Altmer: 1
Argonian: 3
Bosmer: 2
Breton: 1
Dunmer: 2
Imperial: 3
Khajiit: 1
Nord:
Orismer: 1
Redguard: 1
Argonian: 3
Bosmer: 2
Breton: 1
Dunmer: 2
Imperial: 3
Khajiit: 1
Nord:
Orismer: 1
Redguard: 1
Name
Age
Gender
Race
Sign
Follows
Rank/Occupation/Guild
Kin
Companion
Age
Gender
Race
Sign
Follows
Rank/Occupation/Guild
Kin
Companion
Undecided characters
Aeris Strife - High Elf - Male - 22 - Sign of the _ - Thalmor Ambassador
Cato Deprisus - Imperial - Male - 57 - Sign of the _ - Draconis Family Butler
Juliette Hesperadus - Imperial - Female - 31 - Sign of the Lady - Draconis Family Housekeeper
Thalurea Moabathul - Dunmer - Female - 32 - Sign of the _ - Draconis Family Bodyguard
Casseth Avolarthil - Dunmer - Male - 12 - Sign of the _ - Orphan Boy in Windhelm
Cato Deprisus - Imperial - Male - 57 - Sign of the _ - Draconis Family Butler
Juliette Hesperadus - Imperial - Female - 31 - Sign of the Lady - Draconis Family Housekeeper
Thalurea Moabathul - Dunmer - Female - 32 - Sign of the _ - Draconis Family Bodyguard
Casseth Avolarthil - Dunmer - Male - 12 - Sign of the _ - Orphan Boy in Windhelm
Amaris Maesir
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_4816427.jpg)
Amaris Maesir
Altmer
19
Sign of the Serpent
Follows: Kynareth, Meridia, Sithis,
The Listener, Undiscovered
Kin: Solinar Maesir (father), Shasara Maesir (mother)
Amaris Maesir. They say that Altmer cannot ever be trusted and Amaris is a wonderful example of that warning. He's dangerous. He is connected to the Night Mother. The Listener. He hears her voice and he obeys. You might be next on the list, the next victim whose name is written in blood and called out from the shadows by a voice broken in agony. The Night mother hears their voices, feels their hate and lust for revenge, and she answers their call. But first, she must tell the listener. She must tell Amaris. Amaris is an Altmer, born in the glorious Dwarven city of Markarth. There was always so much expected of him. He was born noble, wealthy, to a family of good connections, and at the peak time when Thalmor were respected and feared by all. Not that any of his family were in the Thalmor themselves. Both his mother and father had high hopes for him, and entering into into such a proud and honorable guard of the High Elves was definitely high on their list. But from a young age, Amaris was troubled. He complained often of headaches, migraines, and hearing a voice in his head. For a long time, the family chalked it up to his strange imagination, but when the nightmares began, they feared the worst: that their son was crazy or cursed. They took him to see herbalists and alchemists. Desperate for a cure, his father even tracked down a witch and several necromancers. None could help him. It wasn't even definite that something magical or physical was affecting him. It was something in his head, and there weren't any spells or potions that could cure it. His family tried to help him, they really did, but Amaris knew it was all wasted efforts. When he was nine, he ran away from home. It was the hardest decision to make. He stole a horse and ran. Where he went, no one knows. Two years later, he left a pouch of money to pay off the fines for stealing the horse, but besides that and a note of apology, there were no other signs or traces of him. Not until he was eighteen, and by that time, the war and the world had changed. Wherever he went, he had to tread carefully. The Thalmor were hated. Despised. Being Altmer, obviously he was associated with them. It didn't matter where he came from or the family he once had. He was High Elf. And High Elves were the enemy. They were wrong though. It wasn't the fact he was High Elf that they should've feared him, it was the person he had turned into. The person he was inside. Under that golden skinned exterior, behind those serpentine eyes, he is a twisted, wicked thing. He learned of his destiny and his curse, being the Listener. The Dark Brotherhood took him down a foul path that he hated to follow. Always he was with the Night Mother, but amidst her voice was that other one in his head, the one that soon melded into hers till he couldn't quite tell which was which. He was ever so honored to serve the Night Mother, but there were many times he was wrong, and the targets he ordered to be executed were innocents who never made the list, just names that came to mind that the other one demanded. He knows not what this voice is from, wether its Sheogorath or another demented god or just some sort of schizophrenic breakdown. The voice in his head drove him to insanity. It's whisper: so distant, the words almost incomprehensible, urging him onward to kill and kill and kill. To fulfill bloody sacraments and murder men, women, children, the old: all were equal under his blade. He took the lives of Dunmer, Orismer, Kahjiit, Manmer, Yokudans; everyone. Everyone. Anyone. He could never satisfy the voice. No matter how much blood he shed, the voice would always come back. So he wanders the world, doing as it bids, never resting and always praying that someday it will finally leave him in peace. The Dark Brotherhood want him back, but he has left them. Not for good. Just until that other voice is gone. Till her voice is gone. Then maybe the Night Mother's soothing whispers from that ancient corpse won't be so unwelcome because he will finally know they are the real commands. Amaris could almost be described as beautiful, but none would make any compliments of the sort to his face. He would never think of himself as looking anywhere near attractive or handsome by any stretch of the imagination, and will often decline and deny such words or advances of that nature. Amaris is fairly tall, which is only common for his race. He stands at about six feet and three inches, but is still growing, so it is expected he will surpass that height in the future. His skin is creamy, soft; a pale, light gold color with a smooth sort of sheen to it. It’s almost tantalizing in its color and feel, as though you couldn’t resist reaching out and running your fingers down it to see if it really is as smooth as refined pearls. Paralyzed. When one looks at his eyes, they feel almost paralyzed. So bright and radiant his eyes are. The color of a true chartreuse fire, like the lights of the sky in the north. They glow and gleam and are oh so beautiful, but the malice. The poison. The hate that brims in those eyes melts the hardest of hearts and solidifies them into petrified form. They are the eyes of a snake: watching the prey, hungering for the prey, waiting to strike. Yet, in the midst of that gaze, there is fear. There is fear, sorrow, and an unimaginable pain. A longing for death. Yes. Those eyes long for death. Not to see death or to cause death, but the longing to dim and fade as the owner of those eyes ceases to be. His hair is long and wispy. It is neither straight nor wavy, but an odd combination of both. It is as light as feathers and soft as the fluff of a kitten. It is the color of pale sunlight and spun gold; it shimmers and flickers as sparks in a fire or light off of water. He keeps it long and wild, never truly caring for where it chooses to go. It always possesses a windblown quality. Occasionally, he will keep it back with small braids entwined in the golden waterfall, but for the most part, it is let loose and free.
