THE DOOM-DRUM: An Elder Scrolls GSRPG

[Zedalb]

Name: Faolan
Age: 34
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Hirince's Hunter
Heritage: Reachman
Faith: The Deadra
Traits: Briar Hear/Planes-walker/Blade Master 4/Sword Singer/Mage 2/Apostate/Exil
Faction Name: Hirince's Hunters
Faction Trait: Cult
Faction Size: 1
BIO:
Named after the greatest Briarheart who ever lived it was my only goal to become one myself. It took many years to prove myself and earn that honor, but earn it I did. For a time I was happy my ambition was fulfilled and I was honored in my tribe. I was foolish though I appreciated my gift too greatly in some ways. My attempts to replicate the ritual were met with failure and many of my warriors died. I simply wanted to share the power I had so come to enjoy with those I cared about who needed it.

Yet failure left me stained. I was to be hunted, an appeasement to Hirince for my dishonor of his ritual. Yet as he commands I was given a small chance to escape, a head start. I did not run far. I became the hunter killing those who I had once called kin. Each was a sacrifice to Hirince, my own attempt at appeasement. It is known that he enjoys when predator becomes prey.

Eventually the hunt had gone on long enough, stretching from hours to days, to weeks. Little of my former tribe was left as I picked them off. Eventually he welcomed me into his realm.

A pact was made and I was born anew. A servant who once more was in his masters favor. I found my abilities with both a sword, and magic enhanced. Though I still preferred the blade.

Before long I was sent back to the mortal realm. I was his agent upon the world and quickly I found myself leading a small cult of his followers. I will grow them in strength and number so that we may better serve our lord. We are Hirince's Hunters pray he does not send us to hunt you.

Spoiler: Math

Math:
Base+ 135
Apostate+50
Exile: +25
(210)

Briar Heart -60
Planeswalker -60
Reachman -15
Cult -10
Blade Master X4 -60
(205)

Mage X2 (Free)
Sword Singer (Free)

 

[Spore]

Whilst I respect your work counting up all our stats, I am within my point limit

Category	Choice	Points
Start		135
Heritage	Tsaesci	-50
Faction	Invasion Force	-50
Faction Size	Size Four	-75
Character Traits
	Strategist	-25
	Brave	-10
Drawbacks	Civil War	50
	Rival	25
	Lackey	0
Worship	Tsaesci Ancestor Worship
		0

I am taking Lackey for story reasons as I am a Commander of the Imperial Vanguard and not the Emperor them self and I am within the point limit

 

[Zedalb]

Name: Allian Cato
Age: 14
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Little Orphan Princeling
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divine
Traits: Child/Magically Neutered/ Noble/ Company Benefactors
Faction Name: Carbo Family
Faction Trait: City State
Faction Size: 3
BIO:
"I could not even attend my families funeral without interruption. My family has been tasked with this city by the Emperor himself. The fact that I am the last one left hardly matters in the face of duty. My grief doesn't matter when I must protect the thousands within my city. It is a challenge to lead at my age, constantly I find my authority questioned.

I endure, because I must. I endure because I was trained to lead from the first conversation I ever had. Leadership has come to me at a dangerous time, but I will not turn my back on duty."

Spoiler: Math

Math:
Base: 135
Child +50
Magically Neutered: +25

Noble: -50
Size 3: -50
City State: -75
Company Benefactors: -25

 

[DanBaque]

Name: Dun-Brii-Ahzid
Age: Creation
Pronouns: Your/God
Character Concept: Vengeful Refugee
Heritage: Draconic (-125)
Faith: Draconic (0)
Traits: Tongue (0), Dragon (0), Icon of Faith (-25), Craven (+15), Magically Neutered (+25), Exile (+25)
Faction name: Alkh-Aah-Viir
Faction traits: Noble Retinue (-15)
Faction size: Size II (-25)
Bio: HATE. RAGE. FEAR. All these are the sentiments of the dragons of Akavir, extinguished decades ago. Yet one survived. Bitter Beauty's Grace withstood the wars against the Tsaeci not through power but through retreat.

They had fought endless battles, and been gravely wounded. An ambush-ritual had seen it's blood taken and used to remove much of its power, of the capacity of magic to aid it. So they fled, taking those still loyal with them, shipping west forth. They hid in the mountains of Nibenay for long years, replenishing and regaining strength.

But the old enemies have come. The Tsaeci have come to Tamriel's shores, and they must not be allowed to take this continent, lest no place remain for dragons.

Dun-Brii-Ahzid will spend every life under them, use every power, ally with whoever needed, to exterminate the snakes.

 

[Maybe Mike]

EDIT: changign it I messed up

Points: 10

​

Name: Marvaar the Ugly
Age: 36
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Misbegotten Smith
Heritage: Nord (15)
Faith: The Daedra (Malakath) (25)
Traits: Tongue (60), Icon of Faith (25), Prophesied (15)
Flaw: Exile (+25), Indebted (+25)
Faction Name: Steel Yet Forged
Faction Trait: Cult (10)
Faction Size: 2 (25)
BIO:

Spoiler: Marvaar the Smith

In years past was Marvaar born into the family of Londskr the Drunkard, named such for his horrible drinking habits. A veteran of war and a storied adventurer, Londskr had many a bastard laying about southern Skyrim and of them Marvaar was no different. The only true different between a Bastard and a true son of Londskr is if you lived in the actual house instead of the sheds and other smaller homes of his clan's house.

