed. His intelligence, along with his insubordinate nature, allow for a quick wit, which is often littered in most of what he says. Ty is very outgoing, and he talks A LOT. Whether it be a smart-aleck comment or just an observance, he rarely stays silent for long. He loves to laugh, and is often heard telling jokes and stories to his friends. Ty doesn’t have much of a temper, however he tends to get highly frustrated every once in a while, and is extremely strong willed and stubborn at times. That strong will leads to him being fearless with his words, not caring who he is talking to if something needs to be said, or if he plain just wants to. Good-natured through and through, he is always up to helping someone in need, although he maintains a very care-free way of thinking. He was raised to believe in the Nine, but he doesn’t force his own beliefs on anyone else, and he doesn’t necessarily agree with everything the religion dictates.

Weapons: Ty is equiped with a steel sword and an elven shield, as well as a hunting bow and elven arrows. He also has an elven dagger, which he keeps hidden on his person.
Clothing: Ty is wearing his leather armor, boots, and bracers he recovered from the Thalmor. He is also wearing the black cloth shirt and pants he wears with that armor.
Miscellaneous: Ty wears a silver chain around his neck and a nondescript ribbon on his left wrist.

Magic: Tyranus knows a charm spell, and a healing spell. That is about all he knows about magic, and he doesn’t use either of them often, although he has picked up a tip or two from reading books.

History: Tyranus was born in Chorrol to a farmer and his wife, a teacher at the Chapel. He grew up on his family’s farm, learning how to tend to the animals and the crops from an early age. He was always a quick learner, and he took quickly to the school lessons at the Chapel during the week. His father taught him how to use a bow, which Ty enjoyed immensely. He also enjoyed sword fighting, having lessons in melee fighting from his father from an early age. However, Ty didn’t take as well to hunting. Although he enjoyed dressing up in armor and sneaking around the woods, he didn’t like killing animals. To this day Ty only hunts what he absolutely needs.

Ty developed his disobedient streak early in his teens, questioning authority and even his religion very early. He was raised to believe in the Nine, and he does, however he doesn’t blindly follow everything it states. However Ty was painfully aware that he knew very little about the world, despite his attempts, and he considered his own objections somewhat unfounded. He wanted to see more than just Chorrol, Ty wanted to become worldly, so that his questions might hold some weight.

As he grew older, Tyranus developed a desire to join the Legion, go out and experience the world. However, he fell for a girl, which soon put a kibash on that. He contented himself with the thought of exploring Cyrodiil, and at least knowing his own province. One day, after some preparation. Ty told his family (and his girl) that he would go off to explore for a while, and that he didn’t know when he would be back. His family assumed he wouldn’t be long, but the girl he loved knew him better, and feared for him with the war going on. However Ty would not be swayed, and he set out on his journey, towards Anvil. He happened across the invading Thalmor, and after a day or so of evading them throughout the countryside, Tyranus was captured.

After a successful escape attempt, Ty managed to make it to the Imperial City with some of his fellow escapees. They are now attempting to warn the Emperor of the impeding Thalmor invasion, but have stopped in the Feed Bag, a tavern in the city.

Motivation for Joining: Survival mostly, however his need for adventure is a sizable factor as well.

The Ascended Sleeper - Varth

Spoiler

Name: Varthlokkur (Varth for short)
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Male
Age: Born in 3E 401 (roughly 230 years old)
Sign: Mage
Home Country: Vvardenfell

Faction and Rank: ex-Tribunal Temple, ex-Dark Brotherhood
Faction Description: N/A

Skills: Varth’s main magic skills focus on the magic school of destruction, illusion, and conjuration. He is also skilled in staying hidden, and using one handed weapons (particularly bladed weapons). Alchemy and Enchanting are also one of his fortes. In addition to these talents, Varth knows how to doctor wounds and cook food.

Appearance: Varth is tall, standing at 6’2’’, with hawk-like features and burning red eyes often associated with his race. His skin is a pale ash color, and he often conceals himself in dark cloaks and robes, making him appear ominous.
Hair: Longish, falls to his eyes, shaggy and dark brown in color.
Eyes: Crimson
Build: Light and wiry

Personality: It is difficult to pinpoint Varth’s personality. He seems very quiet and distant, but he is really just sitting back anolyzing everything that is said or done. He is often paranoid, but once you get him to open up, you have made friend who is loyal and discreet. Varth is very witty and sarcastic, once you get him talking, and can laugh in the face of anything, whether it’s a goblin warrior or Mehnrunes Dagon himself. He is the kind of person, however, who will save his own skin and leave you to die, but Varth is sometimes known to fall to the folly of pride and honor.

Weapons: Varth had an Orcish Longsword before he was captured, as well as several knives, and a few vials of corrosive/combustible alchemical liquids.
Clothing: Varth wore a black cloak and robe, as well as some soft leather boots.
Miscellaneous: A few books, ingredients, food, and some random supplies

Magic: Varth enjoys summoning unique Deadra, as well as using illusion magic to drive his enemies insane, and turning the tide of battle. He is very skilled with destruction magic, having the ability to tear enemies asunder with his spells.

History: Varth grew up in an orphanage with no parents, and at a young age, he decided to venture out into the world. He joined the Tribunal Temple very early on, yearning for spirituality and knowledge. After many years, he raised high into the ranks due to his cunning and intellect, and use of magic. He became a librarian at Vivic’s Hall of Wisdom, and eventually took the place of head scribe, who was in charge of finding books from all over Morrowind, cataloging them, and placing them in the library. In addition to this post, Varthlokkur was often assigned to kill under the name of the Temple due to his natural skills as an assassin. He burned out many ashlander cults, Neravine impersonators, dissident priests, and other civilians.
But, as he got to an even higher rank, Varth discovered the truth behind the Tribunal’s power. He felt betrayed and lied to, and all of the assassinations he performed for the Temple were against innocent citizens. Varth quickly pack up his belongings and fled Morrowind in a rage, but his exit was not as crafty as preferred.
He ended up killing two Temple personnel to escape, stealing a few tomes on necromancy and forbidden magic, and was branded a heretic. Varth ran from the Temple assassins for many years, and in said time, he joined the Thieves Guild and a few mercenary groups. Varth was finally able to stop running when the Neravine completed his quest and killed Dagoth Ur, and the number of assassins who hunted him finally trickled down to only one or two.
Varth continued to move around for many years, joining up with the The Dark Brotherhood until the he met a young Breton woman. The two quickly fell in love and got married, allowing Varth to finally settle down. It didn’t last long, however. She was killed in a raid by the Aldmeri Dominon before the start of the Great War. Varth flew into a rage, and tracked the Thalmor raiding party back to their base, where he killed every single one of them. The Dunmer was not satisfied, and became a terrorist in Thalmor lands.
Varth was captured by the Aldmeri Dominion’s advancing army when he was staying in Bravil.

Motivation for Joining: Hates the Thalmor, wants revenge.

Crimson Paladin - Errialor

Spoiler

Name: Errialor
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Sign: The Shadow
Home Country: Valenwood

Faction and Rank: Aldmeri Dominion Army - Recruit

Class: Soldier (former hunter)
Skills: Athletics, One Handed Weapons, Light Armor, Block, Marksman, Sneak, Alchemy

Appearance: He possesses a variety of small scars along his body, most from his pre-army lifestyle. Although he polishes his armor regularly, he rarely shaves or grooms his hair, resulting in a rather unkempt appearance without his helmet.
Hair: Light Brown
Eyes: Brown
Build: Average for an Altmer, Errialor stands 6'4" and possesses the typical build for an Altmer soldier: heavier than an average Altmer, but still lighter than the mannish races.

Personality: Errialor is a rather simple Altmer. He doesn't care for the Thalmor cause, but had little choice but to join to prove his loyalty to the Dominion. As he has no real loyalty to the Thalmor, he has a history of minor insubordinations. He's not very articulate, but he tries to be friendly and cordial to everyone he meets, something which has also gotten him into trouble. Socially, Errialor is not particularly shy, but not particularly outgoing either. He's still not sure what he wants to do with his life, but he plans on leaving the army once his tour of duty ends. Or when he escapes or is rescued.

Weapons: Elven sword and shield, elven bow with 10 arrows. After being captured, his weapons were taken from him.
Clothing: Brown shirt and pants. He used to have full elven armor, but it was discarded when he was taken captive.

Magic: None

History: Errialor was born to a pair of Altmer hunters in Valenwood. Although both of his parents were Altmer, some of his family had mannish blood from the Third Era when Valenwood was part of the Empire. As a result his parents, lost several relatives to Thalmor purges but themselves were judged pure. enough that they could live. They rarely visited the cities, instead selling their wares in smaller settlements. He learned their trade and assisted them into advlthood, but one day, not long after the Great War started, they left on a hunting trip and never returned.

Knowing where they had probably gone, Errialor went searching for them, but was attacked by werevultures and nearly killed. Convinced that the lycanthropes had killed his parents, he informed the local Thalmor of the problem. While they did eliminate the werevultures from the area, it wasn't long before he was approached by a Justiciar. The Thalmor apparently were convinced that his parents had fled to Cyrodiil. The mage gave Errialor an ultimatum: demonstrate his allegiance to the Dominion by joining their army and doing his part in the Great War, or face investigation and possible arrest.

With little choice, Errialor joined the Thalmor army. Not long after his training concluded, he was sent to the front lines in Cyrodiil. When Bravil fell, he was stationed in the city. While there, he looked into the possibility that his parents had fled to Cyrodiil. Part of him hoped that they were alive, and wanted to see them again, another part believed them dead and wanted to prove to the Thalmor that his parents were not traitors. He made inquiries with his officers and questioned citizens, but never found any evidence for his parents being in Cyrodiil. It also resulted in him being repeatedly reprimanded for abandoning his post, fraternizing with locals, and interfering with Justiciar affairs. His superior decided to give him one last chance, guarding a group of prisoners. He knows that if he screws one more time, he'll be joining them.

At Fort Homestead, he was ambushed and subdued by the escaping prisoners and taken into the Imperial City. Now ironically in the same position as those he once watched over, he is not sure what will become of him and what course of action he should take (if any).

Luminite - Rashaava

Spoiler

Name: Rashaava
Race: Argonian (Male)
Age: 38

Birthsign: The Thief
Major Skills: Alchemy, Sneak, Marksman
Minor Skills: Short Blade, Illusion, Acrobatics, Tracking
Class: Rogue
Class Description: Rashaava's experience with combat does not extend past wild animals and the occasional bandit. Aware of his weaknesses, he prefers to avoid toe-to-toe swordplay in favor of either avoiding combat or keeping his enemies at a distance. While he has become very precise with his bow, most of the effectiveness comes from his considerable skill in brewing potent poisons; in an ideal situation, his target will not know that anything is amiss until they find an arrow in their back, and the poison will finish them off before reaching him. If forced to engage, Rashaava tries to nimbly avoid blows until he is able to escape; to remain in combat would be too dangerous.

General Appearance: Rashaava is of average height, about 5' 10'', with a wiry build due to years of travel and living on what he could hunt. Like many of the true Saxhleel, his pupils are slightly slitted, reinforcing the unfortunate tendency to refer to his people as “lizards.” His scales are a very dark green, with small red patches ranging from the back of his head to his mid-forearms and a lighter green/brown covering the front of his neck. Rashaava bears no prominent horns or other growths on his head, except for very small chin-horns that are characteristic of most Argonians.

Clothing/Armor: Having spent the last few years as a hunter, Rashaava usually wears simple leather armor, with a dark brown hood. Everything bears noticeable signs of continued use: the thick leather used on his gloves bears some small cuts, and the lower portion of his boots seem to have permanent mud stains. With years of use, the armor is comfortable enough to wear in most settings, but if not, Rashaava wears a black tunic, leather belt, and hooded cloak when particularly cold.
Weapons: An Elven dagger, which Rashaava has had for a long time, and a simple hunting bow with a small number of hand-crafted iron arrows.
Miscellaneous Items: A modest amount of gold typical of a hunter, a small waterproof pouch used for holding spare bowstrings and other sensitive items, a bulging apothecary's satchel on his left hip that contains various alchemical ingredients found on his travels as well as a number of small potion vials on the strap, and a pack used to carry personal items and spoils of the hunt.

Biography/History: A native of Black Marsh, Rashaava spent his childhood in the area just south of Thorn, in the northeastern part of the province. His mother had some formal training in the magical arts, and operated a respected alchemy stall in the Thorn market. While he had some innate talent in alchemy, Rashaava struggled with almost all of the magic schools; only with lots of study was he able to cast some adept illusions. However, his mother's natural skill was not inherited, and casting higher-level illusions is very taxing.
Having grown tired of the simple life in Black Marsh, Rashaava left home at the age of 23 in search of adventure. Upon arriving in Morrowind, the decimated post-eruption landscape repulsed him; he was seeking change, but the province was too alien for one used to the lush wetlands of his home. Veering westward, Rashaava came to the Blackwood region, near Leyawiin. He liked the landscape, and decided to hone his skills as a huntsman in the area. In time, he was led to the northwest by some game that he was tracking, and took up residence in Bravil due to the large number of his kinsmen in the town. He lived there for five years before increasing corruption in the city guard forced him to leave for financial reasons. Heading north, Rashaava migrated between self-made camps, local towns, and the Imperial City itself, where he is now, having returned from a typical hunting trip.

Personality: Like many Argonians, Rashaava is generally reserved, and is slow to trust strangers. However, his heritage has instilled a deep understanding of the importance of cooperation and loyalty. He is a perfectionist, perhaps to a fault: his arrows and bow are kept in top condition and he can select and apply a poison with his eyes closed, but he takes far too much time to make simple plans and is unable to cope when something goes wrong. Easily overwhelmed and perhaps a tad bit paranoid, he dislikes large crowds and loud environments; his trips to the Imperial City are almost exclusively to re-supply.

Magic: Illusion is the only school in which Rashaava has studied. He cannot make himself invisible, but he can muffle his footsteps. Beyond that, he is able to impose limited influence on the dispositions of others, but his skill does not exceed simple charms.

Captain Rex - Gorgrim

Spoiler

Name: Gorgrim
Race: Orc
Gender: Male
Age: 43
Sign: Lord
Home Country: High Rock, Orisinium

Faction and Rank: Orisinium Guard (Captain)
Faction Description: The guards that protect the mighty orc stronghold of Orisinium from all dangers that threatens it.

