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THE DOOM-DRUM: An Elder Scrolls GSRPG

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Application 1

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Name: Bjarki Broken-Dream
Age: ?????/15
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: A legend reborn outside his time, A Mantle yet to be
Heritage: Nord (-15)
Faith: Eight Divines (0)
Traits: Tongue (-60), Prophesied (-15), Charismatic (-10), Icon of Faith (-25), Great Captain (-25)
Young (50), Rival (25)
Faction Name: Band of the Slumber Stirred
Faction Trait: Warband (-25)
Faction Size: 2 (-25)
Points: 10
BIO:
MAN SLEW MER, DOV ENSLAVED MAN AND AS TIME BROKE, THE LAND OF SKYRIM WAS ONCE MORE REMASTERED

Bjarki was a child, but not. Stepping forth from the misty peaks of the north, he stepped forth, clad in armor old and archaic, newly forged, time running backwards in his wake. Born from a farm, born from a tomb. Born with the sound of the Middle Dawn ringing loudly in his ears, calling him home, a masters call uttered from the throat of the world.

He remembers the era now lost, in slips of dementia fogged dreams. He lived and died and lives again twice-fold. Yet this is not his time nor his era.

A child leading men to war, an army gathered under the command of a mighty warleader. A hero born too early before the prophecy will be uttered. A villain rebirthed before he would be slain. Time is broken and disjointed. Bjarki is here again.

Yet his men look to him for guidance and it is the duty of those above to provide for their followers.

Sadly, being shown up by a strange child who looks upon their rivals with the patronizing gaze an elderly veteran has not made him more friends than enemies.






Application 2

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Name: Kagek-Arshelak
Age: ???
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: I will eat the Dragonborn.
Heritage: Tsaesci (-50)
Faith: Tsaesci Ancestor Worship
Positive Traits: Dragonguard (-60), Strategist (-25)
Negative Traits: Magically Neutered (25), Old (50)
Faction Name: Ryū no chi o motomeru-sha-tachi, The Seekers of Dragonblood
Faction Trait: Invasion Force (-50)
Faction Size: 2 (-25)
Points: 0

BIO: The Master of the Seekers earned his place, as all do, with steel in hand and scars lining his scaled hide.

With the life essence of Dragons filling his gullet, his fangs in their hearts, he supped upon strength. Yet it is not enough.

In this new land, he hears tales of one born with the soul of Dragons, that would arise as a champion of the world, to face that which would end all and shake Nirn to it's foundations. He has found no such being, and despite being practically immortal, age has made him impatient as the years pass by without end. So the old snake has come to a conclusion. If no Dragonborn has arisen yet, he will make one appear.

The madness of this plan has caused some division in the ranks of his host, but it is no matter. One way or another, his hunger will be sated for if his prize does not appear, then the fate of the men of Tamriel will share that of Akavir.


Application 3
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Name: Garni K'Elmar
Age: 200
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Immortal obsessed with swordfighting
Heritage: Ra Gada (-25)
Faith: The Yokudan Pantheon (0)
Positive Traits: Adventurer (-10), Brave(10), Blademaster*6 (-15x6= -90) [Sword Hero], Sword-singer (-25), Sword-Saint (-60),
Negative Traits: Exile (25), Vampire (75)
Faction Name: The Echo of Leki
Faction Trait: Adventuring Party (-10)
Faction Size: 1 (0)
Points: 5

BIO: Garni has been many things to many people. Mercenary, Warrior, Assassin, Monsterslayer, Bandit, Thief. For better or worse, good or evil, he has wandered far from the lands his people now settle.

He has no home, he's wandered for so long, he does not know where he might stop. Companions come and go. Friends are made and die. And still he carves his way through life. With each year, he feels closer to the precipice of something. That if he reaches that bit further, meets that tantalizing perfection just out at reach, that he will find something...more.

So he wanders till, looking for something he cannot describe, but certain he will recognize it.

He thought he'd found it before. In a small hamlet, with good neighbors. It was taken away so easily. By bandits, by clashing armies, by those wishing to claim the bounty on his head. Taken as he lay on his deathbed, too weak to even clutch at his sword anymore. Accepting the offer of a false life in his moment of weakness.

So he'll keep looking. Perhaps he might find it before the one thing he can't cut away finds him.

Perhaps it would have been kinder if it had.
 
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Name: The Empty Lady (Diane)
Age: 32
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: The guiding hand on the hidden knife
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Daedra (25)
Traits: Charismatic (10), Politican (25), Adventurer (10), Shadow Broker (50), Civil War (+50)
Faction Name: The Silver Knife
Faction Trait: Cult/Mercenary Company(15)
Faction Size: Size Two (25 points)
BIO: Diane fell into mercenary work early in life, and found a talent for it. Not out and out battle, or guard work, but the subtle things that can be accomplished when one goes easily unnoticed. A compromising letter or important seal, poison slipped into a chalice. A knife between the ribs in the dead of night.

It was the last where Diane found her true calling. A series of increasingly high profile nobles fell to her knife and she found herself flush with coin enough to sit back and guide others along in her footsteps. A discreet association of assassins rose from her investments, plying their trade for the nobility of Cyrodiil; though the true value was the back door into politics and the connections it allowed her to form and exploit.

Though now at the head of an organization and the center of web of informants and intrigue, Diane was dissatisfied. Something called to her, in the lifeless eyes of the people she killed, something she couldn't help but revere… Something that looks back when she begins to take on contracts again.

The Silver Knife is now riven by conflict: the mercenary assassins, and those that have come to accept Diane's revelation and the worship of Sithis.
 
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Name: Knight Marshal Molvirian Viducia
Age: 36
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Frustrated Zealot
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: The Eight Divines (0)
Traits: Brave (10), Strategist (25), Great Captain (25)
Drawbacks: Unconvincing (+10), Indebted (+25)
Faction: The General Body and Order of the Servants of the Wheel
Faction Trait: Knightly Order (25, sworn to Arkay)
Faction Size: Four (75)
Remaining Points: 10
Bio:

A dedicated, religious man; often an honest one. Prone to fury.

The latest in a long line of knights marshal of the Order - an Order once maintained with the backing of the Empire, but now, in these reduced times, reliant on scraps from the devout and substantial loans from the Imperial Trading Company. Still great in numbers, but not in force. Under a previous marshal, the Order has pivoted to participating in commissions work to service its debt in a desperate attempt to stem its decline - though it still participates in more traditional chivalric activities. Bowing and scraping to every petty noble or would-be merchant prince willing to toss a coin, however, suits Molvirian particularly poorly, and he considers the decision to have been a mistake.