Amidst bastards and sons and daughters, Marvaar was even chiefly a bastard and was ostracized for all but the heaviest of chores that he had done from his second year of life, being little better than a mule who worked the Farms of the Londskr family. But it was not all bad for the Nord, as for all that he was used as a pack animal, he was given respect by those same children for his immense strength, and none save Londskr himself insulted him to his face.

Were it not for Londskr himself, Marvaar may yet be plowing fields.

The Drunkard tended to go about his bastard sons and daughters who lived within his clan homes to see if there were any such bastards of worth, if they taught themselves to read or write or if they learned to at least half decently swing a sword. when Landskr first saw Marvaar, the horrible mangled visage saw him nearly puke. Then it was quite the argument of whether or not Marvaar was a bastard of Landskr or not, but once Landskr heard the name of Marvaar's mother 'Tymin the Fair-Hair', the Drunkard drank himself into a long stupor.

Then Landskr haggled Marvaar a reputable trade amidst nords with the local Blacksmith Hedmek Saraldsson.

That was his story for the first twenty or so years of his life, until the time came that Marvaar sought the Pilgrimage to High Hrothgar. The seven thousand steps to where Kyne breathe life into the Nords upon that ancestral mountain was of great belief to Marvaar, deeply insecure of his visage that looked more like a beast than of man, and sought the pilgramage for a sign of Kyne's favor that he was not some misbegotten shit laid from his mother's womb. Perhaps in some way, he did infact receive her blessing and a sign of her favor, for when Marvaar reached the height of High Hrothgar, he was received by the Grey Beards and taught the Way of the Voice.

When Marvaar descended down the mountain, it was as a far different Nord than the one who ascended. Insecurity and unsurity beget security and confidence. Marvaar sought mastery over Metal, elevating Kyne over Shor, and began attempting to make a weapon that could split the very mountains with but a swing.

His choices very quickly saw him more than a bit ostracized, but it was not until Londskr gave him a sack of coins and a gentle shove out of the hold that saw him actively consider what he was doing with his teachings. So it was Marvaar traveled secretly , selling his trade and skills to whoever would take him as he began researching the gods and heroes of Colovia.

While journeying and researching, Marvaar came across Orcs and their worship of Malakath, namely as a god of conflict yes, but Marvaar also saw the reverence in smithing and the great amounts of emphasis of Malakath being a blacksmith of orcs, literally forging their souls and Marvaar took this easily, and began worshipping Malakath as a god of smithing rather than one of conflict.

Marvaar began a cult within Colovia, Steel Yet Forged, that raised the art of smithing as one of divine itself and with him as the prophetic figure who would one day breathe life and power into the workings of Man's metal. Marvaar used his skills at smithing to spread his cult, inducting any who wished to join regardless of race and selling weapons and armor to all who would purchase from the cult, using it to then assist in Marvaar's research and attempts to smith the weapon he once sought. The Steel Yet Forged was aiming to become an unofficial blacksmithing guild, with the material and monetary power to back up such claims, but their attempts are yet hampered by their willingness to sell to the highest bidder and their stance on races.

Nevertheless Marvaar continues leading the Cult of Steel Yet Forged, continuing his research to forge a weapon that shall break apart mountains.

 

[Red Robyn]

THE IRON LEGATE
"Duty, Honor, Empire." ​

Name: Legate Sergius Severin
Age: 59
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: "The greatest blessing the Gods have given us is not magic or miracle but Law. It is the Law that separates men from beasts, slaves to freedmen, nobles, and peasants. Law keeps barbarity at bay and for this, my servitude to her will is eternal. If none believes in Law anymore, then I will force them to believe with fire and steel."
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines (Akatosh, Stendarr)
Traits: Strategist, Great Captain, Charismatic, Old, Magically Neutered
Faction Name: VII Legion - the Ironborn
Faction Trait: Imperial Legion
Faction Size: IV
Leftover Points: 25
BIO:
A peasant boy born in a war-torn country, Severin did as his kind often do and enlisted in the IV Legion at the age of fourteen. He climbed through the ranks, not through shattering talent with the blade or magic but with time, dedication, and a sharp mind. By the time Severin finally became Legate, he was a forty-year-old veteran with plenty of experience fighting all manner of foes. Even as old age wearied his bones and whittled his body neither his sound mind nor his sense of duty to the Empire and Cyrodill ever wavered.

As his legion stands in guard of the Imperial City, Severin knows it deep down that this chaos cannot hold. Nature abhors a vacuum, and even the most terrible of wars must fade into peace. Chaos must give into order and barbarity into Law. "I shall see this country whole again before I die" Severin swore. And the Iron Legate has never forsworn a vow.