Class: Berserker
Class Description: Warriors equipped in heavy armour wielding massive two-handed weapons, charging into the midst of the enemy. Very tough and don’t pay attention to wounds while in combat. But they can lose control.
Skills: Two-Handed, Heavy Armour, Smithing, Block

Appearance: Big in width as well as height, Gorgrim is a true brute. He is bald with some stubble on his chin. His large yellow eyes are akin to those of a cat, his large teeth jut out of his mouth.

Personality: Gorgrim is good to his friends and likes to sometimes make jokes but in battle he goes into a rage

Weapons: Steel Battle-Axe
Clothing: Steel Plate Armour
Miscellaneous: 40 septims, a figurine of Malacath, and the Code of Malacath book.

History: Gorgrim was born in the orc stronghold of Orisinium, he grew up to become the captain of the stronghold’s guard, and he was the best warrior aside from the chieftain that lived in the stronghold. He never left the stronghold except when going on raids on the behalf of the stronghold. Now though he has been giving a few months to have a break, an odd thing to an orc in his prime. What Gorgrim doesn’t know is that another orc guard wishes to take his place but is too scared to face him. Gorgrim intended to travel to Cyrodiil when on the way he was attacked by elves, he later found out that these elves were known as the Thalmor, the ones who had started to war against the Empire. So now Gorgrim has come to the Imperial City offering himself as a sell-sword.

Motivation for Joining: Wants to make money, and earn honour. He also hates the Thalmor with a passion.

Elite Birthday - Ra'Kharr

Spoiler

Name: Ra’Kharr
Race: Khajiit
Subspecies: Suthay-Raht
Gender: Male
Age: 24
Birthsign: Steed
Home Country: Elsweyr

Faction: Renrijra Krin [Imperial Sect]
Faction Description: The Renrijia Krin have always been about rejecting the imperial rule of the Emperor and his soldiers, fighting those who dared rule over the home country of Elsweyr. However, when Elsweyr fell to the Aldmeri Dominion, their focus changed, the Renrijra Krin began using guerrilla tactics against the elven overlords. As a result of this, the Renrijra Krin were purged. A hunt bled through the land, killing most every member of the freedom fighters. Those that survived the ordeal were split in a rift. One sect believed that the only hope for the freedom of Eslweyr was to aid the Imperials in their fight against the Thalmor, while the other insisted that the Renrijra Krin should never bend their knee to their ex-overlords. Thus, the group was divided, splitting what little members there were left. The Imperial Sect thus travel to Cyrodiil in search of ways to aid the fight against the Thalmor while the Elsweyr sect continue to fight against the elves in Elsweyr.

Class: Khajiiti Martial Artist
Class Description: Those who have dedicated their lives to studying the many exotic and successful fighting styles of ancient Elsweyr. One must be in a peak physical shape to maintain the arts that he possesses. The Khajiiti Martial Artist is not limited to knowing a single style, and it is not unheard of for there to be a master of all styles.
Skills: Ra’Khar specifically has learned and mastered many types of martial arts, comprised of “tail and claw”, within his lifetime. This had earned him the name “Do” as well as the reputation that preceded him. Ra’Khar has expertise in such styles as Goutfang and Rawlith Khaj, knowing all but extremely proficient in the Rain, Wind, and Storm branches of the art. Ra’Khar is currently a student of Whispering Fang, and is not yet proficient in it. He is also a practitioner of Kriijin Kaw, a defensive fighting style used for deflecting blades with the palm; Steelfang, a shortsword & buckler fighting style; and Baskir Tail, a spear & buckler fighting style. Do’Khar is also very physically fit, as well as extremely fast given his birthsign.

Appearance: Ra’Kharr stands at about 5’11, weighing about 152 lbs. The most recognizable trait on Ra’Kharr is his jet black fur. This makes him nearly invisible in the night. He has a completely shaved head, meaning that he has no sort of mane while still having fur, and two large ears that stick out almost straight out of his head. The large triangles are slightly tufted. Ra’Kharr has stark yellow eyes with thin, black pupils. This makes him resemble something of a panther. His nose is also completely black, and his whiskers are cut close and nearly clear. He has large biceps and large pectoral muscles. He has broad shoulders, giving him a strong build for his size. He also has very large legs, with striking calf muscles, giving him his speed. His tail is about three feet long, covered in black fur.

He usually wears tan robes which have no sleeves and are have a deep “V” for the chest. The robe is short, coming halfway down his thighs. The robe is usually tied with a thin rope. Under that, he wears a white-loincloth like underwear. He wears no shoes. He wears a golden necklace with a chain that comes down to where his robe’s “V” comes down. It also holds an emblem of the Renrijra Krin, a circle with a cat-eye within it.

Weapons/Items: Ra’Kharr carries a single spear with an oaken wooden staff and a steel, triangular tip. He then carries a slightly curved short-sword made of iron. It has a steel hilt with the Renrijra Krin emblem on the pommel. His buckler is about one foot in diameter and is wooden. The center is a four inch steel disc. Ra’Kharr then has steel-plated gloves. He also carries few septims, moonsugar, and some bottles of ink. He also carries a lute with him.

Personality: Ra’Kharr is a visionary and philosopher. He believes in a free Elsweyr, ruled by the Mane and only the Mane. He will do whatever it takes to get this accomplished. He is feircly loyal to his country and to his race and organization. His loyalty to his friends and organization supersedes that of any other loyalty. He will lay down his life to keep them alive. He will also be incited to fight at the slightest negative comment towards any of the above. Ra’Kharr is brilliant, to say the least, and has many ideas about everything. He is a passionate, young Khajiit, who tends to argue with a loud voice and visionary ideas. He usually the life of the party. He is somewhat arrogant because of the stature he once had in the Renrijra Krin. He still, to this day, believes he is the only hope for the Renrijra Krin to remain.

He has an affinity for music and fighting. He loves women of all races, except for those of the Corrupted Elves, he does not see beauty in them. He sometimes indulges himself in Moon sugar before he goes to sleep. He favors the jungles that remind him of home, and of small agricultural villages. He does not really have much taste for the big city, especially that of gawking merchants and calling people. He reserves a special place in his heart for anyone that fights against authority and for what they believe in. If it is in direct harm of his clansfolk or friends, however, it will cause him to fight.

History: Ma’Kharr was born to an artisan mother and a Moon sugar farmer in a small, agricultural village just west of the large city of Corinthe. Ma’Kharr had four older brothers, one older sister, a younger brother, and three little sisters. During the early part of Ma’Kharr’s life, he used his imagination to play with his siblings who were not yet old enough to work in the fields. However, when he became of age, he began to go out into the fields and work for his family: harvesting and planting Moon sugar. He became physically fit rather quickly, as toiling in the fields wasn’t easy work. He would travel to the city on weekends with his father and family to sell the Moon sugar that they had harvested and the pottery that his mother would create. He would listen to the music in the streets of Corinthe and was inspired to be a musician. He bought a lute with money that he had saved up, and began to practice. At the age of seven, a Cathay-raht came by and crushed his lute while he was practicing in the streets of Corinthe. Being smaller, Ma’Kharr could do nothing but be bullied by the Cathay-raht.

Back in his village, he consulted whom his father called “a wise and powerful Khajiit”. The Khajiit was named Do’Tskaa, a master of Goutfang and Rawlith Khaj. Ma’Kharr approached the Khajiit with his problem. Do’Tskaa agreed to train him if he gave up his life of a farmer and focused everything on becoming a martial artist. Approaching his father with the idea, the Moon sugar farmer declined the opportunity, needing the pair of hands in the fields. Ma’Kharr continued to work in the fields as was his father’s wish, and going to the city on weekends. It was one weekend when the same Cathay-raht had a group of friends crushed yet another lute and beat Ma’Kharr to a pulp. His father, seeing this, hesitantly agreed to allow him to train under Do’Tskaa. Leaving a life of music and agriculture, Ma’Khar entered the dojo of Do’Tskaa. For years, Ma’Kharr underwent extremely difficult training, tempting the Khajiit to quit many times. The life of a farmer was a breeze compared to that of a martial artist. The master saw the loss of motivation in his student, and to encourage him, took him to Corinthe. Ma’Khar took the day off to listen to the street music and purchase yet another Lute. It had been a while since his claws had touched the tout strings, but the music came naturally to him. Thinking of leaving the life of a martial artist becoming a musician, he played solemnly on the street. Do’Tskaa kept an eye on him as a very familiar Cathay-raht approached the somewhat-bulkier-than-he-remembered Suthay-raht and pushed him. Just like old times.

Ma’Kharr lept into action; years of training making him into an automated machine. Ma’Kharr began to rain blows upon the Cathay-raht, using Goutfang, the only style that he had been training at the time. Using a rhythmic pattern, he easily parried the Suthay-raht’s barbaric attacks, rendering the larger Khajiit unconscious within four seconds. Astonished by his own power, Ma’Kharr came back to Do’Tskaa, motivated and ready to learn. By age 15, Ma’Kharr graduated as a master of Goutfang. He thus received the name Do’Kharr and was thought a martial prodigy throughout the Khajiit community. He visited his family for the first time in many years on the day he graduated. His father and family was extremely proud, which would only drive Do’Kharr to work even harder. At the age of 16, while Do’Tskaa was training Do’Kharr in the first sects of Rawlith Khaj, the Thalmor raided the house. The Altmer used their power of magic to overwhelm the older master, killing him. Upon witnessing this, Do’Kharr quickly leaped from the shadows, redirecting their hands so that they could not target him with techniques. A tornado of fur and claw, the Thalmor agents were quickly disposed of. Do’Kharr buried the body and fled, knowing that more would appear after the disappearance of the two agents. Do’Kharr, after a week of running, was caught by a group of Khajiits that called themselves the Renrijra Krin. They informed him that his former master, Do’Tskaa, was an ex-member of their organization, and that Do’Kharr should honor his master by fighting “the good fight”. Do’Kharr, confused and scared, accepted, joining the family. The family, at the time, was a whole sect. They were, for the most part, untouched by the Thalmor. Do’Tskaa began to listen to the most intelligent people he would ever meet. Visionaries and philosophers, the Renrijra Krin was more of a family than his old one ever was. The group helped him finish his mastery of Rawlith Khaj, as well as a handful of other fighting styles, while Do’Tskaa instructed other members in the way of Goutfang. Do’Tskarr quickly took up the Lute again, impressing the group with his natural ability.

However, as time progressed, the family began to shrink. Members would show up dead in their homes, ambushed by Thalmor agents. As more and more of Do’Tskaa’s family began to diminish, he demanded that the group began to rise up and fight the Thalmor openly. Other members were uneasy at this, fearing immediate death. They reassured Do’Tskaa that they needed to continue to use guerilla tactics and terrorist methods to keep the Thalmor at bay. Do’Tskaa began to assert that it would only make the Thalmor angrier, causing more deaths in the family. He had convinced many to join his argument, while annoying the older members. This is what eventually caused the rift of the Renrijra Krin, Do’Tskaa’s idea to rise up and fight the Thalmor openly. Many joined his cause, while many stayed behind. Those that followed him adorned him with the name of Ra’Tskaa, which was the most honorable thing that Ra’Tskaa had ever experienced in his life.

Ra’Tskaa’s cause, however, was that of great ruin. Fighting the Thalmor openly was a great idea at first. They were able to drive away small units of Thalmor agents from the southern jungle villages. But larger Thalmor battle-units began to counter-attack, easily killing those whom he called his friends. Ra’Tskaa, appalled and ashamed, ran, embracing the ways of old. Those who still followed him, those who had not deserted his cause in fear and reason, also went into hiding. They talked. They came up with the idea that the only way that they were going to win this war was the support the Thalmor’s greatest enemy, the Empire. Though it caused bile to rise in Ra’Tskaa’s throat, he knew it was the only way. He and his few comrades began to train for their journey to the Imperial City, the last bastion. However, their training was interrupted by reports that the members of the Renrijra Krin that had stuck to the old ways were being massacred without mercy. Ra’Tskaa decided that the time was now: they had to move north. They began their journey through foreign deserts and enemy-infested highlands. Ra’Tskaa lost friends to disease and dysentery along the way, and came close to death himself with a terrible fever, but his drive kept him along, and the fever eventually broke.

Arriving in the Imperial City, he was followed by great Thalmor armies. Ra’Tskaa, eager to find who was in charge of the resistance, began to scour the city with the few friends he had left…
…

Companions: Do’Rakha (Suthay, 21): A master of Goutfang and Whispering Claw, Jo’Rakha is probably the most loyal of all of Ra’Kharr’s followers. He is just as passionate as his master and friend, but will believe whatever Ra’Kharr says and will lay down his life for his master at the drop of a pen.

Dro’Ba (Cathay-raht, 15): A young visionary and musician, this quiet Khajiit is currently training under Ra’Kharr. Jack of all trades and master of none, he can perform every style that Ra’Kharr can, just not to the same ability. Dro’Ba is also a poet and harp-player.

Jo’Rakha (Alfiq, 29): A quadraqedal, cat-like Khajiit, Jo’Rakha has a natural affinity for magic. Able to communicate through telepathic means, Jo’Rakha is a brilliant tactician and idealist. He is fiercely loyal to Ra’Kharr.

Dar’Dato (Dagi, 20): Being a Dagi, Dar’Dato is extremely light weight and not much in the battle. A master of long-range fighting, Dar’Dato is proficient with any and all throwing weapons. He is quiet and is probably the most intelligent of all within Ra’Kharr’s party.

Dro'Ba & Dro'Baad (Suthey-raht, 21): Twin Khajiits that died of disease on the journey to the IC.

Raksadarg (Cathay-raht, 30): Ambushed and burnt alive with Thalmor magic on the journey to the IC.

TheIrishMidget - Waylas

Spoiler

Name: Waylas
Age: 36
Race: Redguard
Sign: The Thief
Class: Pirate


Skills: Swords, Sneak, Acrobatic, Pickpocket, Unarmored, Hand to Hand
Attributes: Agility, Luck
Clothing: Waylus wears a simple green button up shirt with a collar, along with coarse linen pants with a belt wrapped around his waist, and a pair of leather boots on his feet.
Weapons: A long Steel Sword holstered around his waist.
Description: Waylas is moderatley built and stands at around 5' 8''. He is dark skinned and has black wirey hair that is done in a series of ridge rows, along with brown eyes and a slight goatee. He has a more mature apperance that's fit for being 36.