Altmer
19
Sign of the Serpent
Follows: Kynareth, Meridia, Sithis,
The Listener, Undiscovered
Kin: Solinar Maesir (father), Shasara Maesir (mother)
Amaris Maesir. They say that Altmer cannot ever be trusted and Amaris is a wonderful example of that warning. He's dangerous. He is connected to the Night Mother. The Listener. He hears her voice and he obeys. You might be next on the list, the next victim whose name is written in blood and called out from the shadows by a voice broken in agony. The Night mother hears their voices, feels their hate and lust for revenge, and she answers their call. But first, she must tell the listener. She must tell Amaris. Amaris is an Altmer, born in the glorious Dwarven city of Markarth. There was always so much expected of him. He was born noble, wealthy, to a family of good connections, and at the peak time when Thalmor were respected and feared by all. Not that any of his family were in the Thalmor themselves. Both his mother and father had high hopes for him, and entering into into such a proud and honorable guard of the High Elves was definitely high on their list. But from a young age, Amaris was troubled. He complained often of headaches, migraines, and hearing a voice in his head. For a long time, the family chalked it up to his strange imagination, but when the nightmares began, they feared the worst: that their son was crazy or cursed. They took him to see herbalists and alchemists. Desperate for a cure, his father even tracked down a witch and several necromancers. None could help him. It wasn't even definite that something magical or physical was affecting him. It was something in his head, and there weren't any spells or potions that could cure it. His family tried to help him, they really did, but Amaris knew it was all wasted efforts. When he was nine, he ran away from home. It was the hardest decision to make. He stole a horse and ran. Where he went, no one knows. Two years later, he left a pouch of money to pay off the fines for stealing the horse, but besides that and a note of apology, there were no other signs or traces of him. Not until he was eighteen, and by that time, the war and the world had changed. Wherever he went, he had to tread carefully. The Thalmor were hated. Despised. Being Altmer, obviously he was associated with them. It didn't matter where he came from or the family he once had. He was High Elf. And High Elves were the enemy. They were wrong though. It wasn't the fact he was High Elf that they should've feared him, it was the person he had turned into. The person he was inside. Under that golden skinned exterior, behind those serpentine eyes, he is a twisted, wicked thing. He learned of his destiny and his curse, being the Listener. The Dark Brotherhood took him down a foul path that he hated to follow. Always he was with the Night Mother, but amidst her voice was that other one in his head, the one that soon melded into hers till he couldn't quite tell which was which. He was ever so honored to serve the Night Mother, but there were many times he was wrong, and the targets he ordered to be executed were innocents who never made the list, just names that came to mind that the other one demanded. He knows not what this voice is from, wether its Sheogorath or another demented god or just some sort of schizophrenic breakdown. The voice in his head drove him to insanity. It's whisper: so distant, the words almost incomprehensible, urging him onward to kill and kill and kill. To fulfill bloody sacraments and murder men, women, children, the old: all were equal under his blade. He took the lives of Dunmer, Orismer, Kahjiit, Manmer, Yokudans; everyone. Everyone. Anyone. He could never satisfy the voice. No matter how much blood he shed, the voice would always come back. So he wanders the world, doing as it bids, never resting and always praying that someday it will finally leave him in peace. The Dark Brotherhood want him back, but he has left them. Not for good. Just until that other voice is gone. Till her voice is gone. Then maybe the Night Mother's soothing whispers from that ancient corpse won't be so unwelcome because he will finally know they are the real commands. Amaris could almost be described as beautiful, but none would make any compliments of the sort to his face. He would never think of himself as looking anywhere near attractive or handsome by any stretch of the imagination, and will often decline and deny such words or advances of that nature. Amaris is fairly tall, which is only common for his race. He stands at about six feet and three inches, but is still growing, so it is expected he will surpass that height in the future. His skin is creamy, soft; a pale, light gold color with a smooth sort of sheen to it. It’s almost tantalizing in its color and feel, as though you couldn’t resist reaching out and running your fingers down it to see if it really is as smooth as refined pearls. Paralyzed. When one looks at his eyes, they feel almost paralyzed. So bright and radiant his eyes are. The color of a true chartreuse fire, like the lights of the sky in the north. They glow and gleam and are oh so beautiful, but the malice. The poison. The hate that brims in those eyes melts the hardest of hearts and solidifies them into petrified form. They are the eyes of a snake: watching the prey, hungering for the prey, waiting to strike. Yet, in the midst of that gaze, there is fear. There is fear, sorrow, and an unimaginable pain. A longing for death. Yes. Those eyes long for death. Not to see death or to cause death, but the longing to dim and fade as the owner of those eyes ceases to be. His hair is long and wispy. It is neither straight nor wavy, but an odd combination of both. It is as light as feathers and soft as the fluff of a kitten. It is the color of pale sunlight and spun gold; it shimmers and flickers as sparks in a fire or light off of water. He keeps it long and wild, never truly caring for where it chooses to go. It always possesses a windblown quality. Occasionally, he will keep it back with small braids entwined in the golden waterfall, but for the most part, it is let loose and free.
Falco Vitellius
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_434922.jpg)
Falco Vitellius
Imperial
8
Sign of the Lord
Follows: Stendarr and Talos
Orphan Up For Adoption
Kin: dead (coming soon)
Falco is a little Imperial boy. His parents were both soldiers and taken prisoner during the Civil War. He was born in the dungeons, and after his parents died, he was sent out on the streets. Surrounded by Nords, it's doubtful he has much life left to live. He hopes to someday leave Windhelm and get to Markarth or another Imperial held city, but it remains a mere dream for now.