 

[Anchises]

Name: Ciel the Wanderer
Age: 30
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Lost Imperial Mananaut
Heritage: Breton
Faith: Daedric
Traits: Mage (x7), Archmage, Planeswalker (Molag Bal), Shadow Broker, Vampire, Exile
Faction Name: Society for the Restoration of Rightful Imperial Rule
Faction Trait: Cult
Faction Size: Size One
BIO: Ciel thrived in the Remanite Empire and pursued his passion of magical research to the fullest. After quickly overtaking the many dignified mages he studied under he naturally gravitated towards the Imperial Mananauts who were pushing the edges of magical research trying to unveil even the deepest secrets.

His first voyages went great and he quickly proved himself to be one of the most skilled mananauts. The void however is nothing but unpredictable and on a routine voyage the currents carried him to a place where time and reason dwindled.

At this point it seemed all but certain that he would perish in the boundless void but Molag Bal reached out to the dwindling soul. A righteous man wouldn't have taken the deal but Ciel did.

He awoke in the sewers of the ancient Imperial City displaced in time and even worse he had changed. The sunlight burned him and he quickly realized his unnatural hunger. Molag Bal had left him with a single command "SEEK DOMINION AND BREAK THE SPIRITS OF MEN".

Living in the sewers Ciel fed on the undesirables and lured in disciples with his historical knowledge and the secrets that Molag Bal whispered to him in exchange for new slaves.

For now he has been careful not to unleash his magical powers to cause destruction or utilize the forbidden arts of Necromany that The Prince of Domination had revealed to him but the poor and downtrodden already whisper in hushed tones about the Dark One that takes them away at night.

 

[Hierarch]

Name: Dun-Brii-Ahzid

Click to shrink...

Wait, is there an option to play as a Dragon?

 

[veteranMortal]

Spoiler: Lady Jehanne de la Cour

Lady Jehanne de la Cour, the Knight of the Silver Rose
​

Name: Jehanne de la Cour
Age: 15
Pronouns: She/her
Heritage: Breton
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Blademaster, Templar, Mage, Strategist, Prophesied, Charismatic
Negative Traits: , Lackey, Young
Faction Name: The Knights of the Silver Rose
Faction Trait: Knightly Order
Faction Size: Three
Bio: Lady Jehanne de la Cour was born under favoured stars. Daughter of the Grandmaster of her Order, augurs proclaimed her anointed by the Divines to drive evil from this world - the Daedra should have no place on Mundus, and by her lance will this be done.

The strain of this was, many outside the order suspect, too much for the poor girl. By the age of nine she was prone to fits, known to collapse and even to speak in tongues. To her fellow knights, however, such was but further proof of her being touched by the Divines.

She was 12 when her father perished on a crusade against a cult of Meridia in a small town on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Wayrest and her brother became the Grandmaster in his stead. The night terrors began shortly thereafter, terrible dreams of Cyrodiil aflame, daedra rising from every crack, the whole province consumed by the beasts of Oblivion.

On the eve of her fifteenth year, the night terrors came more strongly than ever. She thrashed in her cot in the Keep of the Silver Rose, screaming garbled half-words, soaked in a cold sweat. The touch of the Divines lay heavy upon the poor girl, so spoke her fellow nights.

She awoke with hollow eyes and sallow skin. There could be no further hesitation, the evils roamed the land.

Her brother seconded to her the best part of the Order's strength, to ride into battle to put down the daedric influences that consume Cyrodiil.

Her armour does not fit. Her sword is too heavy in shaking hand. She stops her valiant charger to throw up on the side of the road, still shivering from the visions which obliterate her mind.

But her voice is clear and unwavering, and rings sonorous as she preaches to her men. Her mind is sharp as a razor when she is able to inhabit it, and at her back, the chivalry of Wayrest rides into Cyrodiil.

(Sorry for making this I don't really want to play as her I just think the concept is interesting. I think I have 20 points left over for this app?)

 

[Azel]

75 from Negatives max unless taking Vampire

Click to shrink...

I have not used more than 75 points from these drawbacks, so this should be fine.

 

[bookwyrm]

Once, Gerudh was a Primate Prelate of the Holy Brothers of Marukh, and though of the juniormost Imga sages in the Alessian Order, he led his brother humans and Ape-Men to countless victories of fire and steel over the continued corruption and mischief of Elvish taint. He did this as part of the great crusade across time and the Imperial Heartlands to reshape the facets of the cosmos to forever establish the complete unity of the One and to detach and uplift their faithful empire beyond the illusionary Elvish cycles of death and despair and worldly turmoil. In the timeless eye-blink of the Middle Dawn Gerudh slayed a thousand enemies of the faith and saved a thousand towns, each a thousand times over, and was on track to carry the legacy forward as a a new Pelinal Whitestake, a new Morihaus even, into the golden new era that awaited.