Personality: Waylas takes his upbringing from his rough upbringing in the streets of Stros M'kai. He only trusts himself and no one else. His alliance with other people is purely for business and monetary gain. He enjoys taking part in the pleasures of life such as drinking and gambling. He doesn't mind getting his hands dirty in order to accomplish his goals. Regardless he willing to stick to his word and wouldn't betray anyone who didn't already have it coming to them.

Biography:

Waylas was born on the tropic island city of Stros M'kai. He became orphaned at a young age after his mother died of illness and was forced to turn to a life of petty street crime and thievery just to survive, as well being an errand boy for Stros M'kai's local criminal syndicates. As Waylas began to age he began to develop skills such as picking people's pockets, sneaking around to steal a loaf of bread, and fist fighting kids who looked at him funny.

When he turned 17 he joined up with a local pirate crew, and thus began his career as a pirate of the Abecean sea. He spent time aboard the ship helping to smuggle illegal drugs such as Skooma and Moon Sugar across the empire. The pirate crew made quite a name for itself, but Waylas was unsatisfied with captains effectivness to lead, and felt he was too soft and cautious.

After a while Waylas and a few other crew members held a mutiny to overthrow their captain. Having successfully overthrown their captain Waylas declared himself the new captain of the pirate crew. Taking the reins of the pirate, Waylas became much more agressive and risky than his predecessor, and was able to greatly excel the capabilities of his pirate crew. Soon he led one of the largest and most feared pirate crews in all the Abecean sea.

Unfortunatley the Imperial Navy had become increasingly vigiliant on bringing an end to piracy in the Abcean sea. After a short drug bust on Waylas setup during a sting operation in Anvil by the Imperial Watch, Waylas was arrested and taken to prison. Shortley after his arrest Waylas was broken out by his pirate crew and they made their run for the coast. There they boarded their ship with the rest of Waylas's crew and began to make their escape in open waters. The Imperial Navy soon followed Waylas and his crew and they surrouned them out in the middle of the sea. Trapped the Imperial Navy opened fire on Waylas and his crew, killing many of his crew members and setting Waylas himself adrift. Waylas later found himself alive on open shore, along with a large group of Imperial watchmen wating to arrest him.

Waylas was eventually tooken into custody and set to stand trial. The Imperial court sentenced Waylas to life in prison, and Waylas was placed in one of their most secure and maximum security prisons. The next two years Waylas would spend time rotting away inside an Imperial prison only to escape on the off chance that the Thalmore would secretly insight a prison riot to overthrow the Imperial Watchmen stationed there. Narrowling escaping the Thalmore's slaughter of the inmates after overthrowing the prison's guardsmen Waylas began to make run for the Elsweyr boarder, only to be captured by the advancing Aldmeri army as they began their invasion of Cyrodil. Once again Waylas would spend the next few months as a prisoner of the Thalmore.

Arathorn - Kai

Spoiler

Name: Kai Xerosa
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: Steed

General Appearance: Despite his rough and ready appearance Kai maintains a very masculine attractiveness about him. His scruffy face is often covered in a varying amount of wounds, dry blood and dirt. His nose is broken in several places and scars are scattered across his olive coloured skin. His eyes are light blue colour and his hair a jet black. Slicked back and kept clear of his face. Rarely clean shaven, the lower half of Kai’s face is often shrouded in a shadow of stubble, with sideburns connecting his thin beard to his thick hair. Kai isn’t exactly tall standing at only 5’10, though he is extremely well-built with an athletic and toned body achieved through years of combat training and experience. Kai has very few noticeable scars as his skin tends to heal very well, however it is rare to see Kai without some form of scar or wound at any given time.

Skills: Kai is a master of combat, in particular his speed, stamina, agility and sheer aggression give him the upper hand in most fights. It is not unknown for Kai to lose a fight although this is usually down to extreme fatigue or unconsciousness, as his incredible resilience and refusal to back down keep him fighting even when he is on his last limb. Kai tends to steer clear of using weapons and allows his body to do most of the work, after years of working in the field of martial arts; he is somewhat an expert and can even face those who are armed on equal ground. When it comes to magical ability Kai is powerless, he has no idea how to begin to use the arcane arts and instead turns a blind eye to its practise. Kai is very agile and his acrobatic ability allows him to manoeuvre himself extremely well, both in and out of combat. Years of martial arts training have made him extremely flexible and as a result Kai is an able gymnast. Despite his combat prowess, in warfare Kai is not as skilled as an average soldier. One-on-one combat is very different to tactical warfare, and Kai’s inability to take orders from anyone makes it harder for him to work in a team and perform as part of a unit.

Apparel: Kai takes little pride in his appearance and tends to wear whatever he can find that morning, never sticking to a favourite outfit or using different clothes for specific events. Usually this results in some sort of linen shirt and leather pants, although this can vary depending on what part of the world he resides in at the time. Due to his excessive travelling Kai tends to prefer comfort over protection and even when fighting will never wear any heavy armour, such as steel or iron. He finds these too restrictive and prefers lighter armours such as leather or in some colder parts of the world fur. Kai is often to be found engaging in combat in normal linen or cloth clothes, as this allows him to utilise his speed and agility more so than any other apparel.

Weapons: “Weapons are for the weak.” Kai rarely uses weapons when it comes to combat. Though he has been known to use a bow and the occasional short sword or dagger the only weapon he carries with him is a small knife, which even still is mainly used for hunting and skinning his dinners. Kai uses his body as his weapon, his fists are scarred and his knuckles bruised. Kai is capable, through years of training to throw a fierce punch and is also known to use a variety of kicks and blocks which allow him to combat with the most experienced of opponents.

Personality: “Scars themselves are the lessons of life, left permanently on your mind, body and soul; you have never truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as to lay a finger on your flesh.”

Headstrong and extremely over-confident, Kai is not invincible, something he believes himself to be. Kai revels in his aggressive nature, actively seeking out trouble and violence to show off his skill and humiliate his enemies. Rude and arrogant, Kai has very few friends and many enemies, Kai knows that he is a loner but he doesn’t seem to mind and instead takes unusual pleasure from his own company. Behind his mindless and scruffy exterior hides a brutal, impulsive, and savage killer with an excessively-violent lust for blood. Kai knows exactly what he is doing by causing trouble and does it often simply for kicks. He makes no effort to hide his personality and it doesn’t take much to recognise that Kai is impulsive and ruthless. In battle Kai has an inhumane lust for blood; aggressive and determined many people would rather avoid any conflict with such a character. Kai is also extremely resilient and is barely ever seen to back down even in cases where he has been vastly overcome. Kai revels in the challenge of combat, enjoying being backed into a corner and having to fight his way out. Despite his violent and psychotic nature, Kai is not inherently evil. Deep down it is probable that Kai does have a conscience, shown partially through the fact that he will rarely attack or engage in combat with those who are weaker than him, be it women or children. Though he personally considers this to be down to the fact that they are unworthy of his effort – this could be a cover up for some sentient considerations.

Background: Kai has his roots in Bravil, it was where he was born and raised by his single mother. A skooma addict who had little income and rarely enough time to give Kai the attention or care that he properly needed. This goes some way to explain his erratic behaviour and his aggresive individualism. His childhood was spent mostly in the underground world of Bravil, mixing and involving himself with those in crime and violence. Kai fought in what was an illegal gambling arena sticking mainly to boxing and fights without rules. Here the richer members of the city would place money on fights that were both extremely bloody and often resulted in death. When the Thalmor armies first invaded, Kai decided to move away from Bravil, spending some time on the road before heading onto the Imperial City, where he continued his now practised line of work, for much greater money - although at a greater risk. Kai Xerosa, in the underworld of the Imperial City is fast becoming a renowned name, and his reputation is ever increasing.

Reserved: (These folk are currently not signed up, but if any of you are interested there is still a spot waiting for you)

Scow
Steve the Pirate
Evil Pigeon
Urrinor
Ranry
Ni!
Tommy Bozzer
Vanir

[Sanctum]

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

The sun rose swiftly over the shores of the Rumare. The Imperial City, its pale walls climbing high above the heart of Tamriel, caught the first of its rays. Dawn-light cast a rosy glow over the ringed city, banishing the last vestiges of night from its streets and alleys, already filling with bustling citizens. The great palace of White Gold towered over all; from somewhere within its chambers the emperor himself rose to face the day, and whatever perils it would bring.

Shadow still covered the bridge that spanned the western Rumare, however, connecting the great city to its empire. None now crossed its even stones, save for one Imperial patrol, with a ragged band of prisoners in tow. At the company's head marched Captain Lucius Tiberius, his face stern as he led the final steps to the city. Beside him strode an elf nearly staggering with fatigue, but just as resolute as any of the legionnaires. The Bosmer's cold eyes were focused straight ahead, at the walls of the city rising before him.

'Finally,' Faendal thought, his mind clear despite his body's weakness, 'We made it afterall.'

"My men will ready the barracks for your, ah, troops, wood elf." Captain Lucius spoke in a crisp, laconic tone, keeping his face straight ahead as he spoke to Faendal. "I will send word to the emperor of your arrival, but do not expect him to see you soon. My lord has enough on his mind as it is without having to deal with you."

"He will see us soon, unless he has more urgent business than an army at his doorstep," the Bosmer growled. "And be sure we have warm beds and plenty to eat. My men have come a long way, and lost many good souls to those elven bastards."

'Far too many,' Faendal thought to himself, his eyes suddenly melancholy. Looking back at the band of former prisoners behind him, he could not help but see first the faces that were missing. Foremost among them was the old man, the fool that had started all this nonsense. The old soldier had never even learned the man's name.

"You will be provided for," the captain replied curtly, "Any enemy of the Thalmor is a friend of the Empire. But do not test our hospitality, elf. If it is as you say, we are now a city under siege."

'It will not last long,' the old elf mused, 'For better or for worse, it will not last long.'



OOC: Alrighty, feel free to begin posting. We will reach the gates shortly, but until then go ahead and make your introductory posts. Feel free to chat with your fellow companymen, or even an Imperial soldier. Once everyone is settled in we'll enter the city proper.

[Scared humanity]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Market District - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Passing through the archway from the Elven Gardens to the Market District, Rashaava's senses were immediately overwhelmed. Market day. Wonderful.

There were perhaps hundreds of smells wafting from the numerous stalls: fresh breads and ripe fruits, as well as questionably-fresh meats and many other interesting odors. The sweat of the landstriders crowding the walkways was particularly repulsive to Rashaava. However, the part that he least liked about this district was the sound: every stall owner shouting to be heard above the rest, angry Nords bellowing about the ludicrous prices, the dull background roar of countless conversations... Rashaava did not want to spend any more time here than absolutely necessary. He had hoped to beat the crowds by arriving early, but it seemed that the city never slept. Also, judging from the shouts, emotions were running high this morning. I should work quickly... don't want to get involved in a scuffle.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the fray. With a quick step and determined manner, he went directly to his normal fur vendor to sell the fruits of his latest trip. Turning the corner, Rashaava stopped dead in his tracks: there was the usual stall in its normal spot, with various furs spread on top, but the person behind the stall was most certainly not the usual vendor. In his place was a tired, cold-looking Nord woman, who looked like she did not want to be there.

What? Jolgeir always sets up shop here; I never sell my furs to anybody else! Who is this imposter? Must I find a new buyer for my-

Seeing a stoic Argonian turn the corner, stop, and stare at her, the woman grew annoyed and snapped,

“What do you want? If you want to buy something, do it; otherwise, move along!”

Collecting himself, Rashaava approached the stall.

“Sorry, I am used to selling to Jolgeir; where is he?”

“My lazy husband decided that he is too ill to run the stall today, and has left his poor wife to do the work! If that's a problem, then leave!”

Her belligerent tone annoyed him, but Rashaava took off his pack and, undoing the leather straps, removed some furs to sell.

“I have some deer hides, as well as a very nice bear pelt; I wish to sell them.”

Casting no more than a cursory glance over them, the woman spat out,

“Twenty-five gold. Take it or leave it.”

Rashaava was taken aback by the offer. The bear pelt alone is worth twenty!

Realizing that haggling would do no good, the Argonian called forth a small amount of magical energy, concentrating it in his hand. Releasing it with a subtle wave in front of the contemptible woman, he said gently,

“Well, I was hoping for more like forty; surely that would be... reasonable?”

He watched as the woman's eyes took on that familiar, bewitched glaze, and her expression softened a bit.

“Reasonable... why yes, that would be a fine price.” Trailing off, she finished, “I'll count it out now...”

That worked surprisingly well, Rashaava thought. Perhaps I could milk some more out of the exchange. Her interference with my plans makes that more than fair.

“Actually, considering the fine condition of the deer hides, I've decided that fifty gold would be much better. Don't you agree?”

The Nord woman looked up sharply. Her eyes immediately lost their glazed look, and Rashaava felt a surprisingly jarring pain as the connection snapped. Realizing the quickly degrading situation, he dropped the furs, took the pouch of already-counted forty gold pieces, and took off at a brisk pace.

That was foolish. As much as I dislike her, she had a sharp mind; I should have known that my charms would not be enough to swindle her.

Massaging his left arm as the ache receded, Rashaava made his way through the crowded market. Noting that he had some empty vials on his potion belt, he set out to find an herbalist, and resolved to leave this horrid place as soon as he had prepared some potions and bought supplies to last the next two weeks until he returned to repeat his routine.

Although, hopefully not an exact repeat...

[Captian Caveman]

Lycus and Illana, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Both siblings arrived with the rest of the group. There were missing faces, the same faces that were alive hours ago were now gone. Lycus felt a twinge of regret, while Illana simply did not mind. She set a hand on his shoulder and sighed. "Get some rest." He looked at her. "Where will you go?"

She pointed her thumb behind her, over her shoulder. "Going to resuply at the Market Place. Perhaps get some food in the barracks before I wash myself. Do you desire anything?"

He shook his head. "I desire only rest."

She patted him. "Go find it."

She walked off toward the Market Place before a hand grabbed her arm slightly. She looked to see Lycus holding onto her. "Behave."

The young huntress pulled her arm away, her face hidden behind her helmet. "I'll do my best."

The Imperial City was the wealthiest place in Cyrodiil. It was also a breeding ground for incompetent politics and home to the infamous High Council and the Emperor. The grounds of which was the center of all the Empire's glory risked losing it's very citizens that kept the city alive and thriving. Yet despite the tenuous undercurrents of its culture, or maybe even because of them, the great markets and stores of the Imperial Province’s city had become a popular hub of international mercantilism. Shoppers of various races mingled openly beneath the buildings and the different stores. For hours the cries of merchants verbally selling goods imported from every corner of Tamriel mixed in with the screaming bids of haggling citizens. Even the noble and privileged faced the wave of the crowded plaza, willingly bringing themselves down to members of the unruly mob forcing and shoving its way through the streets in search of rare or valuable items that could be found miles upon miles away.