Imperial
8
Sign of the Lord
Follows: Stendarr and Talos
Orphan Up For Adoption
Kin: dead (coming soon)
Falco is a little Imperial boy. His parents were both soldiers and taken prisoner during the Civil War. He was born in the dungeons, and after his parents died, he was sent out on the streets. Surrounded by Nords, it's doubtful he has much life left to live. He hopes to someday leave Windhelm and get to Markarth or another Imperial held city, but it remains a mere dream for now.
Kopara T'rizen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_3628475.jpg?404)
Kopara T'rizen
Imperial
30
Sign of the Steed
Follows: Molag Bal, Hermaeus Mora,
An assassin for hire and acrobatic performer.
Kin: Ervyna T'rizen (adopted mother), Tasellis Monrius (father, Imperial), Lucinde Monrius (mother), Iratian Draconis (son)
Come one! Come all! Come see the Fiery Voice of Solstheim! Just a glance, only a peek. If you watch too long, he may just sweep you away into the darkness of eternity.
It happens, though not often, that a child from one race winds up in the hands of another. Such was the case with Kopara T'rizen. An Imperial boy whose parents met untimely deaths not long after he was born, he was left in the care of their friend, a Dunmer. The Dunmer took Kopara with him to Solestheim and gave him over to his sister to raise. Ervyna T'rizen gladly adopted him, having always wanted a son, though being unable to marry for varied reasons. Kopara grew up loved and well cared for. The Dunmer in the small village accepted him, though it took them some time at first. When he reached twelve, he began to sincerely question his origins, coming to the point where he realized he was so far unlike the Dunmer that he couldn't possibly be one. Ervyna had already told him he was different, but it wasn't till he confronted her that she told him everything about his past from what her brother had told her. When he was fifteen, he hopped aboard the ship back to Skyrim and there, journeyed far and wide across both Skyrim and down even into Hammerfall, searching for answers. During a return trip to Markarth when he was seventeen, he came across a man investigating a haunted house. Upon entering it and going down into its heart, he came face-to-face with the Shrine of Molag Bal. The cruel, Daedric Prince bound Kopara to his will and sent him off doing his bidding. Kopara follows him if only a little unwillingly. He has lost much of his own morals and standard through his journeys, even going so far as to satisfy his own carnal interests by means of deceit and lies.
Kopara T'rizen is tough and resolute, but also very crafty. He doesn't strike one as a typical Imperial or even a typical Dunmer-raised person. He has fallen too far into the clutches of the vile Molag Bal to even want to turn back. He isn't openly immoral or evil. He mostly keeps to himself as it is and prefers to be alone. He sticks to smaller villages for the most part, only stepping into the cities if he absolutley has to or possesses some business there. He can usually pass through even Nord territory unchallenged, as he slips through the shadows and comes across as so strange, none would even guess he was an Imperial. As an acrobat and assassin for hire, he can usually find jobs in both social circles and in the dark and corrupted men.
Oh, and another thing about this strange man: he knows a word of power. Just as is necessary for anyone not Dragon Born to understand, it took him at least ten years to learn it. The word he knows is "Yol", or "Fire" in the common language. He burn his enemies with a great blast of fire that flames from his mouth much like a dragon's own breath. This power has earned him the title "Fiery Voice of Solstheim".
Imperial
30
Sign of the Steed
Follows: Molag Bal, Hermaeus Mora,
An assassin for hire and acrobatic performer.
Kin: Ervyna T'rizen (adopted mother), Tasellis Monrius (father, Imperial), Lucinde Monrius (mother), Iratian Draconis (son)
Come one! Come all! Come see the Fiery Voice of Solstheim! Just a glance, only a peek. If you watch too long, he may just sweep you away into the darkness of eternity.
It happens, though not often, that a child from one race winds up in the hands of another. Such was the case with Kopara T'rizen. An Imperial boy whose parents met untimely deaths not long after he was born, he was left in the care of their friend, a Dunmer. The Dunmer took Kopara with him to Solestheim and gave him over to his sister to raise. Ervyna T'rizen gladly adopted him, having always wanted a son, though being unable to marry for varied reasons. Kopara grew up loved and well cared for. The Dunmer in the small village accepted him, though it took them some time at first. When he reached twelve, he began to sincerely question his origins, coming to the point where he realized he was so far unlike the Dunmer that he couldn't possibly be one. Ervyna had already told him he was different, but it wasn't till he confronted her that she told him everything about his past from what her brother had told her. When he was fifteen, he hopped aboard the ship back to Skyrim and there, journeyed far and wide across both Skyrim and down even into Hammerfall, searching for answers. During a return trip to Markarth when he was seventeen, he came across a man investigating a haunted house. Upon entering it and going down into its heart, he came face-to-face with the Shrine of Molag Bal. The cruel, Daedric Prince bound Kopara to his will and sent him off doing his bidding. Kopara follows him if only a little unwillingly. He has lost much of his own morals and standard through his journeys, even going so far as to satisfy his own carnal interests by means of deceit and lies.
Kopara T'rizen is tough and resolute, but also very crafty. He doesn't strike one as a typical Imperial or even a typical Dunmer-raised person. He has fallen too far into the clutches of the vile Molag Bal to even want to turn back. He isn't openly immoral or evil. He mostly keeps to himself as it is and prefers to be alone. He sticks to smaller villages for the most part, only stepping into the cities if he absolutley has to or possesses some business there. He can usually pass through even Nord territory unchallenged, as he slips through the shadows and comes across as so strange, none would even guess he was an Imperial. As an acrobat and assassin for hire, he can usually find jobs in both social circles and in the dark and corrupted men.
Oh, and another thing about this strange man: he knows a word of power. Just as is necessary for anyone not Dragon Born to understand, it took him at least ten years to learn it. The word he knows is "Yol", or "Fire" in the common language. He burn his enemies with a great blast of fire that flames from his mouth much like a dragon's own breath. This power has earned him the title "Fiery Voice of Solstheim".