But then everything went wrong when a last alliance of Men and Elves and Beastfolk stepped forth to oppose their sacred mission, and succeeded. The eschtalological supreme unity of Ak-To-Osh would never be separable from the Altmer sky-father Auriel. And worst still all that was Gerudh, his savage crusade, his towering persona that echoed up and down causality, even his quiet passion for appropriately sober and virtuous poetry, all were lost with the end of the Dragon Break. In the great rebounding backlash to the attempts to erase any need for Ayleid defectors and surrendered auxiliaries in the Alessian Rebellions, Gerudh found that the Holy Brothers of Marukh had now never been more than an obscure monastic order in a church ruled by the Selective, and that there were no such things as Primate Prelates. The Imga were now nothing but strange and wary fugitives withdrawn into Valenwood, a people whose rarity as sages and mystics and grand viziers turned into almost complete nonexistence as a people that history passed by, their own great sagas of the overturning of the Elf-loving Shaved Ones and their heathen princelings, the great and terrible age of the Judges and their shattering against the Green Pact, the restoration of order and faith under the Holy Brothers of Marukh- all gone but for scattered apocryphal references.

In this moment, half-way real even to himself and on the edge of the black despair of that question that can never be asked, if his memories had ever been anything more than mad dreams, Gerudh's heart inverted to pure obsidian hatred. He did not quail and wither like those weaklings around him, but Instead unleashed his rage ripping apart all the Holy Select and neverborn Primates beside him, and with blood-soaked hands and a bloody foaming mouth carved out his own tale and his own prophesied fate. To Oblivion with the Selective and demons take the One, blind failures that they are, Gerudh will take the legacy of the Ayleids and the Daedra and all that this broken world has to offer and bend them to the mastery of Imga and their little human cousins!

And so with a dark and harrowing passage around linear time once again, Gerudh defied his fate. Though he will never speak on it, rumors fly as to the origin of his return, perhaps through the legends that speak of an Ape-Folk ability to hide from strife and visit otherworldly lands, or possibly through the sacred temples and ever-burning divine altars rejecting his murderous presence in the still-solidifying return of time, or just maybe his subsequent fateful pact to Hermaeus Mora, to be delivered from his enemies, time most of all, in exchange for being theirs forever afterwards. Regardless, now Gerudh the Great is reborn, and will continue his great work and call down and uncross the stars themselves- so that he and his people shall be mighty once more, and so that all shall know the works of Gerudh, and tremble!



The Monarch of All Monkeys, the Suzerain Most Simian,
KING GERUDH THE GREAT​

Name: Gerudh the Great
Objective Age: ???, fragmentary records suggest life in the Middle Dawn by roughly 1E ~2175 before eventually disappearing, with a handful of further potential sightings until confirmed return since 1E 2687
Subjective Age: 51 years old
Concept: stillborn legend robbed of their heroic destiny
Heritage: Imga [ -75 pts]
Faith: Hermaeus Mora, Hryma-Mora, the Woodland Man [Daedra Worship -25 pts]
Character Traits: Traitor [ +15 pts], Civil War [ +50 pts], Shadow Broker [ -50 pts], Great Captain [ -25 pts]. Charismatic [free], Prophesied [free],


Faction: the Zero Battalion, the Army of None, the Last Legion
Faction Traits: Warband [ -25 pts], Size One [free]
The very last remnants of Gerudh's golden warriors, carried with him to found a new kingdom for the Ape-Men and to save the humans from themselves, though along with them come wizened Dulsa XIII, the last surviving ape-matriarch of Gerudh's Selective foolishly attempting to join and give warning to her modern day inheritors in the Temple of Zero, and that craven dog Salias the Postulator fleeing to go cower with the rest of the broken echoes of the Imga in this history. And worse than that- some of the weaker-willed of the Last Legion are daring to join them in their stupidity!

 

[Telamon]

Okay. Given that I want to run applications for another day or two, and that many of the current applications are repeats, I'll be posting a first round of eleven picks. If you are tagged, that means you are in the game as the character mentioned. If you are not tagged, this doesn't mean you're not in -- the last ten spots are not finalized, and I encourage people to finish up any ideas they may have had or rework their character sheets in the interim. If you are picked, I will ask that you please not submit any more applications or post in the thread going further.

1. General Gratian, Duke of the Colovian Hills, Defender of the Western Marches, The Red Serpent -- @Fancy Face

2. Nobis-Naiga, of the Hebi Zen'ei – @Spore

3. Horatius Longii, sworn of Boethiah -- @DanBaque

4. Edward XVI, Demiprince of Azura -- @ORE

5. Berich Stirk, Pirate King – @Weygand

6. Maraya, Princess of Sentinel -- @veteranMortal

7. Ashwan al-Hotaki, the Last of the Ansei -- @Red Robyn

8. Surin-Daiek, Drunk Swordsmaster of the Akaviri Host -- @Laplace

9. Agrywyr of Camlorn -- @SectionXIII

10. Ciel the Wanderer -- @Anchises

11. Horoxia Larich, the Cannibal Queen of Skingrad -- @Miriam


Thank you to everyone who has already submitted, whether you made the first round or not. These have been wildly fun picks to read, and it's been fascinating to see all the creativity and energy on display.