Illana stood silent in a secluded corner of the Market District, trying to avoid being noticed. It was far from difficult for her to blend in with a crowd; although she was of normal height, she was an amazingly attractive young woman. It was extremely necessary for her to adopt a sense of discreetness when she didn't wish to lure the probative glances of males, or the envious stares of other females. In this particular moment she had used the armor that covered her from head to toe, hiding her lean, athletic figure.

The helmet was encased in her head to conceal her flowing streaks of long, lustrous blond hair, and the light it cast out upon her features obscured her bright, fierce eyes. It wouldn't hide her from the prying eyes of anyone looking for her, but as long as she didn't cause reason to raise attention for herself she would remain unnoticed and forgotten by the majority of the common folk. Even with these facts, she would notice someone occasionally throwing her a second glance. There was something about her, an aggressive edge to the way she walked and even the manner in how she stood, that set her apart from everyone else. She maneuvered toward a lone merchant tent were weapons were being sold and repairs were guaranteed to be cheap. She tried to avoid the collision of bodies and the perverted touches of the male citizens that filled the streets, finally reaching the tent.

Benilan, a pesky bosmer with a knack for gambling his wealth away in the arena bets. Responsible for occasionally causing a ruckus on the Waterfront District, and also a good pursuader. But to her, he was no better than the thugs he hired her to kill. To make matters worse, he caused her some trouble too.

She then began to inspect the weapons for durability and condition. She shook her head angrily, expecting Cyodiil to have the finest weapons in the city. Each and every blade was old, rusty and bearing blunt edges. And this man expects me to pay for repairs? He would sooner destroy my weapon than fix it. And she knew him too. She recalled how she was hired to silence a goon that was threatening him and his family. And upon completing the job, she returned to receive her reward only to find herself attacked by the thugs sent by him. Before she could get to him, the Thalmor caught her and her brother, leaving her to rot in that godsforsaken fort.

“Highest quantity of the lowest quality. Your choice of weaponry is lousy!” Illana seethed angrily, picking up a rusty dagger and waving it in front of his eyes. “Twenty septims for this? Your swindling people.”

The scheming bosmer shrugged with a smirk. “Not my fault you cannot make the purchase. I wouldn’t be too picky. Perhaps you can try your luck at the local brothel, but I doubt even you would get much coin.”

She removed her helmet, shaking away the strands of hair that covered her line of sight. The man gasped as he recalled the huntress from weeks prior to their meeting. “I uh, I can make a discount for you.”

“Enough small talk,” she said as she removed the toothpick from her mouth, shoving him hard against a wall, pinning his neck with her arm. Using her free hand, slightly poked him under the chin with her sharp wooden pick. “You will pay me triple my original rate for the trouble you caused me!"

"No, I'm just a regular merchant. I swear, I'll have the coin." he groveled.

She stared angrily, eyes wide with an intense intolerence for scoundrels. "You're as dirty as they come. Many people want to see you behind bars for cheating yourself out of gambling in the arena bets. I can easily convince them to take you out instead if they so hire me."

"I have done you no harm."

"You did when you sent those pathetic bastards after me. And after you tried to poison a myrmidon in the Bloodworks so you could have an advantage when betting."

He looked confused. She decided to help him along. "The combatant named Lycus."

"I..I did not realize he is your lover. I am sorry."

"He's family," she corrected. "You do something conniving like that and I swear I will devour you alive and pick your flesh clean with this very piece of wood. I'll send whats left of your corspe back to that steaming jungle which you call home."

She motioned her head to the wooden table full of weapons. "These weapons are garbage just as you are. I even doubt you have the coin to pay me what you owe, but I will be merciful today. So give me everything you have. Every. Last. Septim."

He shook his head, seeing a familiar merchant walking by. He recognized him as Rashaava, the brown and green-skinned, average-of-height Argonian that sells fruits in some occasions. He coughed as she tightened the pressure on his neck. He swallowed hard, calling out to the Argonian.

"Rashaava! Rashaava!" he shouted, before looking at her. "That argonian over there, he can help me get you some gold. Please, listen. I know him."

[Leah]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Market District - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

As the pain in his arm faded away, Rashaava made his way through the bustling crowd, seeking to find some ingredients to replenish his alchemical supplies. Soon, he was able to spot his target through the moving bodies.

Right in front of the Office of Imperial Commerce, as always, stood a simple stall covered with dried herbs and mushrooms, a few bowls containing magical powders, and many miscellaneous items obtained from various creatures. It was tended by an aging Imperial with stained fingers and sharp eyes that immediately recognized Rashaava as he approached.

“Ah, it is good to see you again! I was wondering when you would arrive; I have something special for you.”

This is why I choose to buy from Varus' stall, instead of that over-priced permanent shop with the ridiculous name. Hopefully he has managed to obtain something useful for me.

Slowly bending down, the man brought forth a small strongbox from beneath the counter. Opening it with a brass key kept in his pocket, he displayed the contents for his Argonian customer. Peering in, Rashaava noted what looked to be a chunk of dreugh wax, an assortment of rare mushrooms, and a small leather pouch. Upon inquiry as to its contents, Varus opened the pouch to reveal a coarse, light-blue powder. The Saxhleel's trained eyes immediately identified the contents as frost salts, of what seemed to be very high quality.

“I'm impressed, Varus. Where did you manage to find these?”

Smiling, the Imperial responded, “One of those Synod types, by the looks of him. Didn't have much gold, so I let him pay with these. What do you think?”

Pondering for a moment, Rashaava looked at the items spread across the stall and peered into his own satchel. After a moment, he said,

“I'll take them, and I also need some dryad's saddle and a few aloe leaves.”

After offering in exchange some bear claws and a nirnroot (an exciting find), Rashaava was able to pay a modest amount for the items and, after neatly storing them away in his satchel, he quickly made his way back toward the Elven Gardens District to escape the sensory overload of the market. However, he was interrupted by some shouting emanating from a nearby weapons tent.

“Rashaava! Rashaava!”

Turning sharply, he recognized the shouter as Benilan, the crooked Bosmer. Not him again... Benilan had a nasty habit of swindling people, and he was inexplicably certain that Rashaava was some sort of fruit vendor, which was not true. Thinking him to be blessed by Sheogorath, the Argonian had tried to steer clear of him. That's just what would have happened today, if it weren't for the fact that some blond-haired, armor-clad Imperial woman was holding him up against a wall, which understandably seemed to be distressing the small wood elf.

Muttering a Jel curse under his breath at his once-again ruined plans, Rashaava strode over to the pair.

“What is this? Benilan, I hope that you are not involving me in any of your shady dealings; I want none of that.” Then, turning to his attacker,

“I do not know what this mer has told you, but it probably isn't true; he's a cheat.” Glancing at Benilan's neck, he added,

“Although, it seems that you already knew that.”

[Gemma Archer]

Illana, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174


Benilan summoned an Argonian that was passing by, much to her chagrin. Why am I not surprised? She wondered. She gazed briefly at the approaching lizard, first taking notice of his height, scales and color patterns upon them. To her, they all looked the same. Only the natural shades in their skin would seperate one from the other. She stared while physically threatening the short Wood Elf, making sure she was hidden behind the vendor tent from the sight of any Imperial Guards. With the caravan arriving at the gates, she would of imagined most were concerned with the threat of the goldenrods fortifying themselves for an attack. Although that did not excuse the ones walking about the streets. Let them, for I have other things to worry about, she told herself.

The Argonian named Rashaava questioned him, obviously knowing the bosmer's treacherous nature. He even went as far as warn Illana if she was falling for his honeyed words, but then made a remark that she probably understood that already. She watched as the squirming, skinny woof elf squealed under her grasp, trying to find a way out. He's a cheat, she remembered the Argonian saying.

"He'll be a dead one soon enough."

"Rashaava, I have no coin. Please, help a fellow friend. And I promise I will pay you back! I will even give you some of my things for free! I just need a helping hand. Think of my children!"

Illana scowled, her face scrunching in disbelief and bewilderment. "You don't have any kids."

"But I have a wife." he whispered.

"Shut up!" she pushed a little harder. She was in no mood for arguing or listening to more lies. And even if he did have a wife, she would be better of without him. The huntress looked at the Argonian. "I want my gold now before things get ugly. He owes me thrice as much. That is over four hundred drakes. Are you going to donate for this scumbag or not?"

She turned her aggressive countenance to him, baring her teeth. "You think you can talk your way out of situations, don't you realize you will be in even more debt now than ever before? Do divine coin explode from yours ass? Then by all means, go ahead. Squat and produce and see our troubles conclude! You're antics is less than sporting, Benilan. And I am a sportswoman. Now, who in Oblivion is going to see this little conflict end, huh?"

Her voice was demanding, annoyingly so. But she had all the right to exact her retribution against one as unworthy as the bosmer. Insomina, hunger, fatigue and a beating from the Thalmor had only increased her anger, not counting her growing periodic moments of moody insanity and violent moments.

[Jessie]

Waylas
The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


Waylas and the guards strode across the bridge that spanned lake Rumare as they approached the Imperial city. After a night of running from the Thalmore they had finally arrived in the Imperial city. Civilization at last, Waylas felt a rush and excitement come over him as he once again gazed upon sweet civilization, even if it was the dreaded empires capital city. Two years of being locked in an Imperial prison system and then months at the hands of the Thalmore had made Waylas forget what freedom actually felt like.

Waylas had only been to the Imperial city a handful of times. It was well established as his most dangerous and his most profitable trade route. The Imperial watch kept a strict eye on all ships entering the harbor and regularly searched them for contraband. Waylas had done a good job smuggling imports of moon sugar and skooma into the Imperial city, and thus how he had become so renown among the pirates of the Abecean sea. Demand was high among the beggars and thieve guild members of the local waterfront district, and Waylas just made sure to supply the local drug dealers and corrupt shopkeepers with the poison. And after all his hard work was done he would always head down to the Bloated Float to drink and gamble all his money away.

"My men will ready the barracks for your, ah, troops, wood elf. I will send word to the emperor of your arrival, but do not expect him to see you soon. My lord has enough on his mind as it is without having to deal with you.", the Imperial guard said to their Bosmer leader. Waylas was disgusted by the sight of those Imperial scum. He had grown a great dislike for the empire over the time he had spent locked in an Imperial dungeon. The only thing he disliked more were the dreaded Thalmore, who he considered less than animals.

"He will see us soon, unless he has more urgent business than an army at his doorstep," the Bosmer growled. "And be sure we have warm beds and plenty to eat. My men have come a long way, and lost many good souls to those elven bastards.", Waylas listened carefully to the conversations between the Bosmer and the guard. It had been years since he had a nice warm meal and something good to drink, and the only alcohol they had available in prison was watered-down Mead. Hardly a respectable drink for getting a man drunk.

"You will be provided for," the captain replied curtly, "Any enemy of the Thalmor is a friend of the Empire. But do not test our hospitality, elf. If it is as you say, we are now a city under siege." Hard to believe, the ignorance of these guards completely astounded Waylas. As they took each step on the cobble stone bridge leading into the city the guards still seemed to be skeptical that the Thalmore were camping right on their front door step!

Waylas then took interest in one guard in particular. He was a young man, around 22 years of age, had a casual stride in his step, and his eyes were red and glassy. Waylas could tell he certainly didn't take his job on the watch that seriously.

Waylas walked up next to the guard until he stood shoulder to shoulder with him and leaned in and whispered "Hey how about you share some of that stuff you've been holding on to?"

"Wha- What!" the guard looked at Waylas nervously and began to slow down in order to keep his distance from the rest of the guardsmen. "I have no idea what you're talking about" the guard nervously whispered back.

"You know what I'm talking about", Waylas insinuated. "How about you hand some over before your superiors find out what you've been doing on your breaks."

"Sure. For about 12 Septims." the guard disclosed as he continued to keep his distance from the rest of the group.

"No problem", Waylas said handing over a bag full of Septims he had picked off one of the dead Thalmore soldiers. The guardsmen then surrendered a small bag of Moon Sugar and discreetly placed it in Waylas's hands. 'It's been a long two years' , Waylas thought to himself while peaking inside the bag.

[Harry Hearing]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Market District - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

“He'll be a dead one soon enough,” said the belligerent Imperial woman. After a brief exchange with the elf, she turned to Rashaava:

“Are you going to donate for this scumbag or not?”

Rashaava took a mental inventory of his net worth: forty septims plus change, minus the cost of the frost salts. In short, not nearly enough to pay for whatever debt Benilan had incurred, even if Rashaava had had any desire to do so. However, he did not want a fight to ensue here; the guards would probably suspect his involvement simply because of his race, and he didn't much like the smell of mer blood anyway. Benilan did not seem to want to pay, and had even resorted to making up family members in a pathetic attempt to garner sympathy. He needs convincing, and her blunt tactics don't seem to be working...

Still feeling a light ache in his left arm from his botched charm, Rashaava knew that his magical reserves were paltry at best. Turning his back to the elf, the Argonian reluctantly pulled from his satchel's strap a small vial of light purple liquid and proceeded to down the contents. After waiting a moment to allow the effects to begin, he responded,

“No, I will not pay. However,” he said, turning back as he felt arcane energy surge through his veins, “I have a feeling that he will. Isn't that right, Benilan?”

The elf's face took on a confused expression, and he seemed about to respond, when Rashaava quickly and discreetly cast a charm. Under the rushed circumstances, he was unable to concentrate enough to achieve the spell's full effects, but Benilan seemed to be affected somewhat. Calming down a bit, he stammered,

“W-w-why of course, yes, yes, I will gladly pay...” and then, as he began to regain full control, he finished, “... later. Yes, I will be able to pay you at a later time, if you kindly allow me the use of my neck again!”