Iratian Draconis
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/_249724.jpg)
Iratian Draconis
Imperial
12
Sign of the Lady
Follows: Stendarr
Noble Child
Kin: Kopara T'rizen (father), Lady Vorethma Draconis (mother)
Iratian Draconis is the noble bastard son of the Lady Vorethma Draconis. He has fiery hair and brilliant eyes, complimentary of the father he never met. The only attributes he shares with his lady mother is her same, fair skin and gentle disposition. He's often despised and bullied by other children and some adults because of his bastard status. His mother was confronted privately about it, but word somehow spread and soon all of Solitude knew. She was absolutely humiliated, and her parents doubted she would ever find a husband. They tried to find Iratian's father, but the mysterious enigma had disappeared without a trace.
Iratian appears more Imperial than Dunmer. His fair skin is devoid of blemishes though has a tight quality. He's neither plush or soft, and is rather harder than he ever appears to be. Though he has no scars, he has been injured before and is not ignorant of the pain the world has to offer. When he was younger, he was beaten and bullied by other children till he crept home with bruises and blood dappling his gentle face and body. Advanced healers managed to repair the damage without any traces, but the memories are still there. Always will be. He is tall and thin, almost willowy of stature with the elvish grace that certain Dunmer assassins possess. He has both their quiet step and catlike poise. Despite being only one fourth Dunmer, he bears those fine qualities of theirs despite how odd it is that he possesses them. His brilliant eyes are the writhing depths of flame, imitating the very yes his father bears. Their brilliant golden color almost has a firefly effect in certain lighting, as if his eyes really were glimmering gold or licks of flame and not mere oculars for the purpose of perception and observation. His hair -more like his father's but a combination of both parent's own- is a bright, strawberry blonde, with both red and golden streaks intertwined within. It is very soft like his mother's, but seems to have a mind of its own like his father's.
Iratian is a very serious and severe boy. He was never one to be happy or playful as such expressions were met with immediate chastisement. For most of his life, he was ordered to shut up and stay out of sight. He grew up knowing he was unwanted and unloved though he never fathomed why. His mother was close to him, as well as an old captain of the Solitude guard who helped teach him to sit a horse and wield a blade. But other than those two whom he seldom saw, he was alone. Alone, afraid, and confused. He always possessed a bright, passionate spirit. But after years of being shut down and discouraged, he eventually closed in on himself like a caterpillar wrapping itself away in a cocoon. It was his way of coping with the stress of his home, of shutting out the pain and the hate. He always carried himself proudly and spoke civilly. He became quite a picture perfect noble boy, but on the inside, he was anxious and angry.
Imperial
12
Sign of the Lady
Follows: Stendarr
Noble Child
Kin: Kopara T'rizen (father), Lady Vorethma Draconis (mother)
Iratian Draconis is the noble bastard son of the Lady Vorethma Draconis. He has fiery hair and brilliant eyes, complimentary of the father he never met. The only attributes he shares with his lady mother is her same, fair skin and gentle disposition. He's often despised and bullied by other children and some adults because of his bastard status. His mother was confronted privately about it, but word somehow spread and soon all of Solitude knew. She was absolutely humiliated, and her parents doubted she would ever find a husband. They tried to find Iratian's father, but the mysterious enigma had disappeared without a trace.
Iratian appears more Imperial than Dunmer. His fair skin is devoid of blemishes though has a tight quality. He's neither plush or soft, and is rather harder than he ever appears to be. Though he has no scars, he has been injured before and is not ignorant of the pain the world has to offer. When he was younger, he was beaten and bullied by other children till he crept home with bruises and blood dappling his gentle face and body. Advanced healers managed to repair the damage without any traces, but the memories are still there. Always will be. He is tall and thin, almost willowy of stature with the elvish grace that certain Dunmer assassins possess. He has both their quiet step and catlike poise. Despite being only one fourth Dunmer, he bears those fine qualities of theirs despite how odd it is that he possesses them. His brilliant eyes are the writhing depths of flame, imitating the very yes his father bears. Their brilliant golden color almost has a firefly effect in certain lighting, as if his eyes really were glimmering gold or licks of flame and not mere oculars for the purpose of perception and observation. His hair -more like his father's but a combination of both parent's own- is a bright, strawberry blonde, with both red and golden streaks intertwined within. It is very soft like his mother's, but seems to have a mind of its own like his father's.
Iratian is a very serious and severe boy. He was never one to be happy or playful as such expressions were met with immediate chastisement. For most of his life, he was ordered to shut up and stay out of sight. He grew up knowing he was unwanted and unloved though he never fathomed why. His mother was close to him, as well as an old captain of the Solitude guard who helped teach him to sit a horse and wield a blade. But other than those two whom he seldom saw, he was alone. Alone, afraid, and confused. He always possessed a bright, passionate spirit. But after years of being shut down and discouraged, he eventually closed in on himself like a caterpillar wrapping itself away in a cocoon. It was his way of coping with the stress of his home, of shutting out the pain and the hate. He always carried himself proudly and spoke civilly. He became quite a picture perfect noble boy, but on the inside, he was anxious and angry.
Casmero Witchhazel
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7367911.jpg?581)
Casmero Witchhazel
M
29
Wood Elf
Sign of the Atronach
Follows: Kynareth, Julianos, Arkay, Azura
Hunter and Mercenary
Kin: Haymthor Witchhazel (father), Metdra Witchhazel (mother)
Casmero Witchhazel is a tough, hard man with the resolution of a statue and the quality of a soldier. His lack of direction makes him rather spontaneous and unpredictable, which is a good thing for himself when he is alone, but not exactly an admirable quality when in a group. Hence why he is such a loner, even when others wish for his compliance, he is more likely to be a little obstinate. He seems so austere and stern, but there is a wildness to him that was never broken. It's a piece fashioned into him by genetics and an unbreakable spirit that the Bosmer are so known for, passed down through the generations to wind up in his soul. Even the harsh military regimes could not tame him. He was only in the military so long, having been honorably discharged after a severe trauma to the face was determined to be incurable. The higher ups thought it meant he was permanently impaired and unfit for duty. He was barely out of the hospital bed when they handed him the scroll that sealed his resignation. He left the ranks more broken in spirit than anything. But he healed and healed well, learning to adapt with only one eye. It wasn't terribly hard, for once he sets his mind to something, he's a bit of an unstoppable brute. It's what kept him going when others said he should stop. Now he's a skilled hunter and a full-fledged mercenary, hiring out his skills to the largest purse. He doesn't find honor in it, but he enjoys it. And every day his skill is honed and sharpened and refined. He feels the best when he is being challenged physically. Hence why he sometimes takes on things for very little pay when he hasn't been out adventuring for some time. He hates to be bored.