 

[Astra Myst]

Lumicene Caritas​

Pronouns: She/Her
Age: 25
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Divines
Faction Name: Order of the Starflower
Faction Type: Knightly Order
Faction Size: 2
Character Concept: The Disgraced Chosen
Traits: Charismatic, Brave, Blademaster, Templar, Aleshite, Great Captain, Icon of Faith, Vampire, Reaver, Rival

Bio: On any other night, the fate of young Lumicene would be but a common tragedy, another poor babe whose mother were forced to bring about and could not raise due to privation, she was left on the steps of a Dibellan Temple in the hopes of receiving their charity. Blessed must she be, that the temple would raise her as one of their own, loving her and showing her grace more than any one singular mother could, it was as if the Queen of Heaven herself raised her through her worshippers on Nirn, and who is she to do anything but love Her back?

The Mother is the origin of all that is beautiful, every laughter of joy, every sorrowful poem, and every smile at the end of the journey is Her gift upon Nirn, and young Lumicene would do nothing less than add to the loving chorus of Dibella. She enlisted onto her Order with the light in her eyes never fading no matter what she faced. Her devotion was rewarded, she loved and was loved by all under her, the Captain who would ride out to save even one recruit, who visited every one of their graves.

How regrettable that one day one of those women would arise from death to deliver tragedy unto her.

Tristre was her name, a Knight with skill unmatched in the Order, she kept to herself on most occasions, away from the feasts and dances where Lumicene was most at home. She never disparaged her for this, a moonflower bloomed only at night and is no less beautiful, and Tristre shined on the field of battle, with skill unmatched she would accompany her Captain, saving the lives of many, and surviving any grievous wound she sustained.

Even, ones from a dreaded Vampire. That night, they were isolated in a dreary village when Tristre saved her life yet again, just as she has many times before. The vampire was dispatched, but it took too much of Tristre's blood with it, she would be lucky to survive the night. She prayed from dusk to dawn for her safety after caring for her wounds, holding her hand as it went cold, ignoring her pleas to end her with tears in her eyes. The Mother would not let her, Lumicene would not let her die nor turn into some parasite.

For her devotion she was rewarded with two puncture holes on her wrist, and dreams of Tristre leaving her tent after stopping her from taking her own life. She was adrift, for a while, reluctantly returning to the temple with nothing but confusion, Mother has deigned that both she and Tristre would live as is did they not? A Trial? She hoped that the temple would bring answers but she found her sisters just as puzzled as she is. She stayed silent when they were deciding her fate, and when exile was proscribed, some knights chose to stay by her side despite her pleas otherwise, she can only respond with grace and continued her duty as before.

And one night, after so long, she reunited with Tristre, the trials of the world had changed her so much. She spits on the Mother's name, looked at her with eyes full of bitterness, bitter that she lived, bitter that even after everything she devotes herself to Dibella. She met her with a dread legion of the undead, vowing to tear her away from the Queen of Heaven.

Lumicene narrowly escaped that night with her voice in her dreams ever since.

 

[Susano]

yes another vampire shut up

Name: Ludonius Iscontin
Age: 38
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: The Self-Serving Sellout
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: Hero Cults (in theory; 0)
Traits: Politician (-25), Hlaalu Connection (-25), Strategist (-25), Adventurer (-10)
Drawbacks: Vampire (+75), Lackey (+15), Traitor (+15, only +10 used)
Faction Name: City of Medesanum
Faction Trait: City-State (-75)
Faction Size: 3 (-50)
Points: 0

Born into a wealthy family of low nobility, young Ludonius took up a life of adventuring out of sheer boredom.

This was a mistake.

He was an inept adventurer to start with, with no magic talent at all, bad at the sword and not really up to part as a thief. He was a suitable enough cook, though, and a good talker and strategist, so he could tag alone some adventuring bands in his time. It was with one of those that he stumbled into an abandoned Ayleid grave complex one day... not knowing it was already occupied by a half-crazed vampire, one only recently turned, too, one who did not know the way of his kind.

By sheer luck, Ludonius survived. But he had contracted vampirism. Unable to drag himself to the nearest settlement in time to find healing, he soon was a vampire as well.

Fortunately, his family was wealthy enough that they could get him a job far away from the capital, where no auditor from there would ever show up, and where his position of authority ensured him a steady supply of feeding stock. Oh, he tried to do the right thing at first. He near-starved himself multiple times... but the urge was too great, as was his will for survival. And the painful lesson he took from all of this was that morality just wasn't worth it. There had been no return on his attempts to hold out, on his agony. Nobody would repay one kindness.

Thus, Ludonius went from a stumbling noble dilettante to a selfish, ruthless vampire. And when the Empire began crumbling for good, this was hence not a tragedy, but an opportunity for him. Maybe he couldn't fight and couldn't sneak and couldn't cast spells. But he was very good at making plans, and at keeping contacts everywhere. In short time, he was making plans for his local city states. All for the good of the city community, of course.