[Franko AlVarado]

Ra'Kharr, Imperial City Merchant District

Ra'Kharr stared at the towering structure that seemed to be the spine of such a colossal city while taking another large bite from an alien, red fruit. It was round in shape, and surprisingly sweet. Ra'Kharr's eyes peeled from the structure to look at his followers. Tired, hungry, but never broken. Yes, those were his people. Though they might suffer the most defeating of slings and arrows, they were strong mentally, and would fight for the freedom of Elsweyr until they drew their last breath. Ra'Kharr surged with pride upon looking at his friends and followers. The Khajiit sat casually at a round, wooden table. He was hunched over; buckler and short sword leaned up against his small chair and his spear lay across the table. Do'Rakha, Ra'Kharr's most loyal follower, seated across from him, was intensely focused on an odd orange-colored fruit, not understanding that one must peel the surface before eating it. Dro'Ba stood facing the hustle and bustle of the city with arms crossed. He leaned against the wooden table. Jo'Rakha, the Alfiq, didn't break his eyes from the White-Gold Tower. He was laying down under the table, feet under his body, casually staring. Finally, Dar'Doto sat against a brick wall, nodding off.

The only living survivors of the Renrijra Krin sat at that one table, watching man and mer alike swim through the city. Ra'Kharr had never seen so many people in one place. This city was a giant compared to the cities he used to visit and live within. He ached to travel back to the jungles of his home and fight the Thalmor overlords that threatened their freedom but deep within he knew that this was his best hope. Ra'Kharr's head was filled with stories of the creation of the Renrijra Krin: all about the imperialistic, terrible ways of the Cyrodillic Empire. Ra'Kharr uttered a quiet growl, which caused many of his followers to eye him with a wary look.

"Today, we speak to the guildmaster of the guard. Ra'Kharr must inform him of the Thalmor." Ra'Kharr said, speaking fluent Ta'agra, the language of Elsweyr. In all honesty, not a single Khajiit knew Cyrodiilic. Fortunately for them, Jo'Rakha could translate with his telepathic speech. Throughout their lives, the members of the Renrijra Krin had never needed to learn the language of the Imperials. They now were reaping the fruit of their lack of labor.

Ra'Kharr's followers did not heartily agree with him, they did not even nod their head. The group, for the most part, was slightly on the defensive side. They were all on guard in this alien city, and they were all feeling way too far from home. The homesickness that curdled within each of their stomachs would leave them silent, and Ra'Kharr could only hope that the end would justify the means!

[sam westover]

Character Sheet, for reference.

Spoiler

Name: Kai Xerosa
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: Steed

General Appearance: Despite his rough and ready appearance Kai maintains a very masculine attractiveness about him. His scruffy face is often covered in a varying amount of wounds, dry blood and dirt. His nose is broken in several places and scars are scattered across his olive coloured skin. His eyes are light blue colour and his hair a jet black. Slicked back and kept clear of his face. Rarely clean shaven, the lower half of Kai’s face is often shrouded in a shadow of stubble, with sideburns connecting his thin beard to his thick hair. Kai isn’t exactly tall standing at only 5’10, though he is extremely well-built with an athletic and toned body achieved through years of combat training and experience. Kai has very few noticeable scars as his skin tends to heal very well, however it is rare to see Kai without some form of scar or wound at any given time.

Skills: Kai is a master of combat, in particular his speed, stamina, agility and sheer aggression give him the upper hand in most fights. It is not unknown for Kai to lose a fight although this is usually down to extreme fatigue or unconsciousness, as his incredible resilience and refusal to back down keep him fighting even when he is on his last limb. Kai tends to steer clear of using weapons and allows his body to do most of the work, after years of working in the field of martial arts; he is somewhat an expert and can even face those who are armed on equal ground. When it comes to magical ability Kai is powerless, he has no idea how to begin to use the arcane arts and instead turns a blind eye to its practise. Kai is very agile and his acrobatic ability allows him to manoeuvre himself extremely well, both in and out of combat. Years of martial arts training have made him extremely flexible and as a result Kai is an able gymnast. Despite his combat prowess, in warfare Kai is not as skilled as an average soldier. One-on-one combat is very different to tactical warfare, and Kai’s inability to take orders from anyone makes it harder for him to work in a team and perform as part of a unit.

Apparel: Kai takes little pride in his appearance and tends to wear whatever he can find that morning, never sticking to a favourite outfit or using different clothes for specific events. Usually this results in some sort of linen shirt and leather pants, although this can vary depending on what part of the world he resides in at the time. Due to his excessive travelling Kai tends to prefer comfort over protection and even when fighting will never wear any heavy armour, such as steel or iron. He finds these too restrictive and prefers lighter armours such as leather or in some colder parts of the world fur. Kai is often to be found engaging in combat in normal linen or cloth clothes, as this allows him to utilise his speed and agility more so than any other apparel.

Weapons: “Weapons are for the weak.” Kai rarely uses weapons when it comes to combat. Though he has been known to use a bow and the occasional short sword or dagger the only weapon he carries with him is a small knife, which even still is mainly used for hunting and skinning his dinners. Kai uses his body as his weapon, his fists are scarred and his knuckles bruised. Kai is capable, through years of training to throw a fierce punch and is also known to use a variety of kicks and blocks which allow him to combat with the most experienced of opponents.

Personality:

“Scars themselves are the lessons of life, left permanently on your mind, body and soul; you have never truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as to lay a finger on your flesh.”

Headstrong and extremely over-confident, Kai is not invincible, something he believes himself to be. Kai revels in his aggressive nature, actively seeking out trouble and violence to show off his skill and humiliate his enemies. Rude and arrogant, Kai has very few friends and many enemies, Kai knows that he is a loner but he doesn’t seem to mind and instead takes unusual pleasure from his own company. Behind his mindless and scruffy exterior hides a brutal, impulsive, and savage killer with an excessively-violent lust for blood. Kai knows exactly what he is doing by causing trouble and does it often simply for kicks. He makes no effort to hide his personality and it doesn’t take much to recognise that Kai is impulsive and ruthless. In battle Kai has an inhumane lust for blood; aggressive and determined many people would rather avoid any conflict with such a character. Kai is also extremely resilient and is barely ever seen to back down even in cases where he has been vastly overcome. Kai revels in the challenge of combat, enjoying being backed into a corner and having to fight his way out. Despite his violent and psychotic nature, Kai is not inherently evil. Deep down it is probable that Kai does have a conscience, shown partially through the fact that he will rarely attack or engage in combat with those who are weaker than him, be it women or children. Though he personally considers this to be down to the fact that they are unworthy of his effort – this could be a cover up for some sentient considerations.

Background: Kai has his roots in Bravil, it was where he was born and raised by his single mother. A skooma addict who had little income and rarely enough time to give Kai the attention or care that he properly needed. This goes some way to explain his erratic behaviour and his aggresive individualism. His childhood was spent mostly in the underground world of Bravil, mixing and involving himself with those in crime and violence. Kai fought in what was an illegal gambling arena sticking mainly to boxing and fights without rules. Here the richer members of the city would place money on fights that were both extremely bloody and often resulted in death. When the Thalmor armies first invaded, Kai decided to move away from Bravil, spending some time on the road before heading onto the Imperial City, where he continued his now practised line of work, for much greater money - although at a greater risk. Kai Xerosa, in the underworld of the Imperial City is fast becoming a renowned name, and his reputation is ever increasing.

Kai Xerosa
Merchant’s Inn – Market District
Morning - 11^th Second Seed 4E 174

Kai sat silently in the corner of the Merchants Inn, enjoying Market Day, and the opportunity that it brought him to observe the people, and how they went about their lives. Unlike many of the criminals that scattered the city, Kai refused to maintain a shadowy presence, choosing instead to wear only a white cotton shirt that clung tightly to his athletic body, with his cloth trousers tucked neatly into his leather boots.

It would normally be uncharacteristic of Kai to be sat so still, but the previous night’s fight had worn him out somewhat and he was quite comfortable keeping himself to himself for the time being. It had been a big fight too, well anticipated and Kai had received his biggest crowd yet. Kai hadn’t bothered to wash either, and sat in the Inn with the dirt, and dried blood of the previous night left across his face and body. He probably stank too, but Kai wasn’t too bothered about what others thought of him, and instead enjoyed the fact that this gave people a reason to avoid him.

The fight, as usual, had taken place underneath the city, the damp and rotting sewers were the only place to avoid the attention of the Imperial Guard and allow the illegal gambling to flourish, and the odds on last night’s fight were highly stacked against him. Kai had been the underdog since the fixture had been lined up, his opponent, a well renowned bruiser, was far larger in size than Kai yet still somewhat fast. Despite the opponent’s superior reputation, Kai never underestimated himself, and this showed once the fight began. Kai had always had a deft precision for picking up on an opponent’s weakness, they all had one, and although the Bruiser started off well, it was eventually his stamina that let him down. It wasn’t until the fifth round that Kai was able to bring him down, after a swift kick to his opponent’s knee and a finishing punch to the face. Kai felt the man’s cheek bone shatter under the force and watched as the large man clattered to the ground. Kai himself had taken a beating and it had definitely been one of his harder fights, but it was also his most rewarding and he picked up a weighty bag of coins for his efforts.

Kai tossed his apple a few times as he monitored those sat around him. The Inn was busy, as you’d expect on such a day, and Kai wasn’t short of character to observe as he finally bit down into his apple. The sweet taste exploded into his mouth as the crunch of his bite went unnoticed in the noise filled atmosphere.

[aisha jamil]

Illana, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174


There were many times in her life where she had commited grave errors, many moments where she wished she could of made better choices. She knew she would make many mistakes in the future, no doubt about that. All she hoped is that they would not be fatal, she was not quite ready to die. Even so, one of these choices was allowing Benilan to walk away.

The Argonian drank a vial of some manner of liquid, no doubt it was perhaps infused with magical properties. She could smell the fumes from a few feet away. Her face expressed a genuine dissapointment when the Argonian said he wasn't going to pay. But her hope was rekindled as soon as the bosmer claimed he would pay, providing she would allow him to walk about and procure proper payment. She released her hold, causing him to cough a bit enough that he could regain his posture.

That was easy, she thought. All because of the Argonian's pursuasive ways. She would of been fooled to believe he was naturally good at such thins were it not for the small bottle she glimpsed him drinking out of. What could stop the Bosmer from lying once more to other people? Fear would ultimately put him in line, but a simply charm would hold off his antics at bay for a temporary amount of time.

She did not waste any more time. She jabbed a threatening index finger at his chest repeadetly. "Six hours. The merchant's in. I hope you show yourself, otherwise I will have to collect your head as well."

The huntress scratched her ear savagely, a wolfish grin on her face. She looked at Rashaava for awhile, trying to make what she could of him. She must of felt like a common thug beating up a deadbeat for the sake of collecting gold. But she knew she would rather be known as a hostile woman that no one could afford to trifle with, rather than a peaceful snowberry wishing to pamper those who deserve a proper punishment. When the silence was awkward, Illana simply glared at the Argonian, widening her eyes all of the sudden in a strange, uncontrollable twich.

"I'm not one for honeyed words, Rashaava. While I do appreciate how you were efficient to pursuade the bosmer, I fear he might have a chance to escape. Be knowledgable that you will be responsible for it as well."

[Jeremy Kenney]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Market District - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Rashaava calmly watched as the woman poked the elf repeatedly, telling him to show himself at the Merchant's Inn in six hours. She then turned to Rashaava and seemed to study him for a few moments too long. Then, with an odd, twitching expression, she said,

“I'm not one for honeyed words, Rashaava. While I do appreciate how you were efficient in persuading the bosmer, I fear he might have a chance to escape. Be knowledgable that you will be responsible for it as well.”

Rashaava's face took on an amused expression; of course, being Argonian, the change was completely imperceptible. Examining her with his slitted eyes, he contemplated how to respond.

Both of these landstriders have caused me too much trouble today. This one reeks of arrogance and sweat. Full plate armor, with silver inlaying; she is either very wealthy or very opportunistic. It would seem that she was wearing along with that helmet through the marketplace; she obviously has no desire to go unnoticed. I wasted one of my potions to get her money paid, and she threatens me with “responsibility” if it doesn't work!

He would like nothing more than to leave and never see her again, but he could tell that incurring her wrath would be both very easy and very inconvenient. Breaking the long silence, he responded,

“I know that Benalin will be there at the appointed time.” Turning to the elf, he continued,

“Losing his head would certainly be bad for business. I'm sure that he is very... attached... to it.” Back to the Imperial,

“Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to. It just so happens that I need to visit an inn; I dislike the Merchant's on market day because of the noise, but I suppose that I can adapt. I will keep an eye on him, but do not hold me responsible for your choice to deal with scummy mer. Good day.”

Swiftly turning around, Rashaava exited the tent. Ever since I entered this infernal city, nothing has gone as planned. The Argonian then set off in the direction of the Merchant's Inn to find an alchemy table. After I resupply on potions, I need to find a quiet corner and some good mead. I've had my fill of surprises for one day.

[Isaiah Burdeau]

Tyranus Florentius

Ty stood awkwardly at the gates, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact with any of the soldiers. He didn't know anybody here, and he wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation. He was debating why he was even here. He could have been home, with his family, and his girlfriend by now, safe and sound, at least until the Thalmor got there. With a grimace, Ty remembered why he needed to be here. If they didn't warn the emperor about the Thalmor, they would take Chorrol, and Ty didn't want to have that happen to his home. Plus, at least now he was getting his adventure.

With a quiet grunt, Ty turned and made his way through the gate, finding his way into the city. He didn't want to stand around outside for much longer, for fear he would simply head off towards Chorrol regardless of his need to be in the Imperial City. His thoughts were becoming dangerous, and keeping moving would at least distract him somewhat. He didn't want to think about those that hadn't made it, or the fact that he could have easily been one of them. He made it out, he survived, that was all that mattered so far.

Ty walked easily through the crowds of people, keeping up the easy pace and occasionally walking past the slow moving elderly person. His eye still hadn't healed completely, and he was very conscious of the glances he was getting. People clutched their purses close, assuming him to be some sort of thief. His temper flared slightly, speeding up his gate a bit. 'Every kid with a shiner is a thief now huh? That's just beautiful.' he thought bitterly. A group of girls around his age caught sight of him, and started whispering among themselves, giggling when he glared at them. Tyranus keep his eyes on the distance as he walked past. He wasn't a bad looking kid, especially without a black eye, but drawing eyes like that made him uncomfortable ever since he met his beloved. However he did find it flattering.