As affairs stand, he thinks, service and vows rank second in importance, if that. (And, well. May as well forget focusing on protecting relics.)

So Molvirian dreams of a Colovia and Nibenay where that is not the case - a Cyrodiil, a united jungle, an Empire come again. A land where the servants of the Eight will be able to pursue their duties and rites without interruption. A land where the Order will never again be forced to recall its membership and take to the field in order to scrape together enough for this year's expenses. As a devotee of Arkay, he understands that death is not to be undone - but surely a world so good compared to what now is was not meant to stay dead? And if no one else has the will to do it, then, well. He must.
 
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Name: Duchess Vostia Hatedius, daughter of Iniegren
Age: 13
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Child leader of a struggling nobles family/ hardliner Alessian Order remanant.
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Alessian Order
Traits: Noble, Aleshite, Icon of Faith, Charismatic, Prophesied.
Drawbacks: Child, Rival (Pontifex Arnza Belharzanius)
Faction Name: Followers of Marukh
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue
Faction Size: Two
Remaining Points: 10
Bio: WIP but Basically Scion of an minor Noble family with blood ties to Alessia, devout followers of the Alessian Order and Marukhati Selective, Prophesies tied to her birth convicted her family Vostia could restore both the Order and the Empire. No Dragon Breaks aren't real shut up. Parents died when she was young leaving the Charismatic child in charge of her noble family that's quickly spiraling into a cult.
 
Second app:



Name: Pelyar Nissim XIII.
Age: ??? (born during the Dragon Break, but officially: 36)
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Vampire Noble in the Shadows
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: Hero cults (0) (in theory...)
Traits: Shadow Broker (50), Noble (50), Politician (25), Hlaalu Connection (25)
Drawbacks: Brigand (+10), Traitor (+15), Vampire (+75)
Faction: House Nissim
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue (0)
Faction Size: Four (75)
Remaining Points: 10
Bio:

Pelyar Nissim XIII. is the latest in a long time of House Nissim Patriarchs...
...who in truth have all been he himself. He is immortal, because he is a vampire. With his vast resources, he has so far managed to hide that fact.

House Nissim is in fact a vampire house, with all its members bound to Pelyar. His origin is unclear, and not only because of a lack of memory and records: Being born during the Dragon Break, he genuinely has several contradicting circumstances of birth. But most of them led House Nissim to prominence, and when the jills mended the break, he was the Patriarch of a powerful Cyrodiilic noble house. Or so it seemed.

House Nissim always had an ill repute. Its patriarchs are said to be cruel and hedonistic, and its thugs often use violence to get what they want. However, they have contacts absolutely everywhere and it is not easy to dislodge them. In fact, these days, they also have the backing of Dunmer House Hlaalu, and while that only added to their infame, their shadowy network is now present in every last corner of Cyrodiil. Nothing of significance happens without House agents at least getting a sense of it.
 
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Name: Surin-Daiek


Heritage: Tsaeci
Character Traits
  • Sword Hero
  • Blademaster x2
  • Mage x2
  • Charismatic
  • Brave
  • Adventurer
  • Icon of Faith
  • Planeswalker
Drawbacks
  • Blind
  • Indebted
  • Apostate
Faction: Cult of the I-Don't-Want-One, Size 0
Religion: Tsaeci Pantheon-Sanguinine Worship

Surin-Daiek's first husband died. When Sidri-Hen came to pay him condolences, he found Surin-Daiek banging on a drum, singing and drinking merrily. "You lived with him, fought with him, and would have grown old with him," Sidri-Hen told him. "It should be enough to weep at his death, but singing and drinking-- isn't this going too far?"

"You don't understand," Surin-Daiek said, "'You're wrong. When he first died, do you think I didn't grieve like anyone else? But I looked back to his beginning and the time before he was born. Not only the time before he was born, but the time before he had a body. Not only the time before he had a body, but the time before he had a spirit. In the midst of the jumble of wonder and mystery a change took place and he had a spirit. Another change and he had a body. Another change and she was born. Now there's been another change and she's dead. It's just like the progression of the four seasons, spring, summer, fall, winter.

"Now he's going to lie peacefully in a vast room. If I were to follow after him bawling and sobbing, it would show that I don't understand anything about fate. So I stopped."

"Having roamed Akavir for more than fifty years, I have defeated all my foes and overcome all champions. In this realm there are none that are my equal. Alas, for all my life I have wasted in this vanity, but I have much more life to waste. That is why I must set out with the ships, despite Nobis-Naga being an utter bore."

"My first sword is a katana five hand lengths long. With this blade I paid homage to the courts of Tsaeci, where I learned rhetoric, poetry, and music. I found gainful employ as a master of music in the home of a great lord, who I would later have an affair with. With this blade, I slew him and his wife when our affair was discovered. This blade brought me laughter and tears, and I sold it to buy dried meat for the road."

"My second sword is a straight bladed Ka Po Tun dagger, which looked to be a full blade in my hands. With this blade I careened recklessly through the wilderness, seeking out the strong to devour. With this blade I made a name of myself as a gallant, hero, and unreasonable murderer. I surrounded myself with young thugs and admirers, and made a name of myself as a great bandit chief before being subdued by a magistrate. This blade was confiscated by the law, and I would later throttle the magistrate with the lute strings, that instrument being smuggled in by the magistrate who was an admirer of my playing."

"My third sword was another katana of disreputable make. I obtained it in a winesoak through the expedient of a rear sleeper hold. Despite holding this blade for ten years, I rarely drew it out of it's scabbard, preferring instead the reliability of a quarterstaff. Having floated through life, I became cynical and biting, and not a particularly pleasant companion to anyone!"

"My fourth sword is my current blade, a simple, nameless army sword. Having renounced the cynicism of my previous decade, I turned to poetry and found a widespread following, despite most of them written while extremely drunk. Here I grew many heads, one here, one there, and one elsewhere, and was soon recognized as a sage. Despite my best efforts, bad teachings, and frequent applications of a stick, I was once again swarmed with eager adherents. Now I have felt that Akavir was old and tired, so I repeat the beginning: that is why I must set out with the ships."
 