But he also had reached out to external sources of support, and he was more than willing to (metaphorically) bend his knee to House Hlaalu. Over a series of months, all his political opponents in Medesanum died. People got the hint. Then Dunmer mercenaries appeared on the city walls, and also inside. And within two years, those Dunmer mercenaries began to lead Medesanian militias to expand the city's territory.

It was at this point that Ludonius adopted the title of "Duke of Medesanium, Warden of North Nibenay", because why not? He was fully aware that House Hlaalu called the shots, but the Dunmer were surprisingly reasonable, he got along great with his 'overseer', and he got all the (in)fame, standing, wealth and blood he could have ever dreamed of. Not a bad deal, all in all.

 

[Releca]

Name: Rasec Suiluj
Age: 75
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: "The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

Remaining 25

Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits:
+ Dragonborn, Aleshite
- Magically Neutered, Old
Faction Name: The Ever-Vigilant Order
Faction Trait: Knightly Order
Faction Size: 0
BIO: For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught

A man rises, before him stand his loyal companions. "Henceforth we shall once more be known as the Vigilant Order, may Akatosh watch over us!" he proclaims.

The man dies, his son continues his work, the Order flourishes.

The son dies, his son protects the land, justice is rendered.

The son dies, the order has enemies, its keep is burned, its relics scattered.

The son dies, his son rebuilds the order, justice is once more rendered.

The son dies, his son pushes the order to unknown heights.

The son dies, his incompetent son squanders the success of his predecessor

The son dies, his son leads the order to lower lows, the order scatters.

Nirn spins, has spun and continues to spin. Is it truly a surprise that under Akatosh's gaze history repeats itself?
This is the story of a son, a son of a man who rebuilt the order. Cursed at birth, he could not wield magic, yet he climbed the steps his forefathers had climbed. The boy, once a squire, became a knight and for a time he was satisfied. The enemies of Akatosh, of peace, of Nirn itself, they all fell to the blades of him and his companions. Yet as the young man entered adulthood he delved into their order archives. The history of their proud order, intertwined with the history of Cyrodiil. As the man delved into the spare records, of how the keep grew, prospered and fell in a never ending cycle, here below the ground, surrounded by the tomes of his ancestors, a grand vision struck him, everything had already happened. Everything would repeat. He saw the sheer absurdity, he saw the empire spin as did the era, grand heroes living, dying and disappearing as do the waves lapping on the sand. His work had no purpose. Ouroboros, Akatosh bites his own tail. The once brilliant man falls to apathy, he lingers in the keep, oblivion then? The sweet embrace of the void? Akatosh watches, yes, but is he nothing more than a wheel stuck in endless circles? The man withers, his companions despair, his father dies ridden with regrets. Around them the land burns, the world ever so dim after losing one of its lights. The wheel spins, the ages pass and a ray pierce the fog. The once boy, once man, now elder rises for the first time in generations of knights aspirants. Nirn has spun, spins and will continue to do so, uncaring of their fleeting lives. The Aedras, everwatchings, continue their eternal watch over the land. The world is truly absurd and yet does it truly matter? Life is absurd, the wheel spins, but to live fully, one must accept it and rebel. So the man does, he rebels against absurdity and so the Dragon's light shines upon him. His true birthright has been revealed and so the Ever-Vigilant Order steps forward.

The son lives, the wheel may yet be shattered.

The son lives, only by revolting may he truly live.

The son lives, the dragon roar.

The Aleshite is reborn.



"I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

 

[MaironHWH]

​

Name: Aria Alleius
Age: 26
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Embittered Daughter of a Dead House
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: The Eight Divines (0)
Traits: Noble (50) Charismatic (10) Strategist (25) -> Great Captain (25) Brave (10) Blademaster (15)
Drawbacks: Civil War (+50) Indebted (+25)
Faction Name: The White-Gold Assembly (Split into the Six Families and the Pact of Seven at game start)
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue (Free)
Faction Size: Four (75)
Points: 0 remaining.
Bio:
Two Imperial Nobles is a murder plot. Three is a conspiracy. A hundred is a bloodbath. Cheydinhal is a slaughter-house.

A year ago House Alleius was a major player in Cheydinhal. A month ago they were the perspective host of the greatest gathering of Cheydinhal-forces in a generation. A week ago they were a hundred strong. Today they are one.

At the moment of their great triumph, a dagger was plunged into their patriarchs back. The House was butchered down to a single woman, the third-daughter of a branch family most notable for once being favoured to host a feast for the Emperor themselves, allegedly. Aria Alleius now ostensibly commands the forces of 13 Houses in Cheydinhal. Practically, she commands six, five of whom are loyal only be the certainty of death upon defeat. The remaining seven have aligned themselves into a new pact, one intent on wiping out the loyal six to consolidate power on the Cheydinhal.