Wandering for a while, Ty found himself walking into an establishment by the name of The Merchant's Inn. He pushed the door open, surveying the room in front of him. It was typical of an inn, and no particular features jumped out at him, so he wandered over to a comfortable looking couch blanketed in sunlight. The young Colovian fell into the seat, exhaling at a chance to rest his weary body. As he looked around, a young man sitting in the corner of the inn caught Ty's attention. He seemed to have taken a similar beating to Ty's, maybe even worse. He looked away shortly, playing it off as examining the room. The Imperial didn't want to draw any attention to himself, so he simply focused on the windows in front of him. He found himself absent-mindedly feeling his bruised eye. It was warm to the touch, and it was at the peak of it's swelling. His eye was swollen shut a fraction, and even that small degree of vision lost worried him. Bored, Ty took the dagger from his belt and started moving it about his hand, watching the movement. He often did that, much to his beloved's chagrin, and he enjoyed the feel of the dagger in motion. He liked to think it looked cool, but in actuality he probably just looked like he was playing with a knife.

[daniel royle]

Character Sheet, for reference.

Spoiler

Name: Kai Xerosa
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: Steed

General Appearance: Despite his rough and ready appearance Kai maintains a very masculine attractiveness about him. His scruffy face is often covered in a varying amount of wounds, dry blood and dirt. His nose is broken in several places and scars are scattered across his olive coloured skin. His eyes are light blue colour and his hair a jet black. Slicked back and kept clear of his face. Rarely clean shaven, the lower half of Kai’s face is often shrouded in a shadow of stubble, with sideburns connecting his thin beard to his thick hair. Kai isn’t exactly tall standing at only 5’10, though he is extremely well-built with an athletic and toned body achieved through years of combat training and experience. Kai has very few noticeable scars as his skin tends to heal very well, however it is rare to see Kai without some form of scar or wound at any given time.

Skills: Kai is a master of combat, in particular his speed, stamina, agility and sheer aggression give him the upper hand in most fights. It is not unknown for Kai to lose a fight although this is usually down to extreme fatigue or unconsciousness, as his incredible resilience and refusal to back down keep him fighting even when he is on his last limb. Kai tends to steer clear of using weapons and allows his body to do most of the work, after years of working in the field of martial arts; he is somewhat an expert and can even face those who are armed on equal ground. When it comes to magical ability Kai is powerless, he has no idea how to begin to use the arcane arts and instead turns a blind eye to its practise. Kai is very agile and his acrobatic ability allows him to manoeuvre himself extremely well, both in and out of combat. Years of martial arts training have made him extremely flexible and as a result Kai is an able gymnast. Despite his combat prowess, in warfare Kai is not as skilled as an average soldier. One-on-one combat is very different to tactical warfare, and Kai’s inability to take orders from anyone makes it harder for him to work in a team and perform as part of a unit.

Apparel: Kai takes little pride in his appearance and tends to wear whatever he can find that morning, never sticking to a favourite outfit or using different clothes for specific events. Usually this results in some sort of linen shirt and leather pants, although this can vary depending on what part of the world he resides in at the time. Due to his excessive travelling Kai tends to prefer comfort over protection and even when fighting will never wear any heavy armour, such as steel or iron. He finds these too restrictive and prefers lighter armours such as leather or in some colder parts of the world fur. Kai is often to be found engaging in combat in normal linen or cloth clothes, as this allows him to utilise his speed and agility more so than any other apparel.

Weapons: “Weapons are for the weak.” Kai rarely uses weapons when it comes to combat. Though he has been known to use a bow and the occasional short sword or dagger the only weapon he carries with him is a small knife, which even still is mainly used for hunting and skinning his dinners. Kai uses his body as his weapon, his fists are scarred and his knuckles bruised. Kai is capable, through years of training to throw a fierce punch and is also known to use a variety of kicks and blocks which allow him to combat with the most experienced of opponents.

Personality: “Scars themselves are the lessons of life, left permanently on your mind, body and soul; you have never truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as to lay a finger on your flesh.” Headstrong and extremely over-confident, Kai is not invincible, something he believes himself to be. Kai revels in his aggressive nature, actively seeking out trouble and violence to show off his skill and humiliate his enemies. Rude and arrogant, Kai has very few friends and many enemies, Kai knows that he is a loner but he doesn’t seem to mind and instead takes unusual pleasure from his own company. Behind his mindless and scruffy exterior hides a brutal, impulsive, and savage killer with an excessively-violent lust for blood. Kai knows exactly what he is doing by causing trouble and does it often simply for kicks. He makes no effort to hide his personality and it doesn’t take much to recognise that Kai is impulsive and ruthless. In battle Kai has an inhumane lust for blood; aggressive and determined many people would rather avoid any conflict with such a character. Kai is also extremely resilient and is barely ever seen to back down even in cases where he has been vastly overcome. Kai revels in the challenge of combat, enjoying being backed into a corner and having to fight his way out. Despite his violent and psychotic nature, Kai is not inherently evil. Deep down it is probable that Kai does have a conscience, shown partially through the fact that he will rarely attack or engage in combat with those who are weaker than him, be it women or children. Though he personally considers this to be down to the fact that they are unworthy of his effort – this could be a cover up for some sentient considerations.

Background: Kai has his roots in Bravil, it was where he was born and raised by his single mother. A skooma addict who had little income and rarely enough time to give Kai the attention or care that he properly needed. This goes some way to explain his erratic behaviour and his aggresive individualism. His childhood was spent mostly in the underground world of Bravil, mixing and involving himself with those in crime and violence. Kai fought in what was an illegal gambling arena sticking mainly to boxing and fights without rules. Here the richer members of the city would place money on fights that were both extremely bloody and often resulted in death. When the Thalmor armies first invaded, Kai decided to move away from Bravil, spending some time on the road before heading onto the Imperial City, where he continued his now practised line of work, for much greater money - although at a greater risk. Kai Xerosa, in the underworld of the Imperial City is fast becoming a renowned name, and his reputation is ever increasing.

Kai Xerosa
Merchant’s Inn – Market District
Morning - 11th Second Seed 4E 174

Kai took another bite of his apple, it's sweet taste satiating his tired body. His gazed passed across the spectrum of personality encased in the stone refines of the Inn. Nothing really stood out as interesting, and Kai examined the various bodies with little intrigue. Like most Inns, the smell of mead dominated the air, although the powerful odour of sweat emanating from the men who had hustled and bustled through the crowded streets also managed to find its way up Kai's broken nose.

Taking another bite of his apple Kai noticed a man enter the room. Nothing immediately caught Kai's interest about the man, a few cuts and bruises here and there led Kai to assume that the man was probably some sort of labourer. He seemed to Kai to be quite tired, as he walked over and sat down across the room. Kai watched as the man sat down, that he flicked his gaze onto and from Kai very quickly, often a sign that meant he wasn't looking for trouble. Kai kept silent for a few moments longer, not removing his gaze from the Imperial a few metres away from him. He watched the man draw out a knife and begin to twirl it around in his grasp, paying no attention to Kai whatsoever, almost purposefully.

"Playing with that thing in public could give someone the wrong idea, Imperial." Kai shouted, loudly enough so that the man would hear him, yet unfortunately so that the rest of the Inn would too. The atmosphere in the Inn seemed to freeze for a moment, before people resumed with their conversations, although a few watchful eyes remained on Kai; most could tell he was trouble.

Kai was often unashamed about getting noticed in public, although it often reflected on him badly he somewhat enjoyed the notoriety of it all. He hoped in this instance that the Imperial would notice him, and that something would kick off, the lack of excitement in the Inn was beginning to annoy Kai, and despite his tired state, he believed this dagger-twirling Imperial could provide some amount of fun.

[Nomee]

Saraam Ko'Daas - Imperial Gates

The night had been long.

They had been traversing the land in the dead of night and the silence of shadow. Just as the rest of the sun made its way above the horizon could they finally glimpse the walls of the Imperial city. Saraam walked the long bridge to the city along with his fellow prison-mates. He had been meditating on recent events since the escape. Not all had made it out, that much he knew now. The ragtag group had a supposed leader, the old Bosmer who was now speaking to a legionnaire official on their behalf. Saraam had been before, and heard enough nay say to realize the man before him as Lucius Tiberius. He was the curator of the Imperial Legion. He fought against the scourges of thievery and corruption; an upstanding leader and unflinching do-gooder. Yes, a good example of justice, and hopefully a good listener. He would need his ears for what the Bosmer was speaking of.

The Thalmor is here.

His hand squeezed tighter on the staff in his hands. It was his only weapon now, and his most prized possession. It was more than just what it appeared as, it was his only connection with his kin, his past. From what he remembered the Thalmor swept through his stronghold on the way into Cyrodiil. He haven't a clue what is left of it now, but he'd no doubt it had been forsaken. those who inhabited it either fled or were killed trying to defend it. He had nothing now.

Except for Zaraan. His staff was the only thing that connected him to her, for her should was apart of it. That was the last thing he did before he was captured. He infused a part of her with the staff, so that one day he could fight with her again, and exact revenge on those who took her form him. Her spirit continued to exist in this realm, and the staff he possessed was her totem. She was his kin, his love.

". . . of the Thalmor is a friend of the Empire. But do not test our hospitality, elf. If it is as you say, we are now a city under siege." THe task at hand was once again brought to the forefront, thoughts like those were for solemn tavern nights and lots of mead. He cleared his mind and took a slow, steady breath inwards, then moved along to the front gates of the city with the group. Then he turned to his elven comrade.

"Bosmer, I don't think we ever had time to exchange greetings. My birth name is Saraam Ko'Daas, but you may choose to call me by my perquisite alias, Ermac. I just want to extend my gratitude to you for help me, and for helping us. Without you we wouldn't have made it out."

[^_^]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

The morning sun shun against Lycus’ brown skin, giving him a comforting warmness that rivaled the cold nights of mere hours ago. Dirt, sweat and grime covered his body from head to toe, miring his upward form in a less attractive manner, but nevertheless imposing. A large sack hanged on his shoulders, held tightly by a firm hand. While the other carried a long spear by his side as he marched to the Imperial City, onward toward the market district. He could not fathom how imminent the attack would be, or even how the Empire would heed their claims. Elsewyer and Valenwood fell to their knees, telling him that surely Cyrodiil would follow. He could already picture the images in his mind, a dark and unforgiving fantasy that spun over and over in his mind as a rolling wheel. Thalmor troops invading, killing soldiers and citizens alike in their quest for glorious supremacy.

Lycus was beginning to lose faith in his fellow Imperial brethren as well, more specifically the soldiers. More and more they proved to incompetent, and even now his trust in them has dwindled. He caught for a moment a brief scent of moon-sugar, a narcotic that could be refined into the addicting Skooma. To add to that, he could see one of the soldiers bearing red eyes that were as transparent as glass, meaning very well that some were involved in illegal activities. Pity Illana hasn't killed all the crime bosses yet, he thought. For a moment, he did hope the Thalmor would invade so that he could leave Cyrodiil behind with his sister. While she is glorified by some, she is loathed by others. Deeply inside, however, he knew she still would find trouble even in Riften. He sighed as all manners of headaches bothered him profoundly.

The people of the Empire deserved much better than they already did. As he walked closer to the gates, he saw the White Gold Tower in all it’s glory. It’s tall stature to be seen from miles away surrounding the country sides. And to him too, would be seen by the Empire’s citizens who distracted themselves in bloody entertainment which served to take their minds away from the outside conflict. The only grand spectacle was the Arena. Where men and women could forge their way to wealth and fame through the trials of fire and blood. Feeling a twinge of sadness, knowing he would never set foot upon the sands for many years, Lycus saw it best to fight one last fight for the sake of honor and a temporary glory. Making his way past the gates, Lycus entered the city.

Many minutes after, Lycus brushed past the citizens whim crowded the streets, taking advantage of "Market day." Unlike them, Lycus tried to find solace in a shady and hidden place, where he could get some food and drink. The barracks would not fit the description, neither would the arena. As far as he was aware, his brothers in arms were not even in the arena district at this hour. In market day, it wouldn't make sense for a match to take place when half the city is wasting coin on merchandise.

He entered a tavern called Merchant's inn. He opened the door, receiving a few curious stares and glares in which he returned with a mild frown. Without much eye contact, he took himself to a table where he was immedietly greeted by a tavern wench. She inquired him about what he would like. It did not take him long to make up his mind.

"Roasted beef, two grilled pieces of chicken briast, some seasoned venison. Add two loaves of bread and a small cheese wheel of any kind."

She nodded. "And to drink?"

"Water."

She nodded once more, exiting herself from his presence. He gazed around the room, taking in the description of those around him and the area as well. It changed since the last time he was there. All new people, except for Ty which sat in a corner, whom spun around with a knife in his hand, rousing the attention of a shady fellow who shouted so loud the tavern was quiet for a brief second.

The muscular Imperial kept his head down, but his ears was perked up and attentive.

[Emily Jones]

Tyranus Florentius
Merchant's Inn

"Playing with that thing in public could give someone the wrong idea, Imperial." Ty heard a voice say, coming from the direction of the man he had noticed earlier. He continued twirling the dagger around, his defiant attitude kicking in instantly as it always did. Typically, when someone referred to him by his race, good intentions were not held in spades. He didn't trust random strangers in bars in general, but shady looking strangers who addressed him in such a manner were even lower on his list. He felt his ears heat up, knowing the rest of the tavern had heard him being called to, however he ignored the feeling, and the other people. 'Is it too much to ask to not be bothered? Talos, this is probably how she feels all the time....' he thought, repressing a grin as his thoughts drifted once again to his beloved.

"The lack of insight in the ideas of others is hardly my concern," Ty spoke, his eyes not leaving the dagger but turning slightly, making it evident his words were meant for the man in the corner. The young Colovian's mouth often worked faster than his brain did, and this was one of those many instances. He may have not thought out the repercussions of his words, however it was of no consequence even as his sense caught up. He had handled the Thalmor, he could handle some random thug in a bar. "And if you are one of the people getting the wrong idea, then I suggest you seek out some type of education, for the good of society if not for yourself."

His speech flowed as it always did, the words lifting easily off his tongue, as loud as the man had spoken to him. When Ty spoke in general, he occasionally stumbled over a word here and there, talking a bit too fast and a bit too much for his mouth to interpret. However when he got in these defiant modes, the words were crisp and refined without a falter or break within them. As much as Florentius enjoyed these moments, his twirling was never interrupted. Even now he continued, his eyes not leaving the dagger.

Ty had heard the door open and someone enter, however he had no way of knowing it was Lycus, as he had yet to look away from his dagger. However it was convenient that he was there, as if this man decided to attempt to make up for Ty's comments, he would have some backup in the otherwise completely one-sided fight.