M
29
Wood Elf
Sign of the Atronach
Follows: Kynareth, Julianos, Arkay, Azura
Hunter and Mercenary
Kin: Haymthor Witchhazel (father), Metdra Witchhazel (mother)
Casmero Witchhazel is a tough, hard man with the resolution of a statue and the quality of a soldier. His lack of direction makes him rather spontaneous and unpredictable, which is a good thing for himself when he is alone, but not exactly an admirable quality when in a group. Hence why he is such a loner, even when others wish for his compliance, he is more likely to be a little obstinate. He seems so austere and stern, but there is a wildness to him that was never broken. It's a piece fashioned into him by genetics and an unbreakable spirit that the Bosmer are so known for, passed down through the generations to wind up in his soul. Even the harsh military regimes could not tame him. He was only in the military so long, having been honorably discharged after a severe trauma to the face was determined to be incurable. The higher ups thought it meant he was permanently impaired and unfit for duty. He was barely out of the hospital bed when they handed him the scroll that sealed his resignation. He left the ranks more broken in spirit than anything. But he healed and healed well, learning to adapt with only one eye. It wasn't terribly hard, for once he sets his mind to something, he's a bit of an unstoppable brute. It's what kept him going when others said he should stop. Now he's a skilled hunter and a full-fledged mercenary, hiring out his skills to the largest purse. He doesn't find honor in it, but he enjoys it. And every day his skill is honed and sharpened and refined. He feels the best when he is being challenged physically. Hence why he sometimes takes on things for very little pay when he hasn't been out adventuring for some time. He hates to be bored.
Maglagoth Dornblossom
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7562674.png?382)
Maglagoth Dornblossom
M
16
Wood Elf
Sign of the Thief
Follows: Kynareth, Julianos, Mehrunes Dagon,
Thieves Guild Member and Bard's College Student
Kin: Findel Dornblossom (father), Dalalndra Dornblossom (mother)
coming soon
M
16
Wood Elf
Sign of the Thief
Follows: Kynareth, Julianos, Mehrunes Dagon,
Thieves Guild Member and Bard's College Student
Kin: Findel Dornblossom (father), Dalalndra Dornblossom (mother)
coming soon
Torin-Svaer
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8030402.jpg?351)
Torin-Svaer
M
41
Argonian
Sign of the Shadow
Follows: Sithis, The Hist
Ex-Shadowscale from Cyrodiil and Mercenary
Kin: _
With his days on Tamriel numbered, Torin-Svaer is just hoping that he can go down fighting. It seems like such a bleak prospect, to have proud, able-bodied Argonian like him being so sure of his own demise, but you see, he is a Shadowscale. An ex-Shadowscale to be exact. Meaning every other Shadowscale on Tamriel (though few and far between but nevertheless deadly and to be reckoned with) is keen on hunting him down should the opportunity arise. Torin-Svaer has been hunted from Skyrim to Tamriel to Black Marsh and all the way back to Skyrim again. The years have seasoned and hardened him, but he knows its only a matter of time before one younger, quicker, and fiercer than he should contest and best him. As said, he only prays that they might grant him the ability to fight back. It would be rather dishonoring to die with a dagger in the back. Even though he turned his back on his brothers, it was never betrayal, and he does not believe it would be justice for him to die a traitor’s death, no matter what they might believe.
M
41
Argonian
Sign of the Shadow
Follows: Sithis, The Hist
Ex-Shadowscale from Cyrodiil and Mercenary
Kin: _
With his days on Tamriel numbered, Torin-Svaer is just hoping that he can go down fighting. It seems like such a bleak prospect, to have proud, able-bodied Argonian like him being so sure of his own demise, but you see, he is a Shadowscale. An ex-Shadowscale to be exact. Meaning every other Shadowscale on Tamriel (though few and far between but nevertheless deadly and to be reckoned with) is keen on hunting him down should the opportunity arise. Torin-Svaer has been hunted from Skyrim to Tamriel to Black Marsh and all the way back to Skyrim again. The years have seasoned and hardened him, but he knows its only a matter of time before one younger, quicker, and fiercer than he should contest and best him. As said, he only prays that they might grant him the ability to fight back. It would be rather dishonoring to die with a dagger in the back. Even though he turned his back on his brothers, it was never betrayal, and he does not believe it would be justice for him to die a traitor’s death, no matter what they might believe.
Heios Agiusdes
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7819895.jpg?376)
Heios Agiusdes
M
24
Argonian
Sign of the Shadow
Follows: Sithis, The Hist
Shadowscale
Kin: _
cs
M
24
Argonian
Sign of the Shadow
Follows: Sithis, The Hist
Shadowscale
Kin: _
cs
Mist-in-the-Reeds
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9820236.jpg?333)
Mist-in-the-Reeds
M
25
Argonian - Vampire
Sign of the Ritual
Follows: Sithis, Namira, The Hist, Boethiah
Necromancer
Kin: _
Mist-in-the-Reeds is coming soon.
M
25
Argonian - Vampire
Sign of the Ritual
Follows: Sithis, Namira, The Hist, Boethiah
Necromancer
Kin: _
Mist-in-the-Reeds is coming soon.
Helseth Arvel
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/4177042.jpg?339)
Helseth Arvel
M
22
Dunmer Werewolf
Sign of the Lord
Follows: Hircine, Hermaeus Mora, Nocturnal, Vaermina,
Companion Inner Circle
Kin: n/a
Helseth Arvel is coming soon.
M
22
Dunmer Werewolf
Sign of the Lord
Follows: Hircine, Hermaeus Mora, Nocturnal, Vaermina,
Companion Inner Circle
Kin: n/a
Helseth Arvel is coming soon.