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Name: Valgus III Cassynder
Age: 35 (?)
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Harsh But Effective Vampire Aristocrat
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Hero Cult (Alessu)
Traits: Lackey, Noble, Charismatic, Magex3, Blademaster, Battlemage, Vampire
Faction Name: The Noble House of Cassynder
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue
Faction Size: 2
BIO: The interior jungle of Nibbenay holds the dubious honor of being one of the most isolated and backwards corners of Cyrodiil, more parochial and suspicious than even the most guarded of Colovian hill forts. Unsurprisingly, this area was one of the first regions to be abandoned by any central authority, and suffered particularly vicious resurgences of bandits and messianic cults, plunging into deeper poverty and chaos as trade collapsed. Bereft of any outside power able or willing to impose order, it seemed the borderlands were doomed to complete anarchy.

This all changed with the coming of Valgus Cassynder, a battlemage from the Imperial City itself. Though of a relatively obscure lineage, he was clearly of noble stock, and thus gained the grudging acceptance of the few barons and chiefs who made pretensions at ruling, marrying into one barony that had fallen upon hard times. Possessed of a seemingly tireless reserve of energy, Valgus would repair their crumbling keep, throw the corrupt agents of the old Baron from the walls of his castle to their deaths, and earn the admiration of the peasantry by replacing the arbitrary, fickle rule of his predecessors with a harsh consistency. He was just as exacting with those who challenged him openly, completely obliterating multiple bandit bands and raiding parties without mercy whilst his own men at arms lazily spectated. With these repeated displays of power and skill, it was only natural that village chiefs and robber barons alike listened when Valgus spoke of his plans to restore this land to peace, and so made him their leader.

It has been many years since. The Cassynder family now presides over a peaceful, quiet land. Many of their neighbors were not so fortunate or resilient, necessitating that they step in and take over stewardship of their territories. Valgus III is every inch his grandfather in talent and charm, and rules with the same iron, yet fair hand. The Baron seems to hold little ambition beyond studying magic and enriching his own fief, still sending the customary tribute to the Imperial City and being every inch the obedient servant, even as no agent of the capital has come to his territories directly for generations.

There are hateful rumors of course, the kind that always swirl around the successful, spread by the wicked and envious. Spurious claims of graveyards desecrated and tombs looted, unhinged narratives that the sicknesses and deaths that struck other families were unnatural and targeted, that black coaches bearing hooded apostates come by night to Castle Cassynder bearing their passengers for obscene rituals. Simply ludicrous, in every sense.
 
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Name: Berich 'Stirk'
Age: 32
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Pirate King
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: Eight Divines (hah!)
Positive Traits: Great Captain (25), Charismatic (10), Blademaster x2 (30)
Negative Traits: Brigand (-10), Civil War (-50), Traitor (-10)
Faction Name: Brethren of the Gold Coast
Faction Trait: City State (75)
Faction Size: 3 (50)

BIO: Berich was simply Berich for the greater part of his life, born the pauper son of a dockworker's daughter in Anvil by the sea. He never knew his father, and this was all the better, for when his mother took to more dishonourable means to make ends meet he contented himself with the story of an Olo princeling.

This deception won him a place as the unwitting, press ganged mascot of a pirate vessel sailing out of the bay, and, soon, he forgot all about that woman and that miserable city - climbing the literal pole from cabin boy and dog's body to martial credibility and seizing a Captaincy of his own.

Then he remembered all about Anvil.

The Prince of Stirk established himself on that island in the city's bay and became a terror for the ailing Olo King, Clovus. However, for all his boasting and his swordsmanship, he lacked the means to actually press anything like a claim.

Until Clovus' death opened a rift between his bickering sons, Bendu and Dorald, over how best to set the disintegrating kingdom of the Armada's heirs in order.

And two insane Bretons with a stack of coins and the means to get him inside the city offered Berich an offer he was all too happy to take.

In an audacious gambit, he smuggled himself into the city, slew Bendu whilst he slept, and dropped the harbour chain to let his men into Anvil. He now contests the flaming corpse with Dorald, who rallies the nobility to expel him and has suddenly remembered his love for his brother.

It's no matter - after all these years, he's ready to kill for it.

Berich will get his due.
 
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Malik-Chorak


There is only one way to be a pure master of sword law. This is to allow your body to become absolutely soaked with death.​

Name: Malik-Chorak
Age: 32
Pronouns: She/her
Character Concept: What is a sword without a master to wield it?
Heritage: Tsaesci
Faith: The sword is real. Nothing else is. But what hardship, to light a candle for the ghosts at your back? Tsaesci Ancestor Worship.
Traits: Blademaster x6, Dragonguard, [Sword Hero]
Drawbacks: Unconvincing, Traitor, Civil War.
Faction Name: Tears of Akavir
Faction Trait: Adventuring Party
Faction Size: One
Bio: Malik-Chorak is the finest sword in the service of Nobis-Naiga. Malik-Chorak can kill five men before they have drawn breath. Malik-Chorak is one of the great Dragonguard to accompany this invasion.

Malik-Chorak has discovered the futility of war. She is a swordmaster, and she has seen - power is a sword, and her master wields it as a child beating a dog. She has no need of power such as this - her edge is better tested by setting herself against the world, to see what will make her sword chip and shatter.

When the infighting began amongst the Tsaesci, she packed what little she needed - her sword, her spear - and left. In her wake trail some handful of her fellows, who yearn for the lessons of swordplay she might pass on to them. She will not do so.
 
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Name: Hieronymus Iron-Jaw
Age: 58
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: the Last Custodian
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Alessian Order
Traits: Traitor, Magically Neutered, Great Captain, Strategist, Charismatic
Faction Name: VI Legion – Summa Potestas
Faction Trait: Imperial Legion
Faction Size: 3
BIO:

ALESSIA IS NOT YET LOST!

In one man's heart, if for none other. In the Imperial City, there is order. In the Imperial City, there is peace. In the Imperial City, All are One, and One is all. The Commander of VI Legion – the last loyalists, the true loyalists – speaks, and makes it so. The rest have forsaken Saint Alessia's line, and the truth of their faith, but the Iron-Jaw stands, and will hold the City eternal, until that most glorious House returns to take their triumphant place. Death to pretenders and the unworthy; elves and daimon traffickers, traitors and liars everywhere. All are guilty until they prove themselves innocent. The unworthy will not take the Ruby Throne. In the meantime, the City will be secure. The City will be ready. The City will survive.

(but he doubts. and he is cursed. and the blood of the last Alessian still stains his robe. but she was undeserving. but she was unfaithful. but she was untrue. There is another. There will be another. It is not ended yet. It cannot be. It will not be.)

ALESSIA LIVES!
 