The Six Families are divided and shellshocked, led by a girl of 26 with no experience commanding a war-front. The Pact Of Seven is organised and bloodthirsty, led by hardened veterans of Cheydinhal politics and mainland campaigns. The outcome is certainty manifest, as absolute as the crashing of Lake Rumare against the shores of the Imperial Isle. Above it all looms the trigger of the assembly itself, the potential of an outside force to march on Cheydinhal itself in its moment of division.

Aria Alleius does not believe in certainties.

EDIT NOTE: At Telamons request I have moved Aria from the Imperial Isle to Cheydinhal.

 

[God and the Snake]

Name: Lokar Cinder-Scowl
Age: 23
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: The Silver-Tongued Tongue
Heritage: Nord (-15)
Faith: Shor or Kyne or Ysgramor's Ghost or One Of The Other Ones, Lokar Forgets Sometimes And Keeps Every Talisman He's Ever Found Just In Case, They Take Up Half His Rucksack, He'd Throw Some Out But That Might Make The One He Really Worships Mad
Positive Traits: Tongue (-60), Blademaster (5x) (-60), Sword Hero, Adventurer (-10),
Drawbacks: Civil War (+50)
Faction Name: The Fire-Starters
Faction Trait: Mercenary Company (-10)
Faction size: Size 2 (-25)
Religion: The Eight Divines
Left over: 5

Spoiler: Bio

" 'Make like your grandmother and hurry south,' is what Ma said when she kicked us out the door. She was always braggin on and on with the whalers and the drifters about hwo we had the blood of one of the Companions, one of the ones that started with an 'S' - Senki or Surei or Surf-Like-Ice or something like that, I never really listened to her. Most everyone called her a liar anyway. But when they did she just had to haul out the axe and the armor and the little totem on a chain. 'Gran's' old affects, she insisted. But they looked like they were maybe a hundred or a thousand years old and still pretty shiny so most everyone just got real quiet and asked to touch them a bit. Then she'd slap their hands and say they were sacred.

Never really thought Gran or Ysgramor was all that great anyway, everyone says he killed all the elves but some still come by Winterhold and trade for scrimshaw and ambergris and they're sort of asses but definitely not dead so Yrgramor definitely missed a few so how good could he have been anyway?

But yeah, Ma had the axe and the armor and the totem. But Ma also had seven children and enough gold to feed about four of them through the winter after she got kicked out of the College. Dorgu was the firstborn and everything would be her's anyway so she couldn't leave, and the last four were still barely hip-high at that so they couldn't go, so it me and Thuja and Karstad who had to go south.

But Ma had three kids going, so she gave Thuja the armor (she was the only one who fit in it) and Karstad the totem (he was Clever like Ma was) and me the axe, and we couldn't stand how Thuja rattled around when she walked in it so we all went south seperate ways. Thuja went south past the the plains to the place where they chuck swords at each others heads because it was a apparently a desert and that means it doesn't snow and she figured her helmet would keep her head safe. Karstad went south past the mountains and ended up finding a bunch more elves. I heard he lives in a mushroom now. Or maybe they ate him with mushroom? I can't remember.

Me? I went south for about a week and ended up in Windhelm. Thuja said that was lazy and barely south at all but she's probably baked in that armor so what does she know?

Life was good in Windhelm. The axe was good to which was why life was so easy. Crack a skull here and there and people will keep you in new boots and furs and stewbowels basically forever. But then some Shatter-Sea tried to steal my axe and I cracked her skull and suddenly I've got to hop over the bridge and make way to the Rift, can you believe that?

Met a few folks in the Rift though. Fekki and Herold and Kygara No-Chief's-Wife who is the Cleverest Folk I know even if she's green.

And I met the Old Man there to I guess.

See Kygara had gotten me this potion that let me breath fire, it s where I get the name right? Set my beard on fire the first time I used it and brother I scowled until my cheeks weren't pink no more. But it was a neat trick once I figured it out.

Anyway I'm on the shore of the lake and maybe a bit drunk but Fekki dead drunk and Herold had gone to bed and Kygara had gone off to file her tusks when the Old Man showed up. He looked like... his hair wasssss... he was dressed like aaaaaa...

He was an old man. Yeah. Can't remember the rest.

Anyway the Old Man shows up high moon and says 'can I get a drink' and I say 'ya' because law of the road says you have to share your meed if its past dusk and you have a fire and the other guy doesn't. So we get to talking and drinking and - get this - he says he's heard of me and asks if he can see me breath fire?

And I say 'sure sure' and palm the vial that Kygara made for me. But then its like a giant's grabbed me around the chest and something pushes my head into the firepit. And I'm breathing fire, yeah man, I'm breathing smoke, and I must be in there for hours before whatever grabbed me drags me back out. And the Old Man is just sitting there laughing like he's shit himself and he's so damn fun and he just claps and says 'well done, well done' before he gets up and wanders off.

Had to get a priest to fix those burns.

And that's all one things, I'd let it go if it that was it, but the Old Man keeps showing up! He'd go 'silver for you thoughts' and then I'd say 'yeah? and he'd pass me a coin and I couldn't remember what I'd been doing that morning for the whole rest of the day. Or when he said 'hey can I have a word' and I said 'okay' and now I can't remember the the word you call the big things that people ride around on, the ones with the hooves. And I can't just say 'no' because then I have rotten luck all day.