Zantur Lioless
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3483649.jpg?321)
Zantur Lioless
M
30
Khajiit (Pahmar-rhat)
Sign of the Warrior
Follows: Rajhin, S'rendarr,
Imperial Forester and Owner of Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun
Kin: Angar Lioless the Strong (adopted father)
Unlike the Khajiit that gace Skyrim with their more northern looks, Zantur is tough, able-bodied, and a wild beast from the jungles of Elsweyr. His family moved to Skyrim when he was just a cub, following a small caravan in the hopes of making a fresh start in life. The caravan was attacked and its people slaughtered. Only he was spared, for he had hidden under the toppled wagon while the bandits were busy raiding it. A lone mercenary came down the road, heading for Dawnstar, when he found the upturned cart. Upon inspecting the dead, he heard Zantur crying softly. The mercenary approached him, but Zantur bared his fangs and growled madly, threatening the man with all sorts of terrible things. The mercenary just picked up the thrashing child and took him with to Dawnstar. He tried to hand Zantur off, but no one would take him. Finally, the mercenary was told to stop bugging people and dump the boy off at Honorhall Orphanage. Along the way, they learned to get along and that they actually had things in common. They never made it to the Orphanage. The two of them became their own sort of family; hunting, fishing, fighting, and when Zantur was old enough, went on jobs together. Zantur even took on the mercenary's last name, Lioless, as his own. When Zantur was 26, Angar Lioless was killed by a Stormcloak patrol. Zantur destroyed one of their camps in revenge, and this act was witnessed by an Imperial patrol sent to do the same thing. After much talk and debate, Zantur joined the Legion, proving to be a valuable asset. Now a full fledged Forester, Zantur spends most of his days on missions or running the Honningbrew Meadery. He had saved the previous owner's life, but the man was old and frail, and he died of a respiratory illness a few months later. He left the Meadery to his son, but the son asked Zantur to take over instead as he had other jobs. So Zantur lives a relatively peaceful life with jsut enough adventure to keep him on his toes. Being a massive cat of six foot six, bold black stripes blazing across orange fur, soul-stabbing blue eyes, a nasty scar over the right eye: Zantur is a fearsome beast and not someone you want to cross with. He comes across as a big brute, as you can imagine, but he is also a gentle giant.
M
30
Khajiit (Pahmar-rhat)
Sign of the Warrior
Follows: Rajhin, S'rendarr,
Imperial Forester and Owner of Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun
Kin: Angar Lioless the Strong (adopted father)
Unlike the Khajiit that gace Skyrim with their more northern looks, Zantur is tough, able-bodied, and a wild beast from the jungles of Elsweyr. His family moved to Skyrim when he was just a cub, following a small caravan in the hopes of making a fresh start in life. The caravan was attacked and its people slaughtered. Only he was spared, for he had hidden under the toppled wagon while the bandits were busy raiding it. A lone mercenary came down the road, heading for Dawnstar, when he found the upturned cart. Upon inspecting the dead, he heard Zantur crying softly. The mercenary approached him, but Zantur bared his fangs and growled madly, threatening the man with all sorts of terrible things. The mercenary just picked up the thrashing child and took him with to Dawnstar. He tried to hand Zantur off, but no one would take him. Finally, the mercenary was told to stop bugging people and dump the boy off at Honorhall Orphanage. Along the way, they learned to get along and that they actually had things in common. They never made it to the Orphanage. The two of them became their own sort of family; hunting, fishing, fighting, and when Zantur was old enough, went on jobs together. Zantur even took on the mercenary's last name, Lioless, as his own. When Zantur was 26, Angar Lioless was killed by a Stormcloak patrol. Zantur destroyed one of their camps in revenge, and this act was witnessed by an Imperial patrol sent to do the same thing. After much talk and debate, Zantur joined the Legion, proving to be a valuable asset. Now a full fledged Forester, Zantur spends most of his days on missions or running the Honningbrew Meadery. He had saved the previous owner's life, but the man was old and frail, and he died of a respiratory illness a few months later. He left the Meadery to his son, but the son asked Zantur to take over instead as he had other jobs. So Zantur lives a relatively peaceful life with jsut enough adventure to keep him on his toes. Being a massive cat of six foot six, bold black stripes blazing across orange fur, soul-stabbing blue eyes, a nasty scar over the right eye: Zantur is a fearsome beast and not someone you want to cross with. He comes across as a big brute, as you can imagine, but he is also a gentle giant.
Irdrin Malalos
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5217832.jpg?535)
Irdrin Malalos
Dunmer
24 (and dead for 400 years)
Sign of the Tower
Follows: no one
Dead Thrall to Vaynrileth Faelan
Kin
Eyes of the dead stare with a glassy, opaque gaze at surroundings that the barely functioning mind can comprehend due to limited sight recall. Not only is it hard and rather boring being dead as all the world's pleasures are denied him, it gets lonely. At least Irdrin has his summoner and master Vaynrileth, but sometimes he wonders if it would just be better to die. No, not just wonders, sometimes he knows it would be so much better to die.
For an outsider looking in, it would be hard to place when and where Irdrin first met the necromancer known as Vaynrileth Falas. Some say it was after her banishment. Some say it was before. A few even claim he was one of the corpses that rose from the grave the day she first revealed her dark arts to Meridia's obscure cult. The latter is untrue, for if anyone bothered asking Vaynrileth why she chose him as her thrall, they'd realize it couldn't have been while she was small. Before delving into that whole scheme, one must first take into account Irdrin Malalos' history.
Irdrin Malalos once went by a different name: Azarkan Redoran of House Redoran. Sound familiar? It ought to. Redoran is one of the five great houses ruling over Morrowind. The first name, his name, Azarkan, will not sound familiar at all and it shouldn't, for it was stripped from the history books four centuries ago, not long after his brutal execution.
Azarkan Redoran was the second born son of the councilor Raner Redoran. In his youth, he was the most promising of his four siblings, showing great aptitude to learn the ways of House Redoran, and he held all their tenants to heart. But his older brother, the firstborn, was the stronger of the two, and therefore showed the most prominence as ascending councilor. Azarkan was held in high regard but still pushed aside to make way for his elder sibling. Despite it all, he went on to achieve great things for his House, eventually entering into their city guard of Mournhold.