[Alex Blacke]

Illana Desselius, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Illana was not taken aback by the Argonian’s behavior and subtle sense of sarcasm. He assured her of the Bosmer’s word concerning the Wood Elf’s word about showing up at the right time.

“I know that Benalin will be there at the appointed time.” The Argonian said.

He damned well better be, or you will be a target, she thought in her less-than-business like warnings. Yet, sport is sport. I can make due with some thrill in hunting before the Thalmor set their dirty feet upon this city.

“Now, if you don't mind, I have business to attend to. It just so happens that I need to visit an inn; I dislike the Merchant's on market day because of the noise, but I suppose that I can adapt. I will keep an eye on him, but do not hold me responsible for your choice to deal with scummy mer. Good day.” said the lizard before departing off to pursue his desires.

She kept silent. But her mind was filled with hostile thoughts. What she could try to do with the Argonian; how well her boots would be with his scales, a fashionable belt to hold her various poisons or maybe even his skull made to decorate one of her shelves as a trophy back home. As he walked by, she took aim with her arm toward him, closing one eye and pulled her finger back as if pressing a trigger on a crossbow. A simple enough fantasy. Either way, he seemed like the common rabble not worthy of a hunter’s attention. But I’ve been wrong before, she admitted as she walked the opposite direction.

The city continued with the ongoing ruckus, the loud crowds bellowing with uneasiness regarding bids and sales. Random vendors counted down their most expensive conquests; going once, going twice and finally sold! None of it interested her until she came across another weapon’s tent. This time a large brute Orc stood behind the table. And unlike the Bosmer, he had quality weapons for sale. Steel, silver and Orcish longswords sat beside two pairs of axes, along with a few small daggers. He folded his arms at his chest at the sight of her inspecting his items, but she ignored his negative gesture and looked around. As the minutes passed, she found the one item that made her eyes gleam with shine. A steel crossbow..

After brief haggling and setting up a price, Illana was able to pay what she could now, and then return later with more gold. Now more than ever she had hoped that idiot bosmer would give her the rest of the money. One thousand three hundred gold was expensive, even in the Empire. But she had wealth, yet she did not have the time to return to the Great Forest and raid her home for all her items. With the right people, she could easily get the coin necessary in the city. Following that small event, Illana traversed the city once more, hearing all manners of advertisemants, sounds and shouts and smells. Hunger gnawed at her, tempting her to get food, but a particular sect of khajiit sitting on a table. Some eating fruits while the other seemed distraught and disturbed.

"Today, we speak to the guildmaster of the guard. Ra'Kharr must inform him of the Thalmor." One of them said.

She could not understand a word he said. Just the particular word “Thalmor” that caught her attention. She squinted her eyes, trying to make what she could of them. Most of the time, khajiits were up to no good. She dealt with many of their kind in Bravil and Leyawiin. These, however, were not thugs and drug addicts. She leaned against the wall, eyeing the table full of food before shooting a glance at them.

"You know for bunch of mobile carpets, you should try to speak Cyodiilic. After all, you are in the Imperial City, heart of the Empire." she began.

[trisha punch]

Karzon strolled through the streets of the Imperial city, his ears trained on all the sounds and people that were busying themselves within the Market district. He was looking for a shop that was run by a cousin of his. A more up market store that was one of the few outlets that his family owned, he seemed to walk confidently through the streets forcing people around him rather than moving to avoid anyone of any sort of importance including nobles. He spied Illana and an argonian beating on a Bosmer, a small grin spread across his face at the way the elf was treated though he could only watch biefly as he spied the building his cousin owned. Ja'khars fine Blades the sign read with the emblem of the family on the base, Two tigers facing off against one another with a sword in the middle. He headed into the building, aiming to get a bit of coin and get his gear fixed by them.

The interior was busy as what would of been expected, a few servants of the local nobles getting weapons repaired or picking up ordered weapons made on site. With the way things were getting anything made from Senchal into the city would be difficult which sadly was where their best weapons came from. Behind the counter polishing a staff was Ja'Khar, a Suthay-raht that was built like a brick wall with dark orange fur. "Oi!" Karzon called out, approaching the counter. "What the heck is this?" he asked motioning to the stacks of weapons left unceremoniously piled ontop of one another rather than resting on their racks. Ja'Khar looked up and blinked "What..Oh..Uhh.." he smiled wryly, recognizing his younger cousin infront of him. " I was having one of the apprentices clean the racks.." he started. Noting that Karzon looked like hell. "Are you..alright? You look like a peasent that crawled out from the sewers. And...smell like it to." he waved a hand infront of his nose. "Yeah...About that.. got caught by Thalmor on my way here and they weren't exactly nice.. confiscated most of my stuff but..I got everything but coin. Got anything ya can spare for a meal and maybe..a few repairs?" he asked, placing the dagger and bow on the bench. "Well, I can give you a bit of coin, just...don't tell your father. We both know he'd have a fit. Go upstairs, change and get some fresh stuff on I'll see what I can do about getting your armour repaired." Ja'khar grinned a bit "Bring any sugar perhaps?"

Karzon smirked lightly "Always into the sugar aren't we? Maybe.. the elves didn't touch it thankfully.." he hinted and headed upstairs. INside the building even upstairs it was a well decorated building, good furniture, silver and high end bedding all were present. Karzon opened a closet and dug through, finding a white shirt and black slacks he stripped down from his armour, folded it all neatly and changed. He came down the stairs and grinned finding the pile of swords gone and in their respective racks. "Thanks.. " Ja'khar tossed a bag of coin at Karzon "If you need anything, want to get alittle work while you're stuck here just ask. I got a fair few debts that need to be collected. ANd you can tell me what happened later!" Karzon nodded and waved his cousin goodbye for the time and headed for the merchants inn. Spying Illana watching a group of.. he had to look closer to them, something about them was familiar. Aside from the way they spoke which was fluent Ta'agra a small grin formed on his face. "Krin.." he muttered they were generally the only ones who spoke fluent Ta'agra inside Cyrodiil and so approached their table ignoring a partial comment he had caught from Illana that seemed to be directed at the group, the other tables seemed packed inside and they appeared to have a few seats open and what better way than to sit with a group of similarly like minded individuals? "Got a spare seat?" he asked in fluent Ta'agra that seemed to sport a more...Southern city dwelling accent that was commonly heard in Senchal.

[Cameron Wood]

Character Sheet, for reference.

Spoiler

Name: Kai Xerosa
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: Steed

General Appearance: Despite his rough and ready appearance Kai maintains a very masculine attractiveness about him. His scruffy face is often covered in a varying amount of wounds, dry blood and dirt. His nose is broken in several places and scars are scattered across his olive coloured skin. His eyes are light blue colour and his hair a jet black. Slicked back and kept clear of his face. Rarely clean shaven, the lower half of Kai’s face is often shrouded in a shadow of stubble, with sideburns connecting his thin beard to his thick hair. Kai isn’t exactly tall standing at only 5’10, though he is extremely well-built with an athletic and toned body achieved through years of combat training and experience. Kai has very few noticeable scars as his skin tends to heal very well, however it is rare to see Kai without some form of scar or wound at any given time.

Skills: Kai is a master of combat, in particular his speed, stamina, agility and sheer aggression give him the upper hand in most fights. It is not unknown for Kai to lose a fight although this is usually down to extreme fatigue or unconsciousness, as his incredible resilience and refusal to back down keep him fighting even when he is on his last limb. Kai tends to steer clear of using weapons and allows his body to do most of the work, after years of working in the field of martial arts; he is somewhat an expert and can even face those who are armed on equal ground. When it comes to magical ability Kai is powerless, he has no idea how to begin to use the arcane arts and instead turns a blind eye to its practise. Kai is very agile and his acrobatic ability allows him to manoeuvre himself extremely well, both in and out of combat. Years of martial arts training have made him extremely flexible and as a result Kai is an able gymnast. Despite his combat prowess, in warfare Kai is not as skilled as an average soldier. One-on-one combat is very different to tactical warfare, and Kai’s inability to take orders from anyone makes it harder for him to work in a team and perform as part of a unit.

Apparel: Kai takes little pride in his appearance and tends to wear whatever he can find that morning, never sticking to a favourite outfit or using different clothes for specific events. Usually this results in some sort of linen shirt and leather pants, although this can vary depending on what part of the world he resides in at the time. Due to his excessive travelling Kai tends to prefer comfort over protection and even when fighting will never wear any heavy armour, such as steel or iron. He finds these too restrictive and prefers lighter armours such as leather or in some colder parts of the world fur. Kai is often to be found engaging in combat in normal linen or cloth clothes, as this allows him to utilise his speed and agility more so than any other apparel.

Weapons: “Weapons are for the weak.” Kai rarely uses weapons when it comes to combat. Though he has been known to use a bow and the occasional short sword or dagger the only weapon he carries with him is a small knife, which even still is mainly used for hunting and skinning his dinners. Kai uses his body as his weapon, his fists are scarred and his knuckles bruised. Kai is capable, through years of training to throw a fierce punch and is also known to use a variety of kicks and blocks which allow him to combat with the most experienced of opponents.

Personality: “Scars themselves are the lessons of life, left permanently on your mind, body and soul; you have never truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as to lay a finger on your flesh.” Headstrong and extremely over-confident, Kai is not invincible, something he believes himself to be. Kai revels in his aggressive nature, actively seeking out trouble and violence to show off his skill and humiliate his enemies. Rude and arrogant, Kai has very few friends and many enemies, Kai knows that he is a loner but he doesn’t seem to mind and instead takes unusual pleasure from his own company. Behind his mindless and scruffy exterior hides a brutal, impulsive, and savage killer with an excessively-violent lust for blood. Kai knows exactly what he is doing by causing trouble and does it often simply for kicks. He makes no effort to hide his personality and it doesn’t take much to recognise that Kai is impulsive and ruthless. In battle Kai has an inhumane lust for blood; aggressive and determined many people would rather avoid any conflict with such a character. Kai is also extremely resilient and is barely ever seen to back down even in cases where he has been vastly overcome. Kai revels in the challenge of combat, enjoying being backed into a corner and having to fight his way out. Despite his violent and psychotic nature, Kai is not inherently evil. Deep down it is probable that Kai does have a conscience, shown partially through the fact that he will rarely attack or engage in combat with those who are weaker than him, be it women or children. Though he personally considers this to be down to the fact that they are unworthy of his effort – this could be a cover up for some sentient considerations.

Background: Kai has his roots in Bravil, it was where he was born and raised by his single mother. A skooma addict who had little income and rarely enough time to give Kai the attention or care that he properly needed. This goes some way to explain his erratic behaviour and his aggresive individualism. His childhood was spent mostly in the underground world of Bravil, mixing and involving himself with those in crime and violence. Kai fought in what was an illegal gambling arena sticking mainly to boxing and fights without rules. Here the richer members of the city would place money on fights that were both extremely bloody and often resulted in death. When the Thalmor armies first invaded, Kai decided to move away from Bravil, spending some time on the road before heading onto the Imperial City, where he continued his now practised line of work, for much greater money - although at a greater risk. Kai Xerosa, in the underworld of the Imperial City is fast becoming a renowned name, and his reputation is ever increasing.

Kai Xerosa
Merchant’s Inn – Market District
Morning - 11th Second Seed 4E 174


Kai couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed by the Imperials lack of cooperation. He hadn’t taken his eye from the dagger that span around in his grasp. Kai knew that he’d been heard, not simply by the Imperial, but almost the entire Inn, yet was unsure why the Imperial still refused to acknowledge him. Kai never took his gaze from the man, although he couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye, another man enter the room. He was grimy, probably more so than Kai, and as he sat down Kai couldn’t help himself not to listen to his very large order of what was mostly meat. Although this was more than interesting, strange almost, Kai had found himself distracted when the Imperial finally sparked up with a response.

"The lack of insight in the ideas of others is hardly my concern", he began, although rudely in the sense that he still refused to even as much as look in Kai’s direction. Kai wondered whether the man was sane. It was not often that people talked down to Kai, and he’d gotten far too used to people svcking up to him in order to avoid confrontation. Perhaps this one wants to fight Kai pondered to himself, before the Imperial spoke again, loudly enough to get noticed by majority of the Inn’s inhabitants.

“And if you are one of the people getting the wrong idea, then I suggest you seek out some type of education, for the good of society if not for yourself."

Kai stifled a laugh at the words chosen by the Imperial, deeming that in fact he must be somewhat mad, or at least blindly ignorant.

“I would watch my mouth if I were you, my friend; for unless you’re careful the next thing to fill it could be the taste of your own blood.” Kai’s tone had changed somewhat, his voice was grittier than before and it would have been easier to tell that he wasn’t fooling around. Secretly he was. Kai got a strange kick out of intimidating people, and that’s exactly what he was trying to do here.

OOC: Kinda' crappy I know, but I'm honestly so tired and have to get some rest before my exam tomorrow. Didn't want Polish to have to wait to long before he could reply. Hopefully this will lead to something interesting.

[Chase McAbee]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

The saucy tavern wench carried the dish to Lycus' table, sliding the beautiful plates right beneath his nostrils. His mouth began to salivate from the inside as he set his eyes upon the steaming food. Mostly meats, the savory cuisine was beautiful in his eyes. It was not to say that it did not have vegetables as well. But to wash down the warm food was his change of beverage, a small jug of Lavender Drink, made with sweetened water, honey and petals from the flower itself. A welcome change from water.

The wench smiled at him with a foxy grin, slightly touching him on the shoulder. She inquired if he required anything else. Lycus did not smile, but he nodded his head forward, closing his eyes before opening it following his thanks.
“Gratitude, but I will not require anything else.”

She nodded and left him to his meal. And so he ate, rather ravenously, snacking away at the chicken legs before devouring the roasted and yet bloodied beef. He then stabbed repeatedly at the legumes, impaling them with his dining utensil before shoving a forkful into his mouth. The meal went down with a gulp of Lavender Drink.

Lycus ate, but also listened intently to the Imperial stranger who appeared around the same age as him speaking to Tyranus. The long-haired Imperial chewed silently, his eyes staring into his plate. But inconspicuously eavesdropping. Whereas Illana would stare down until she attracted unwanted attention for the excuse to get into a fight.