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Name: General Gratian, Duke of the Colovian Hills, Defender of the Western Marches, the Red Serpent
Age: 43
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Ambitious opportunistic rat with a grand vision
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Eight Divines
Traits: Craven, Traitor, Charismatic, Prophesied, Strategist, Great Captain, Rival-Loyalist Legion
Faction Name: The Ninth Legion
Faction Trait: Imperial Legion
Faction Size: 3
BIO: Gratian is one of the most celebrated, and most cursed, of all of the Imperial City's generals. Originally a young son of shopkeepers more interested in carousing and drinking than learning any trade, Gratian would end up seeking employment in one of the remnant Legions to escape a prison sentence after his gang grew a little too rambunctious for the city watch to allow. He took quickly to the life of a soldier, blessed with a keen insight for all matters of war which, along with his gift for gaining the confidence of others, saw him rapidly climb the ranks.

When he was a young officer leading a patrol, after they struck camp for the night, Gratian dozed off while sitting at the base of an old statue of St Alessia. There, he was blessed with a powerful, unmistakable vision-the Red Amulet of Kings, wrapped in the coils of countless writhing serpents, each seeking to claim it from one another. Then, with shocking swiftness, a crimson serpent the color of blood overtook its rivals, devouring them all in turn, until it alone remained. The Amulet came to rest upon its brow, and it transformed into a mighty dragon. When Gratian awoke, a crimson serpent rested upon his breast, its golden eyes staring directly into his, his companions watching in horror. Yet the beast did not bite, but instead kissed his forehead and departed. When Gratian told his subordinates of what he had seen, all agreed that he had been chosen by a grand purpose-to unify Cyrodiil and take up the Amulet of Kings.

Gratian never forgot his destiny, and even as he served ably and loyally, always sought his opportunity. It would come during one of the usual interminable disputes that the Imperial Legions were often called to deal with, an upstart warlord pushing their luck and reaching for more territory. Two legions would be sent to resolve the issue, and Gratian judged that the loyalty of his officers and soldiers was absolute. So Gratian abandoned his part of the plan, allowing ally and enemy alike to bleed one another-then fell upon both with great slaughter, moving westward after his betrayal, looting and pillaging along the way, until he finally stopped to carve out a fiefdom in the hills of Colovia. Styling himself, "Duke" and a bevy of other titles, Gratian and his traitorous army now seek to become the nucleus of a grand kingdom of their own. Though, perhaps he should have made sure to actually wipe out that legion entirely rather than spend so much time looting their camp...
 
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Name: Erzsebet-Sybena Marqinie
Age: ???
Pronouns: She/Her/They
Character Concept: The three-fold survivor of Middle Dawn
Heritage: Reachmen
Faith: Deadra (Pact with Hermaeus Mora)
Traits: Mage x4 (Archmage), Charismatic, Aleshite, Planeswalker, Vampire, Exile.
Faction Name: The Three-Fold Dawn
Faction Trait: Cult
Faction Size: 4
Remaining Points: 15
Bio: She is Erzsebet Marqinie, proud scion of the Alessian Empire, and third cousin to Empress Hestra, she lived the life of a proud noble of the empire until she was suddenly attacked by a group of vampires and...no no no, that's not right at all. She is Sybena Marqinie, scion of the disgraced Marqinie line, forced from empire for rebelling against the Empress, for generations her family had lived in High Rock for decades, becoming powerful and well respected mages with few in the family more powerful then her. Her power was grand but tragically not grand enough to stop herself from being cursed by a Vampire Lord...no that's still not right. She is Sybena, just Sybena. Once a simple beggar on the streets of Markarth, her family wiped out when she was a little girl. Every day was a struggle for her, a struggle she had lost by the end. She accepted the curse of Vampirism in desperation, so desperate to live that the thought of hunting her fellow man simply to live barely troubled her at all. She would eventually became a power vampire in her own right before, no no it's wrong, it's all wrong.

Erzsebeth-Sybena Marqinine is all of these women, and none of them. She is a survivor of Middle Dawn, the Dragobreak that made mockery of time and sense for a thousand years. Erzsebeth lived a thousand lives during that time, dying, living, being born again to daughters she would never have. When the break finally ended, whoever she was before, Erzsebet-Sybena Marqinie's mind was filled with the lives of three people, three different verisons of herself (perhaps three different people entirely) that had live vastly different lives, with one common connection, they had all been cursed, forced to become vampires.

Her fractured mind and powerful mage gave Erzsebet-Sybena a powerful and unyielding thirst for knowledge. At first in a desperate effort to heal herself though she eventually made peace with the paradox that is herself, now she seeks to understand the Middle Dawn itself, somehow make sense of an event that defied all reason and laws. This thirst for knowledge led her to places no one, living or otherwise, should dare travel, and eventually into a pact with the Daedra known as Hermaeus Mora.

For a time she ran a cult in Daggerfall but it was driven out, forcing her and those who followed her to the heart of the former empire. There she has rebuilt the Cult of the Three-Fold Dawn into something far greater than it had ever been in High Rock. Memories of her days as a member of the royal family have stirred something within Erzsebet, a desire for more than just blood and knowledge, but a desire for true power as well.
 
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Legate Fiorentine Alixus

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Name: Fiorentine Alixus
Age: 48
Pronouns: she/her
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Charismatic, Dragonborn
Drawbacks: Vampire, Indebted
Faction Name: I Legion "Imperator"
Faction Trait: Imperial Legion
Faction Size: Three
Bio: Legate Alixus was a loyal servant in the dying days of the Alessian Empire. She kept her legion fed and equipped through her own coffers, so they can best serve the people of Cyrodiil. Debts rose and rose, and the Empire fell all the same.

Dragon blood flows through her veins - all know this, and her men proclaimed her Empress. This she refused again and again, until at last Cyrodiil lay fallow and in ruins, and she realised the province needed a saviour, and why not her? She was a loyal servant, she loved Cyrodiil and Alessia, and she had the blood of dragons.

It was that night that a vampire came to her tent, and left her blighted by the curse of undeath.

She wept long into the night, but rose at last. She was a creature of dark urges and dark deeds, but she could yet save Cyrodiil before she put herself down. So went her duty.

Legate Fiorentine Alixus

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Name: Fiorentine Alixus
Age: 48
Pronouns: she/her
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Charismatic, Strategist, Great Captain
Drawbacks: Indebted, Traitor, Blind
Faction Name: I Legion "Imperator"
Faction Trait: Imperial Legion
Faction Size: Four
Bio: Legate Alixus was a loyal servant in the dying days of the Alessian Empire. She kept her men fed and equipped through her own coffers, so they can best serve the people of Cyrodiil. Debts rose and rose, and the Empire fell all the same. She gave everything to the Empire - even her eyes, lost to a battlemage in some damned fool skirmish with some damned fool brigands, burnt out of her head. She has nothing left to give.