When he turned twenty-three, he set his sights on the House Dres, whose ambitions and inability to honor all life had led them to the sacrilegious practice of owning slaves. But they went so far as to mistreat, abuse, and eventually kill them when they lacked production or used up their purpose. Azarkan spoke out to his family against these horrible things, and found support among his friends. They led raids on the plantations, freeing hundreds if not thousands of slaves in a few short months, catching the House Dres off guard, as they had not expected anyone to oppose them.
Azarkan's attacks against the Dres plantations caused a drastic fall in their profits. They only brought in more and more slaves, made the working conditions even harsher through their quota demands. Azarkan, in turn, made his attacks all the more grander. Even went so far as to conjure an army of atronachs within their very holds to destroy their properties. He burned fields till they were of no use. He never killed though, save the filthiest scum of the taskmasters who beat the slaves without mercy. In this way, he believed he retained his honor.
But House Dres only looked at the destruction and felt nothing but hate for the rampaging Dunmer. They went before House Redoran and declared war.
But if anyone came to notice, there never was a war between House Dres and House Redoran. House Redoran withheld all their support from Azarkan. They held it back too soon however, as he had already gone to House Dres for another raid, only to find that none of his allies came to meet him there. Only a large band of members of the House.
Azarkan was drawn and quartered and parts of his body were dumped on House Redoran's doorstep. But House Redoran, in all their desire for peace and fear of war, as they themselves were facing desperate times, wiped clean the slate of history, eradicated all traces of Azarkan, and pretended nothing had ever happened.
A war never came then. The threat was eliminated and apparently had never existed. The Houses continued on as usual.
Irdrin vaguely remembers his life and passions and feats from his days as Azarkan Redoran. If he bears any inkling to that life, it is only from what he read in Azarkan's journal, dug up and read over by Vaynrileth. He doesn't want to look at his past, only his present. Perhaps that is why he doesn't seem to care for anything except serving Vaynrileth as her companion. Or maybe that's why he wants it to end.
It seems ironic in a fashion, that he fought to end slavery and wound up a slave himself. He doesn't see it as irony, but as an unjust punishment. A curse.
He was brought back through a spell similar to the conjuring spell of Dead Thrall, but it was more ritualistic and required the help of the Daedra. But despite the spell being successful, he is not fully there, and he feels himself slowly wasting away. He was a corpse for so long, and a corpse he will one day return to being. When? Who really knows. Could be tomorrow or fifty years from now.
Irdrin himself still looks the same as he did four hundred years ago. He still has his dark skin, his light blonde hair (though it looks white now, probably because of his real four hundred years of age). His eyes though are very pale with only hints of red. He looks cold and stern, serious and a little severe, but he's always looked that way apparently. He is a spirit, not a soul. Disconnected from his soul, he has vague memories and can mimic life, but he is lost from being ripped apart like this. Hence why he was so easily forced into Vaynrileth's services. He also lacks most free will and cannot make decisions for himself usually. He also has a slower time remembering or recalling things unless a severe and strong emotion was attached to the memory. Though he still possesses and repeats the ideals held by his house, his heart isn't in it anymore. He has lost his passion. He is literally a shell of his former self.
Dunmer
24 (and dead for 400 years)
Sign of the Tower
Follows: no one
Dead Thrall to Vaynrileth Faelan
Kin
Eyes of the dead stare with a glassy, opaque gaze at surroundings that the barely functioning mind can comprehend due to limited sight recall. Not only is it hard and rather boring being dead as all the world's pleasures are denied him, it gets lonely. At least Irdrin has his summoner and master Vaynrileth, but sometimes he wonders if it would just be better to die. No, not just wonders, sometimes he knows it would be so much better to die.
For an outsider looking in, it would be hard to place when and where Irdrin first met the necromancer known as Vaynrileth Falas. Some say it was after her banishment. Some say it was before. A few even claim he was one of the corpses that rose from the grave the day she first revealed her dark arts to Meridia's obscure cult. The latter is untrue, for if anyone bothered asking Vaynrileth why she chose him as her thrall, they'd realize it couldn't have been while she was small. Before delving into that whole scheme, one must first take into account Irdrin Malalos' history.
Irdrin Malalos once went by a different name: Azarkan Redoran of House Redoran. Sound familiar? It ought to. Redoran is one of the five great houses ruling over Morrowind. The first name, his name, Azarkan, will not sound familiar at all and it shouldn't, for it was stripped from the history books four centuries ago, not long after his brutal execution.
Azarkan Redoran was the second born son of the councilor Raner Redoran. In his youth, he was the most promising of his four siblings, showing great aptitude to learn the ways of House Redoran, and he held all their tenants to heart. But his older brother, the firstborn, was the stronger of the two, and therefore showed the most prominence as ascending councilor. Azarkan was held in high regard but still pushed aside to make way for his elder sibling. Despite it all, he went on to achieve great things for his House, eventually entering into their city guard of Mournhold.
When he turned twenty-three, he set his sights on the House Dres, whose ambitions and inability to honor all life had led them to the sacrilegious practice of owning slaves. But they went so far as to mistreat, abuse, and eventually kill them when they lacked production or used up their purpose. Azarkan spoke out to his family against these horrible things, and found support among his friends. They led raids on the plantations, freeing hundreds if not thousands of slaves in a few short months, catching the House Dres off guard, as they had not expected anyone to oppose them.
Azarkan's attacks against the Dres plantations caused a drastic fall in their profits. They only brought in more and more slaves, made the working conditions even harsher through their quota demands. Azarkan, in turn, made his attacks all the more grander. Even went so far as to conjure an army of atronachs within their very holds to destroy their properties. He burned fields till they were of no use. He never killed though, save the filthiest scum of the taskmasters who beat the slaves without mercy. In this way, he believed he retained his honor.
But House Dres only looked at the destruction and felt nothing but hate for the rampaging Dunmer. They went before House Redoran and declared war.