As he cleaned his fingers with the table cloth, he began to wonder who this stranger was. Something about his appearance alone told him that he was trouble. While he was muscular and well-built of a form as Lycus, there was a rebellious streak, a palpable violent nature that poked at Lycus’s instinct. No different from Illana, he might be. Always wishing to resort to violence and bloodshed. But perhaps he is different, Lycus thought. Maybe he has some quality traits. Though his next words had put to death his hopes for difference.

“I would watch my mouth if I were you, my friend; for unless you’re careful the next thing to fill it could be the taste of your own blood.”

Or perhaps not, he reassured himself. The Imperial rogue had threatened Tyanus, whom sat on the far side of the room, though close enough so Lycus’ improved hearing could listen in. His voice sounded awfully intimidating, as if he looking for a brawl. He takes pleasure in intimidating the feeble, or at least those who appear as such.

The savage looking Imperial was going to stand up, to greet Ty and perhaps even intimidate the stranger, until a pesky voice calling his name caught his attention. A frown, greater than before, drew upon his face as he turned his head to the person whom called his name.

“Lycus!” a lithe Bosmer called out. It was Benalin, a low-life deadbeat who has lived far longer than he should of. Known for having more enemies than friends, and more injuries than glories. He also attempted to poison Lycus in the arena when he discovered the man had an advantage over his own bet. Yet it did not bother Lycus. He was just another common fool who searched for a quicker, more dishonorable way to victory. Yet his fate was pretty much sealed when he cheated Illana.

Lycus raised his mug to the Wood Elf, who crouched next to Lycus. “Benalin. Amazement seizes the tongue to discover that you are yet alive.”

The nasty Bosmer chuckled, curling his fingers around his tousled head. “Ehehe, were it not for an Argonian in the Market Place, that lass would have parted my head from my neck.”

Lycus furrowed his brow. What lass?

The Wood Elf read his expression and sighed. “The Bounty Hunter. Illana the huntress? Your cousin?”

Lycus sighed upon frowning. “Sister. She allowed you to live, then. And I suppose you require protection from her inevitable wrath?”

"Ah, see. You are a smart lad."

Lycus reached his hand to the side near Benalin, gripping whatever was between the Bosmer’s legs, specifically the cloth and his man-parts. The Wood Elf suddenly squealed as Lycus tightened his grip with one hand, as he simultaneously reached for a knife sitting beside his plate. As the Benalin croaked in a sudden pain that was loud enough for many patrons to hear, Lycus slowly scrapped the top of the venison chop before savagely stabbing it, only to take it to his mouth were he slowly chewed and made a sound of consideration.

He squeezed a bit tighter, voice low and hostile. “You try to poison me so you can have your man win against in an unfair match. You try to swindle your way in life and you come to me to seek help for your own mistakes?”

“….Yes…” he whispered, face red in pain. Teeth clenched in agony.

Lycus cold expression went darker. He pointed his knife toward the Bosmer’s manhood.

“Quite the courage, for a man who is so small in every aspect. If you should even deserve the title of man.” He released his hold from the man’s treasured parts. He set his gripped the knife with both hands. “Find your tongue and set word to purpose. Choose them carefully or you shall have two broken legs and nothing in between to support yourself.”

Silence lingered for a moment. He gulped and smiled to Lycus. “I wish to pay my debt to Illana today. Yet the sum is too grand for me to conjure in a mere six hours unless I were to make a bet.”

Lycus tapped the table with the tip of the knife. Silent as the grave, thus allowing him to continue.

“I know how many times you have won in the games, so I wish to triple my usual bet for you in the arena. Imagine, the roar of the crowd, the fame, the glory! You can fight and I can pay your sister. Either way, you win and I am simply forgotten.”

Lycus did not betray his emotion, yet he tensed at the words. Arena! For the first time it seemed, he was finally going to be persuaded by the Bosmer. As if the gods had switched misfortune with blessing. An opportunity, Lycus thought, to fight in the arena once more as my father before me.

"And how much coin would you wager toward my victory?" Lycus inquired.

"A thousand septims. You will get all of it when you win. You and your sister. Enough to buy the [censored]s in the brothel and wine to sate your thirst."

"Wine and women are of little concern. And if by cruel misfortune I fall, then what of your bet?"

"I flee the province, never to return."

Lycus scratched the growing hairs under his chin, considering a reply. As he drank his drink from the jug itself, he nodded slightly, his answer a positive "yes.".

[HARDHEAD]

Tyranus Florentius
Merchant's Inn

“I would watch my mouth if I were you, my friend; for unless you’re careful the next thing to fill it could be the taste of your own blood.”

Ty stopped twirling his dagger and sighed. He could tell that this was an attempt to intimidate him, and he wasn't having it. Ty didn't survive the Thalmor to have some two-bit thug in a bar try and push him around. He wouldn't have been intimated normally either, however his attitude would probably have been a lot less pungent a few weeks ago. This time, he looked directly at the man in the corner. "Terribly frightening, really. If I needed someone to scare off the birds from the fields, I would certainly be remiss if I didn't seek you out." Ty started, his expression neutral as his eyes locked with the other man's. "Any ice-brain who attempts to create a confrontation in a tavern for no discernible reason is hardly worth his weight in stone. And just for those of you listening in on this little exchange," said Tyranus, gesturing around the Inn, catching sight of Lycus briefly before returning his gaze. "I'm about seventeen, and I'm willing to bet our shady friend in the corner is older than that. So even if you happen to attack me, and most likely kick my ass up between my shoulder blades, the most you're gonna get is a pain in your foot."

Having sufficiently made his point, Ty returned to spinning his dagger. He wondered what Lycus was doing here, and decided in a bit he would go over and make conversation. However if he did it now, it would look like he was running off to his bigger friend to save his ass, and that simply wasn't Ty's style. If he was going to get his ass beat, he was going to be dignified about it.

[FITTAS]

Imperial Gates

Errialor

It happened so fast. He barely had time to draw his sword before being subdued. He didn't even manage to injure any of the prisoners before they managed to take him down. In fact, they didn't even need to injure him to do so. But for some reason they did not kill him. They took his weapons and armor (fortunately, he had some clothing underneath) and forced him to go with them. Several times it seemed he would be rescued by Dominion patrols, but every time they were slaughered to the last mer. At first he assumed they were going to hand him over to the Legion, but upon running into a Legion patrol, none of the survivors ousted him as a Dominion soldier. They took me alive, but slaughtered the others. And then they make it so the Legion thinks I'm another escaped prisoner. Why?

It was a bit ironic, that he was now a prisoner of the very prisoners he had been guarding. And here he was, in the very city that the Dominion army was planning on conquering. This would be the hardest city in Cyrodiil to take, but Errialor was able to just walk right in. In fact, it was in the best interests of his well-being to do so, considering his predicament. I wonder what will happen if the Dominion take the city. I wonder if I could be rescued.

As he entered the gates and watched the group seperate, going their own ways, he stayed and followed the leader, a Bosmer. He saw firsthand just how dangerous the mer was, and he knew he would not be able to escape. If there was no guard around, the mer could easily kill him without anyone noticing. If somebody took notice, his captor could reveal Errialor's status as a soldier for the Dominion and have him sent to the Empire's torture chambers. Obviously, neither objective was ideal. He slowly approached the mer and softly spoke up.

"I don't understand. Why didn't you give me to the Legion? What do you want with me?"

[louise fortin]

Character Sheet, for reference.

Spoiler

Name: Kai Xerosa
Gender: Male
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: Steed

General Appearance: Despite his rough and ready appearance Kai maintains a very masculine attractiveness about him. His scruffy face is often covered in a varying amount of wounds, dry blood and dirt. His nose is broken in several places and scars are scattered across his olive coloured skin. His eyes are light blue colour and his hair a jet black. Slicked back and kept clear of his face. Rarely clean shaven, the lower half of Kai’s face is often shrouded in a shadow of stubble, with sideburns connecting his thin beard to his thick hair. Kai isn’t exactly tall standing at only 5’10, though he is extremely well-built with an athletic and toned body achieved through years of combat training and experience. Kai has very few noticeable scars as his skin tends to heal very well, however it is rare to see Kai without some form of scar or wound at any given time.

Skills: Kai is a master of combat, in particular his speed, stamina, agility and sheer aggression give him the upper hand in most fights. It is not unknown for Kai to lose a fight although this is usually down to extreme fatigue or unconsciousness, as his incredible resilience and refusal to back down keep him fighting even when he is on his last limb. Kai tends to steer clear of using weapons and allows his body to do most of the work, after years of working in the field of martial arts; he is somewhat an expert and can even face those who are armed on equal ground. When it comes to magical ability Kai is powerless, he has no idea how to begin to use the arcane arts and instead turns a blind eye to its practise. Kai is very agile and his acrobatic ability allows him to manoeuvre himself extremely well, both in and out of combat. Years of martial arts training have made him extremely flexible and as a result Kai is an able gymnast. Despite his combat prowess, in warfare Kai is not as skilled as an average soldier. One-on-one combat is very different to tactical warfare, and Kai’s inability to take orders from anyone makes it harder for him to work in a team and perform as part of a unit.

Apparel: Kai takes little pride in his appearance and tends to wear whatever he can find that morning, never sticking to a favourite outfit or using different clothes for specific events. Usually this results in some sort of linen shirt and leather pants, although this can vary depending on what part of the world he resides in at the time. Due to his excessive travelling Kai tends to prefer comfort over protection and even when fighting will never wear any heavy armour, such as steel or iron. He finds these too restrictive and prefers lighter armours such as leather or in some colder parts of the world fur. Kai is often to be found engaging in combat in normal linen or cloth clothes, as this allows him to utilise his speed and agility more so than any other apparel.

Weapons: “Weapons are for the weak.” Kai rarely uses weapons when it comes to combat. Though he has been known to use a bow and the occasional short sword or dagger the only weapon he carries with him is a small knife, which even still is mainly used for hunting and skinning his dinners. Kai uses his body as his weapon, his fists are scarred and his knuckles bruised. Kai is capable, through years of training to throw a fierce punch and is also known to use a variety of kicks and blocks which allow him to combat with the most experienced of opponents.

Personality: “Scars themselves are the lessons of life, left permanently on your mind, body and soul; you have never truly won a fight if the enemy cannot do as much as to lay a finger on your flesh.” Headstrong and extremely over-confident, Kai is not invincible, something he believes himself to be. Kai revels in his aggressive nature, actively seeking out trouble and violence to show off his skill and humiliate his enemies. Rude and arrogant, Kai has very few friends and many enemies, Kai knows that he is a loner but he doesn’t seem to mind and instead takes unusual pleasure from his own company. Behind his mindless and scruffy exterior hides a brutal, impulsive, and savage killer with an excessively-violent lust for blood. Kai knows exactly what he is doing by causing trouble and does it often simply for kicks. He makes no effort to hide his personality and it doesn’t take much to recognise that Kai is impulsive and ruthless. In battle Kai has an inhumane lust for blood; aggressive and determined many people would rather avoid any conflict with such a character. Kai is also extremely resilient and is barely ever seen to back down even in cases where he has been vastly overcome. Kai revels in the challenge of combat, enjoying being backed into a corner and having to fight his way out. Despite his violent and psychotic nature, Kai is not inherently evil. Deep down it is probable that Kai does have a conscience, shown partially through the fact that he will rarely attack or engage in combat with those who are weaker than him, be it women or children. Though he personally considers this to be down to the fact that they are unworthy of his effort – this could be a cover up for some sentient considerations.

Background: Kai has his roots in Bravil, it was where he was born and raised by his single mother. A skooma addict who had little income and rarely enough time to give Kai the attention or care that he properly needed. This goes some way to explain his erratic behaviour and his aggresive individualism. His childhood was spent mostly in the underground world of Bravil, mixing and involving himself with those in crime and violence. Kai fought in what was an illegal gambling arena sticking mainly to boxing and fights without rules. Here the richer members of the city would place money on fights that were both extremely bloody and often resulted in death. When the Thalmor armies first invaded, Kai decided to move away from Bravil, spending some time on the road before heading onto the Imperial City, where he continued his now practised line of work, for much greater money - although at a greater risk. Kai Xerosa, in the underworld of the Imperial City is fast becoming a renowned name, and his reputation is ever increasing.

Kai Xerosa
Merchant’s Inn – Market District
Morning - 11th Second Seed 4E 174

Kai temporarily took his gaze from the Imperial that he had been berating, and onto the most recent face to draw his attention, which was, as far as Kai could tell, another Imperial. He appeared to be conversing with a flustered looking Bosmer, although he seemed to remain calm, enjoying his large order that had recently been brought over by the waitress. Kai couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but was slightly taken aback when the Imperial he now observed reached out and grabbed the Bosmer by the genitals. Kai figured that he was a more worthy opponent than the other Imperial that he had been goading, and wondered if he should switch his irritating behaviour toward him.

As Kai considered this the man he had been pestering, spoke up once more. Taking what Kai considered an admirable attitude, one that Kai’s behaviour rarely invoked from the usual suspects that he chose to bully. His gaze finally lifted from the dagger that he still held in his grasp, onto Kai before he spoke, the man appeared unafraid, and his words seemed to back that assumption up.

"Terribly frightening, really. If I needed someone to scare off the birds from the fields, I would certainly be remiss if I didn't seek you out."

Kai chuckled aloud at the image, it was usually more than a few birds that Kai scared, but this man seemed unaffected by his attempt at intimidation.

"Any ice-brain who attempts to create a confrontation in a tavern for no discernible reason is hardly worth his weight in stone. And just for those of you listening in on this little exchange, I'm about seventeen, and I'm willing to bet our shady friend in the corner is older than that. So even if you happen to attack me, and most likely kick my ass up between my shoulder blades, the most you're gonna get is a pain in your foot."

Kai was surprised by how sharply the man delivered his speech, let alone how he’d had the confidence to address the entire Inn about the quickly evolving confrontation. The speech had changed one thing; Kai now had little interest in fighting with the young man, the idea that he would win easily was always off-putting, added to the fact that he now almost admired the gumption of the young Imperial.

Still smirking, as he had done the whole way through the Imperials short outburst he began to slowly, yet loudly clap, as the young man went back to spinning his dagger.

Kai got up and approached the man, speaking now, in a more pleasant tone than he had before.

“Well how about a drink then? Since you’ve impressed me with such dignity and courage.” Kai wasn’t used to making friends, but he liked something about the mouthy Imperial and was keen to get to know him, at least for now.

“The name’s Kai Xerosa and your description of me as ‘shady’ probably weren’t far wrong. I’d probably guess you’re not from around here, or else you’d more than likely recognise the name.”