She has no magic in her blood. She is but a middling swordswoman. She knows nothing of daedra.

But at her back stand the serried ranks of the Imperial Legions, the pride of the Empire. Why should destiny belong to the destined? She is a legate of the Alessian Empire. The Legion stands athwart the tide of history and sneers. The Empire is not yet dead.


Note: I made these app(s) as an exercise in creating a dragonborn, and then a version of her that Isn't the dragonborn. My preference would be Maraya or possibly Malik, then maybe Fjotra if neither of those. This is my least favourite application...
 
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"My Shehai is my will. And my will says that in this world, there is nothing I cannot cut."
"In the past, I boasted of those words. But now, as I slay masters unnumbered... I feel nothing."​

Name: Ashwan al-Hotaki
Age: 45
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: "Heaven and earth, ocean and forest, I have searched it all and found none that could match my blade. And as the specter of old age begins to creep into my mind and body, I fear I may never find someone I can call a true equal. Until I find this person, everything that stands before me shall be cut into pieces. Thus says Ansei Ashwan al-Hotaki and thus it shall be so."
Faith: Yokudan Pantheon
Traits: Blademaster x6, Sword Hero, Swordsinger, Sword Saint, Magically Neutered, Exile, Indebted.
Faction Name: The Evercutting Saintly Blades
Faction Trait: Adventuring Band.
Faction Size: One.
BIO:
Ashwan is a sword given form in human flesh. When he was but a shadow swimming in his mother's womb he could hear the song, the symphony of harmony of the blade as the blacksmiths of his native Hammerfell made weapons on their forges. To Ashwan, swordsmanship stands on a higher ground than mere practice. To hone his craft is the very founding rock of his existence.

Recently, Ashwan finds himself... disappointed. Anxious. He began to wonder if he had truly reached it--the true peak of the Way of the Sword. His unrelenting determination wavers, not out of hesitation but due to self-confidence. There must be more to this glorious path than he can see. Another mountain to climb. And he has ruined himself to come to the vicious battleground of Cyrodill to prove it.
 
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Name: Svanth 'Soft-Handed' Stuhn
Age: 20
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Accidental Invader
Heritage: Nord (15)
Faith: The Eight Divines
Positive Traits: Charismatic (-10), Strategist (-25), Prophesied (-15)
Negative Traits: Craven (-15), Rival (-25), Indebted (-25)
Faction Name: Sons of Skyrim
Faction Trait: Invasion Force (100)
Faction Size: 2 (25)

BIO: This should not, at all, be happening.

When Svanth departed Whiterun, it was with her father and her three brothers at the head of a great host determined to reclaim their ancestral land of Bruma and onward toward the throne of all Tamriel itself.

A great victory, a song for the sagas. Of course countless famed shield-thanes and maidens came to their side and carried them toward the Pale Pass.

Of course her father, already old, sickened and died.

Of course her brothers bickered and quarrelled and took extortionate loans from the Imperial Trading Company to keep their host at their side.

And, of course, they all ended up dead. Either by a knife in the night or some fool duel.

Now Svanth is all that is left. Well, except for her cousin, Ekard, who even now squats in Bruma and loudly squalls about a woman being unable to lead.

Do the men that raised her up on their shields like her father, speaking of some prophecy of Alessia reborn in the north, even believe themselves?

She can't concern herself with that.

She has to stop her hands from trembling before she speaks.
 
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Name: Jhorral Bidantian
Age: 71
Pronouns: he/his
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Moth Priest(25), Politician(25) Noble (50)
Drawbacks: OId(-50) Blind (-15) Magically Neutered (-25)
Faction Name: Caer Suvio
Faction Trait: City State (75)
Faction Size: Three (50)
Bio: A scion of Nibanese nobility, as a young man played the political games of the bay, but as he turned towards middle age he grew tired of such things and made the choice to serve the ancestral traditions of his people and gods as a moth priest. There like so many before him he read the skeins of fate and guarded the Elder Scrolls until his eyes grew rheumy with the weight of years and what they had seen. Though he had been a late recruit in turbulent times he came to a more senior rule through tenure and the natural hierarchy of rank. Yet the cold winters of the northern temples ill suited his bones and magic proven strangely resistant in curing his aches. Eventually Jhorral, using his personal wealth and old favors moved with a priestly retinue to the town of Caer Suvio, on the shores of Lake Rumare. Famous for its healing hot springs, his scheme for comfortable retirement were complicated as the state of Cyrodiil disintegrated more and more. He found himself falling into the rule of ruler of the city, as both priest and noble, and his early days as a politician meant that he just as good as playing the game as those across the lake who tried to throw their weight around at their surrounding settlements. Even as much of Cyrodiil declined Caer Suvio grew, from a village and villa to a proper city. But even hot springs and warm rest can only keep age at bay so long and the beautiful home that Jhorral has built looks more a prize to hungry eyes every day. Can a blind old man defend a city from ambitious warlords? Perhaps Jhorral already knows, but whatever he saw of his fate in the Elder Scrolls, he does not speak.​
 
i need a good boi still



Name: Argeon Starnos
Age: 29
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Just a peasant trying to do good
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: Eight Divines
Traits: Charismatic (10), Brave, Blademaster x7 (105), Strategist (25), Great Captain (25), Templar (25; Stendarr)
Drawbacks: Civil War (50), Indebted (25)
Faction Name: The Justice Seekers
Faction Trait: Adventuring Band (10)
Faction Size: 1 (0)
BIO:

For centuries, the Starnos family lived in the same village and tended to their fields. Their farm estate was large, and thus they always were the village's "upper class", but they were still a far, far way way from being nobles or really, anyone of significance just three villages over.

But these unstable times spare no-one.

An army came through and burned the crops. Brigands came through and robbed the stores. Werewolves prowled the nearby forests. Another army came through and took the young boys and girls. Nobody cared about the village and its neighbours, for as long as it couldn't defend itself. And with the Legions crumbled, the villagers had to do that itself.

Not everyone agreed. Not everyone could take part. Ultimately, it was mostly some hotheads from the village youth who took up the sword. And among them, Argeon soon proved to be a natural talent. Oh sure, his father had always kept a sword at home, and thus he had gotten some training. This was expected of every free man with property in the Colovian Estates, for when their feudal lords would call them for war service. But Argeon's mastery of the sword, that he learned by doing.