But if anyone came to notice, there never was a war between House Dres and House Redoran. House Redoran withheld all their support from Azarkan. They held it back too soon however, as he had already gone to House Dres for another raid, only to find that none of his allies came to meet him there. Only a large band of members of the House.
Azarkan was drawn and quartered and parts of his body were dumped on House Redoran's doorstep. But House Redoran, in all their desire for peace and fear of war, as they themselves were facing desperate times, wiped clean the slate of history, eradicated all traces of Azarkan, and pretended nothing had ever happened.
A war never came then. The threat was eliminated and apparently had never existed. The Houses continued on as usual.
Irdrin vaguely remembers his life and passions and feats from his days as Azarkan Redoran. If he bears any inkling to that life, it is only from what he read in Azarkan's journal, dug up and read over by Vaynrileth. He doesn't want to look at his past, only his present. Perhaps that is why he doesn't seem to care for anything except serving Vaynrileth as her companion. Or maybe that's why he wants it to end.
It seems ironic in a fashion, that he fought to end slavery and wound up a slave himself. He doesn't see it as irony, but as an unjust punishment. A curse.
He was brought back through a spell similar to the conjuring spell of Dead Thrall, but it was more ritualistic and required the help of the Daedra. But despite the spell being successful, he is not fully there, and he feels himself slowly wasting away. He was a corpse for so long, and a corpse he will one day return to being. When? Who really knows. Could be tomorrow or fifty years from now.
Irdrin himself still looks the same as he did four hundred years ago. He still has his dark skin, his light blonde hair (though it looks white now, probably because of his real four hundred years of age). His eyes though are very pale with only hints of red. He looks cold and stern, serious and a little severe, but he's always looked that way apparently. He is a spirit, not a soul. Disconnected from his soul, he has vague memories and can mimic life, but he is lost from being ripped apart like this. Hence why he was so easily forced into Vaynrileth's services. He also lacks most free will and cannot make decisions for himself usually. He also has a slower time remembering or recalling things unless a severe and strong emotion was attached to the memory. Though he still possesses and repeats the ideals held by his house, his heart isn't in it anymore. He has lost his passion. He is literally a shell of his former self.
Maisalinie Copsely
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7056655.jpg?384)
Maisalinie Copsely
27
F
Breton
Sign of the Lover
Follows: Mara, Akotash, Stendarr
Thane of Falkreath
Maisalinie is a beautiful, young Breton woman with long, raven black hair and violet colored eyes. She is rather tough and stoic. Had to be since she became the Thane of Falkreath. Many doubted she would be effective due to her reputation as being quiet and gentle. But she's proven herself worthy enough over the last four years in office. She doesn't carry weapons really, but don't get taken off guard. She is well versed in Destruction and Alteration magic. Once a student in the College of Winterhold, she didn't leave there without an exemplary education tucked under her belt. Though a little hard around the edges, she isn't without her soft spots. Never weak, no, just caring, empathic, and in possession of a loving heart. She won't tak your crap for sure, but she will listen to your troubles and seek to help you as she can.
27
F
Breton
Sign of the Lover
Follows: Mara, Akotash, Stendarr
Thane of Falkreath
Maisalinie is a beautiful, young Breton woman with long, raven black hair and violet colored eyes. She is rather tough and stoic. Had to be since she became the Thane of Falkreath. Many doubted she would be effective due to her reputation as being quiet and gentle. But she's proven herself worthy enough over the last four years in office. She doesn't carry weapons really, but don't get taken off guard. She is well versed in Destruction and Alteration magic. Once a student in the College of Winterhold, she didn't leave there without an exemplary education tucked under her belt. Though a little hard around the edges, she isn't without her soft spots. Never weak, no, just caring, empathic, and in possession of a loving heart. She won't tak your crap for sure, but she will listen to your troubles and seek to help you as she can.
Salduah Al'katellen
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3810270.jpg?489)
Salduah Al'katellen
20
F
Redguard
Sign of the Warrior
Follows: none
Bard in the Bard's Guild / Owner of Salduah's Stall in Markarth
Kin: Abdul-Jahroh Al'katellen (former husband)
Companion: A feisty male red fox named Baasan.
Salduah is coming soon.
Salduah was once a very wealthy noblewoman of Hammerfell until she ran away two years ago. She had been forced into an arranged marriage to a rather nasty man that she hated with all her heart. She ran away a few months later until she hit Skyrim. Finally free of him, she made a new life for herself in the beautiful, snowy country that had enchanted so many adventurers before.
Salduah is a beautiful redguard woman with chocolate colored skin, deep brown hair, and dark eyes.
20
F
Redguard
Sign of the Warrior
Follows: none
Bard in the Bard's Guild / Owner of Salduah's Stall in Markarth
Kin: Abdul-Jahroh Al'katellen (former husband)
Companion: A feisty male red fox named Baasan.
Salduah is coming soon.
Salduah was once a very wealthy noblewoman of Hammerfell until she ran away two years ago. She had been forced into an arranged marriage to a rather nasty man that she hated with all her heart. She ran away a few months later until she hit Skyrim. Finally free of him, she made a new life for herself in the beautiful, snowy country that had enchanted so many adventurers before.
Salduah is a beautiful redguard woman with chocolate colored skin, deep brown hair, and dark eyes.
Fenris Sulfrnorn
![Picture](https://www.editmysite.com/editor/images/na.png)
Fenris Sulfrnorn
30
Male
Nord
Sign of the _
Follows: _
Silver Hand Leader of the Falkreath Silvers
Kin
Companion
30
Male
Nord
Sign of the _
Follows: _
Silver Hand Leader of the Falkreath Silvers
Kin
Companion
Maloch gro-Mozzorack
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8727852.jpg?432)
Maloch gro-Mozzorach
28
M
Sign of the _
Follows: Malacath
Gloombound Miner
Kin:
Companion: none
sdfsdf
28
M
Sign of the _
Follows: Malacath
Gloombound Miner
Kin:
Companion: none
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Aeris Strife
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6157277.jpg?443)
Aeris Strife
48
Male
Altmer
Sign of the _
Follows:
Thalmor Soldier
Kin: n/a
48
Male
Altmer
Sign of the _
Follows:
Thalmor Soldier
Kin: n/a