And soon he and his little band were roving through Southern Colovia, helping villages and farmsteads, righting wrongs and bringing villains to justice. Thus, they became associated with Stendarr, in his forms as God of Justice and God of Charity, and many colourful characters came to join this illustrious adventuring party. They were making a real impact on their region, and so they took out a loan with the Imperial Trading Company - the money of which would have greatly aided the livelihood for the region.

But after years of living rough, so much money proved to be corrupting. One night, an argument broke out. It settled down again... but as the morning came, it appeared that one side of the argument had taken all t he money, all the resources and killed two guards. The remaining half of the party was left behind destitute. With a burning hunger for justice, they followed the traitors' trail.
 
​

Name: Horoxia Larich
Age: 32
Pronouns: she/her
Character Concept: Cannibal Queen of Skingrad
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Daedric (Namira Pact, -25 points)
Traits: Mage 2 (-50 points)
Drawbacks: Traitor (+15 pts), Indebted (+25 pts), Rival (+25 pts)
Faction Name: Kingdom of Skingrad
Faction Trait: City-State (-75 points, Skingrad)
Faction Size: Three (-50 points)
Bio: Horoxia comes from the proud line of the kings and queens of Skingrad. Born into luxury, opulence, and even decadence, she became acquainted with the finer things in life, and feasted on exotic dishes, from a certain kind of Summerset quail to roast Argonian. But despite all her wealth, all her influence, she hungered. Hungered for more power, more gold, more mystical strength, and above all, she had a hunger she could not identify.

And so it was the fourth child and second daughter of the line of Larich began seeking darker patrons and deeper knowledge, all in a bid to quell her gluttony. Gone were her childhood devotion to the Eight Divines, and her faith turned to the unholy deities that every good Imperial should fear: the Daedric Princes. Namira came to her in a dream, and taught her that her hunger was not shameful, that her desire to devour was natural and good. Horoxia ate a kitchen servant the next day. The next month, she ate a castle guard. The next year, a retainer of the Larich dynasty, bastard-born to her own royal blood. He tasted particularly good. Finally, five years before the Empire truly fell apart, she began kidnapping and eating her own family, implicating her devoted followers in the cannibalism to ensure their loyalties. They could not go back to common society and tell of her exploits while avoiding the subject of their own misdeeds.

By the time the Empire fell, Horoxia was the last of the mainline Larichs, the rest eaten by the ever-gluttonous princess, leaving only her distant cousin Rislav, who crowned himself Rislav II in the Skingard hinterlands. Skingrad itself was hers, a dark and terrifying city devoted to the Lady of Decay. But even now, Queen Horoxia, first and only of her name, seeks to turn the entire Empire into her own personal feast, coveting the divine energies of the Amulet of Kings and the rarified splendor of the Elder Council. All will fall prey to her endless, limitless hunger.
 
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Name: Sinbad at-Hegathe
Age: 35
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Adventuring Merchant-Prince
Traits
  • Race: Ra-gada
  • Merchant Prince
  • Charismatic
  • Great Captain
  • Adventurer
Drawbacks
  • Exile
  • Indebted
Faction Name: Company of the Star
Faction Trait
  • Type: Mercenary Company
  • Size: 3
Bio: Not a good swordsman, by any means. He is much better with the bow, riding and shooting from horseback. Captured for poaching, exiled as a galley slave. For years he has not returned to his native Hammerfell. "They are very stuck up, those people," he says with a cheery grin, but only ever to foriegners. When he meets a fellow Ragada it is all, "ah my brother! how my heart yearns for home!" His heart yearns for nothing but money.

With nothing but his quick with he convinced the ship's master to free him, first as a cabin boy, then as a midshipman, then as a navigator, until one day the master found himself at land, watching his ship sail off into the distance with Sinbad at the helm. He makes bets, investments, and most of them pay off. When he is strapped for cash or wants some adventure, he cracks open a tomb himself and runs up the bill. He buys high and sells low, and as the world falls apart, he is considering the greatest investment.

What is the profit one can expect from plowing fields? Ten times.
What is the profit one can expect on selling pearls and jade? One hundred.
And from establishing a king and securing a state?

Incalculable.
 
Name: Alicia
Age: 15
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Desperate Times Make for Odd Saviors
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Eight Divines
Traits: Blind, lackey, young, dragonborn, brave (-110)
Faction Name: Whoever I work something out with.
Faction Trait: Adventuring band (-10)
Faction Size: One
BIO:

At times, the stars truly align in the strangest of ways.

Alicia is no one special. An orphan at the age of six, she was taken in by an old innkeeper who grumbled to himself that his new helper was not much of one at all, for the same incident that stole her parents' lives took away her eyesight as well. Nevertheless, she adapted. While not as fine a helper as Old Inrgums grandson, for while Jault spent his time awash in the river or stinking of stale ale, he at least had eyes with which to see. Alicia still earned her keep as she slowly learned to navigate the world once more. A quiet, withdrawn girl, she keeps to the inn like she is chained to it, rarely venturing out into the small village she now calls home, nevermind beyond it. There she helps Old Ingrum as he grizzled Nord does his damndest to part travelers and soldiers of their coin. It is not the most ideal of existences, nor is it one Alicia is particularly enamored with. But the old Nord took her in, and she is wearily aware she has very little prospects elsewhere.

So, she works. Day in, day out, and shies away from fires and soldiers, cringing from the memory of steel and blood and screaming that lurks on the dark underside of her consciousness. If there is any one thing she could say she has grown adept at, it would be at managing the things she would rather not think about. Not like she'd have anyone to talk to about it. Not like she'd particularly want to, either.

And then her world was upended again.

A wandering priest and his companions had stumbled into the inn. A rarity these days, for more and more of the inns visitors were soldiers. Somehow this priest, through an evening of talking with her had gotten the most wild of notions into his head. He had sobered up sharply near the end—something which she is dead certain involved magic of some kind—and declared her the dragonborn.

Stale laughter had spread through the inn, then, but the priest was not joking and before Alicia could gather her bearings he had tossed a few coins at Old Ingrum—who by now was truly old and truly infirm—and dragged her from the inn, despite her protestations.

He says they are on the way to see his lord. They will know what to do.

But, truly, what use is a blind girl in this age of massed armies and sword-saints?

Other notes: 95 points leftover that I'm not really inclined to use, or have converted on starting wealth.
 
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​

Name: Lyreia Octavianus
Age: 28
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Unlucky, Fast-Talking Schemer
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Dragonborn, Shadow Broker, Charismatic, Politician, Charismatic, Resources 5
Drawbacks: Indebted (Imperial Trading Company), Rival (Thieves Guild), Rival (Dark Brotherhood)
Faction Name: The Blackbirds
Faction Trait: Cult
Faction Size: 1
BIO:

Ah, a new face? Curious. I know everyone who is supposed to work in this prison and you ain't one of them. And your armor sure looks as if it doesn't fit you. Say, you don't happen to have been promised some money for a bit of quick work with the dagger? You don't look like one of the nutty cultists at least.

But hey! This might be your lucky day! I happen to have a little counter-offer for. Come one. Hear me out at least. It's not as if I can run away from you while in this cell.

I know, you wonder what this girl could possible have to offer you, but I assure you that you are being ripped off. I'm not just some little thief or rowdy drunk they threw down here for a few days. Not all that long ago, my name meant something here in this city. The Blackbirds ringing any bells? That was my people and believe me, we were the best.

Anything you want to know for a few coins and for a few coins more we would even get our hands dirty for you. That's how I know you are getting short-charged for killing me. You wouldn't hesitate and listen to me prattle if they paid you proper. Really disrespectful of them to treat you like that. The Thieves Guild really is just one big pile of misers.

No, no. Don't deny it. I know quite well who wants me dead. See, we had some issues with the Thieves Guild and those lunatics from the Moraq Tong. They felt they should have a monopoly here in the city, so they started going after our people. Wasn't so bad at first, but then a few contracts fell through, the Imperial Trading Company started getting problematic over a botched job and... well... long story short, that brings us to this damp little cell.

But hey. My little spot of misfortune might be your big pay day. If you were to just open up my cell and get me out of here, I can pay you twice what they offered for my head. I still have some cash left. Ah, come one! I'll make it thrice your pay even. I know how bad the Thieves are with paying their contractors. And if you are worried about not getting hired by them again, you can always hire on with the Blackbirds. We got a few openings right now and we always value quality work.

So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?
 
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​
"Exiled from my home for a curse not my choice. Alone and reviled, I held onto my craft and faith for a cure. Only to find none. I have remade my entire body from the ground up. Bones broken and put back together stronger. Flesh carved and regrown tougher. My very organs remade to be more efficient. Nothing. This is no mere affliction, it has marked my soul just as much as my body. Still I charge on. Hoping against hope for salvation. Be it at the end…or before. Finding allies, Knights, at my side and back. Julianos has not yet forsaken me. Yet still. I know only this. One unyielding truth. Only a Monster can hunt Monsters."​

Name: Ulrelon Adranator
Age: 25 Physically, hundreds
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: A monster fighting against its nature. A candle in the dark, seeking cure and redemption and hunting it's own kind. Monsters and evil in equal measure.
Heritage: Breton (-15)
Faith: Eight Divines
Traits: Vampire (+75), Exiled (+25), Mage (Free), Brave (-10), Charismatic (-10), Sword Hero (-75), Templar (-25), Icon of Faith (-25)



"Julianos says: Know the truth. Observe the law. When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise."
​
Faction Name: The Knights-Mentor of the Owl
Faction Trait: Knightly Order (-25)
Faction Size: Size III (-50)
BIO:

Ulrelon Adranator was, no is, a Breton from High Rock. And from the land he comes from he is noble. Once heir long ago to a mighty city-state and all the titles of his forefathers. Yet fate was unkind to that young lordling. For one night, a Vampire proud and strong preyed upon his city. Peasant, knight, and noble alike. A Bloodfrenzy as it gorged and fed ceaselessly upon village and keep. Slain it was, but it was a price paid in blood. Unfortunately for the princeling, he awoke the next day as no longer amongst the living. His heart still and blood cold. He was a Vampire.

His family. Loved their son still but could not overcome their hatred for the beast. So a mercy was given, exiled and not slain. Ulrelon was lost and would have likely succumbed to the nature of his curse were it not for knowledge of Julianos, the God that he had so reverently followed before turning. He sought alternative means to sate himself and hopefully a cure as well. Alchemy was his greatest passion, and he had studied the blade well like many noble of High Rock. And there were plenty of outlaws and evils amongst the world to sate his unnatural bloodlust.

And for centuries he would travel. From Illiac to Hammerfell to Cryodiil. With the guidance of Julianos is his eyes he would comb the world for knowledge. He would hope for a cure, or a way to make one himself, but along the way he would gather lifetimes worth of experience and wisdom. More than any man. And in his step others would follow. His nature was evil, and he knew it, and he would hide it if he could. But many would still come. But not for his death. But for his wisdom. They come and go, but some would stay. Following along in his journey and from them would from a new order. A new sect of the Knights-Mentor. The Knights-Mentor of the Owl. To hunt the wicked and dispense the law.

And for his part? Ulrelon was willingly to take it upon his shoulders. He hid and they still came. No matter where he went he could never escape those who came for his knowledge. Julianos had not forsaken him, he realized this. And if this was to be his duty, his penance, very well.

His journey for a cure would never end. And he would use all he had learned, alchemy, spell or blade to find it. But if death was to be his cure? Then so be it. He was a monster. And what better to hunt monsters then another monster.
 
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​
NAME: Cynric 'the Stormsinger'

AGE: 44

PRONOUNS: He/Him

CHARACTER CONCEPT: Doom Driven Conqueror/Mercenary Tongue

HERITAGE: Nord (-15)

FAITH: The Eight Divines (0)

TRAITS: Tongue (-60), Blademaster x3 (-45), Adventurer (-10), Charismatic (-10), Strategist (-25), Exiled (+25), Civil War (+50)

FACTION NAME: Band of the Stormsinger (or simply the Stormsingers)

FACTION TRAIT: Mercenary Company (-15)

FACTION SIZE: Size Two (-25)

BIO:
Cynric is of Atmora, its last blood. His line denied all opportunity to leave their home in past times, preferring their simple life and worship of the Dragons. They were a reclusive clan, possessing knowledge and power that had in the past brought their kinsmen conflict in Skyrim, but in Atmora, they remained in peace.
Of course, those times are long past, as the chill winds drove even the remaining Atmorans to the brink, and killed those who did not possess either extraordinary will, skill or powers in the case of Cynric's line- yet even so, life was hard and only seemed to grow harder, even with the gifts of the Thu'um being used liberally, and regular sacrifices being offered to the Dragons. Ultimately, it was Cynric's grandfather, Dagnir who made the decision to abandon Atmora, in the belief that
even if the ancient magics of the Atmorans could keep them alive and relatively safe from the worst of cold... 'life', if it could be called that, for it was in truth, naught but scant survival within the brutal tundra and icefields was not a life worth living.

So, Dagnir and his clan moved away, perhaps on the last ship that would be constructed by the Atmorans, and left for Skyrim, as their distant kin had in the past.
Cynric was born on the voyage, during a freak storm that ultimately killed his father and mother. Perhaps it was fate that decreed that he survive, and not his own parents- as the battered ship made landfall on the coast of eastern Haafingar, young Cynric, a babe, was left in his grandfather's care. Dagnir 'Whitebeard' they called him, for he had been Shaman and Tongue for the clan in Atmora. He had seen many winters, and only few summers, for Atmora had grown all-but inhospitable even during the earliest years of the Whitebeard. With Dagnir lied a legacy of power that had but one heir, as now, when they found themselves a home, they would require a new Tongue and Shaman to lead when he passed.

It was under those auspices that Cynric grew up- stiffled by the reclusive family he was part of. They lived in anonymity, hidden away by the Magics of his grandfather, under whose reactionary rule, the extended family made no contact with their fellow men. Cynric, however, desired adventure.

So, on the day after he became a recognized adult in his clan, he stole away in the night, leaving behind everything. However, his dreams proved difficult, as he knew not even the tongue of the Nords, but the Atmoran language did give many men pause... ultimately bringing him to the Jarl of Haafingar, who would ensure the boy could be questioned.

Cynric had always been a voracious youth, both in matters of blade and learning. He came to learn the language quickly, and after lying about his origins, claiming that he hailed from Skaal, he became a soldier in service to the Jarl. In that position he only further refined his skills, before finally making enough money to once again depart for greater adventures.

He killed brigands and bandits, hunted game and defended the walls of cities. He saved maidens, on occasion, and ventured to long-abandoned ruins. Ultimately, however, his years of adventuring came to an end, when a Thane of Whiterun, Erik 'Redmane', witnessed him practicing his Thu'um- an ability considered sacred by the Nords. Cynric was left with little choice then, but to accept the suggestion of the man, and go learn under the Greybeards of High Hrothgar.

So he did. He learned under their guidance, drawing on his innate ability and refining his capability- though not for peaceful means, as the Greybeards wanted. No, instead Cynric saw a future for himself, one where he would break armies with his Voice, and make a legacy befitting a son of Atmora.

Yet even those dreams had a darker side, and when Cynric stole away, once again, after over a decade under the tutelage of the Greybeards, with knowledge considered sacred, he was named an Exile. Soon after, all across Skyrim men and women learned of the Rogue Tongue. His name became both reviled and admired, and without little choice, Cynric left his homeland of three decades.

For a decade after, he made little and less use of his capabilities in the Thu'um, instead opting to make a name for himself, first in High Rock and later in Cyrodiil, as a capable mercenary. In time he gathered around himself fellow Nords, disaffected and ambitious as he had been in his early days, as well as Bretons of a similar ilk. He defeated Trolls, Goblins and even Undead monsters, with shields and spears at his beck and call. He killed bandits, just as he had before, only now the numbers were far larger. His blade claimed lives in the hundreds, and his renown grew.

Ultimately, it was in Bruma that another chapter of his life came, though. The petty King of Bruma hired him and his band for a campaign planned against the southern city-states not yet under Bruma's rule- and the King made liberal use of the well-trained and bloodied men of Cynric's band... only he never paid them, delaying for months even as campaigning season ended. Eventually, he promised to explain himself and pay Cynric in person, and with little options due to the growing ire of his men, Cynric accepted.

He arrived to meet the King- only to be accosted in the throne room, and thrown in jail of false charges. Unfortunately for them, and the city guard of Bruma, Cynric could not be contained so easily. He Shouted for the first in a decade, and under that power, the walls containing him gave away. Men ran, scared for their lives, and others tried stopping him. They turned to ashes, and Cynric promised revenge to the King of Bruma.

He returned to his mercenary band, and said that their payment would have to be taken by force. In the same Breath, he showed them his power and promised that under his command and capabilities, they would have their money, and so much more.

Civil war, or at least a mercenary rebellion, has come to Bruma and the Stormsinger will not abide betrayal.
 
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The Prisoner must apprehend two critical insights. First, they must face the reality of their imprisonment. They must see the determinative walls - the chains of causality that bind them to their course. The Prisoner must see the door to their cell. They must gaze through the bars and perceive that which exists beyond causality. Beyond time. Only then can they escape
Name: Perrick Darkworth
Age: 55
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Criminal Mastermind turned Hero
Heritage: Breton (15)
Faith: The Eight Divines
Positive: Dragonborn (60), Adventurer (10), Strategist (25), Shadow Broker (50), Mage x1(free) Blademaster x1 (15)
Negative Traits: Indebted(-25), Exile (-25), Rival(-25)
Faction Name: Darkworth's lads
Faction Type: Adventuring Band (10)
Faction Size: 2 (25)
BIO: Born a nobody in the city of Wayrest, Perrick Darkworth grew quick, grew up clever and grew up hungry. Petty theft turned more elaborate as a boy turned into a man. By 20 he was well known as a road agent, a pirate, a burglar, this and at across High Rock-wherever the coin went. At 24 Perrick Darkworth set his eyes on the lucrative opportunities of Cyrodiil (and had accrued too much heat in his homeland). A year later he went to the Imperial City with a band of cohorts, a great deal of information and a plan- to rob the Imperial Palace blind. It is a testament to the information he had gathered, the quality of his plans and his luck that the heist succeeded. However the part of the plan where they escaped with their ill-gotten gains fell through. Perrick Darkworth has spent the last 30 years in the Imperial City Prison. He has spent those years seemingly a model prisoner, talking with the attending priests about his growing faith in Akatosh, his regrets on his wasted life, and how he had come to believe that Akatosh had a purpose for him. His occasional gatherings to discuss the Eight Divines, History, and other intellectual concepts was considered harmless and not watched closely. The Prison was unescapable of course, and no one would spend 30 years planning the perfect escape. Perrick Darkworth spent 30 years planning the perfect escape. The prison had come to see the door of his cell and choose to step out. He stepped out into the world with a gathering of adventurers from all walks of life he gathered in jail, with a great deal of accumulated debt to the Imperial Trading Company and worst of all with Templar Javer of Julianus in hot pursuit of the escapee. But he stepped into the world free, and with all opportunity before him.

"Each event is preceded by Prophecy. But without the hero, there is no Event."
—Zurin Arctus, the Underking​
 
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