But then, one day, I think I can get one over on him. So he says 'ready to trade wits' and I say 'nah, but I want to trade tongues, mine is getting to heavy' and he actually looks surprised for once before he grins his big fat grin and says 'Oh I'd be happy to' and holds out his hand for me to pay up. So I cut off the tongue of my boot and pass it to him and hope that I can just get this guy to shut up for a while, right?

But the Old Man thinks that's hilarious and starts hacking and laughing then clapping and he starts rummaging around a little leather pouch on his belt. Just before I tell him to pay up or leave he pulls a man out of that little bag. The man's real old, older looking then the Old Man, and he sees the Old Man then wham he shouts so louds he blows down half the forest behind the Old Man but only ruffles the Old Man's hair. Then the Old Man reaches out to the old man and rips the old man's tongue out of his throat. Then he looks up at me and says 'a deal's a deal.'

Now after seeing that I couldn't tell him no. But then I grabbed it and it rotted away to nothing and the Old Man vanished into the wind. Thought it was all a nightmare before I remember the body at my feet.

After that thought things got... weird. I could say things and they'd happen. I could breath fire for real now, move as fast as the wind, call lightning from the sky. I even once shoutted at a castle wall during a siege and sent it tumbling down, and I didn't eve mean to do that! And Herold's got the brains, you know, the wit, that silver tongue, and he says we can make a lot of gold if we travel around knocking over castle walls and cracking a bunch of heads at once rather then a few. And I say 'yeah I like having gold' and so the four of us are off. And it works, so we hire more folks so we can fight even more and make more money and so on until Herold's spending all his time keeping things organized and I'm Shoutting myself hoarse every day.

Then comes the big offer. Some noble from out in the Colovian Estates, way more south then I've ever gone sends and agent to hire us for a big war. And it's a lot of gold so we agree and march our butts across the mountains. But that until the end of winter and halfway through spring and by the time we get there the geezer is dead and his kids are arguing with spearpoints over who gets to be the next count or baron or whatever, and both them are saying that because their father made a down payment we owe 'his rightful heir' our asses and wont even pay us a copper more.

So now we're stranded in Colovia and no one's paying a damn thing.

 

[Vozen]

​

Points: 135+100-230=5

Name: Aiesa

Age: 19 Physically, 46 Chronologically

Pronouns: She/Her

Character Concept: Molag's Favorite Monster

Heritage: Reachman (15)

Faith: Molag Bal

Traits: Charismatic (10), Prophesied (15), Necromancer (15), Blademaster x2 (30), Mage x3 (25, x2 Free), Icon of Faith (25), Planeswalker (60), Tongue (Free), Exile (+25), Vampire (+75)

Faction Name: The Crimson Path

Faction Trait: Cult (10)

Faction Size: Size Two (25)

BIO:

No one living has heard of the village of my birth.​

"She's sick, and can barely skin an animal, what future could she have?"

My flesh ached, malformed from birth. My pitiful tribe could do nothing to help, praying to a god who offered me no solutions. They said we lived free, unbound to the weakness of civilization, and the strong triumphed over the weak, but it left me behind again and again. My bones were brittle, my skin sallow, my head ever-pounding, my meat thin, too thin...and none gave me anything. They said this weakness would kill me, the whole tribe saw me as a burden. And nothing I did ever was good enough to them, even my own parents were disgusted their blood birthed such weakness.

"Stubborn brat, you would walk into the woods and let the wolves have you if you had any sense of honor!"

When I was barely a woman grown, the pain and scorn became unbearable. Accepting that now past the shield of childhood I would get no stronger, or be granted more mercy, I limped my way into the sacred grove where prayer was offered up to Lord Hircine. There, broken and on my knees, I offered up everything I was, my soul and my being, if only my pain would be ended. But the Daedra of my people saw what they did, only weakness, and gave me nothing but a vague sense of disgust as he too turned his back on me upon that black night.

"Who would want such a weak hunter?"

I wandered into the night, hoping I could make my death something vaguely worth honor, I had nothing else. I cursed my lot in life, and called out into the night how it should be mine, it should all be mine! I'd bleed the world dry and fill my stomach on their guts! I hated them all, I deserved more!

"More...more you shall have..."

And in that moment, another god answered me, one who saw the dominating will in my heart, the one thing that had kept me alive all these years, and saw potental. My lord made an offer, and I hardly needed to think about it. I knew exactly what the price would be, and I cared not. For three years I walked the plains of Oblivion with HIS blood in my veins, and when he send me back I was not as I was.

"Aiesa? Aiesa, my daughter, you live?"

"No mother, I do not. And neither do any of you."

He offered a gift to me, to be his herald, and feed his hunger as I fed mine. All I had to do was offer up a worthy sacrifice, declare my loyalty. And so, I did.

"Monster, it's a mons-ku---guu..."

"Aiesa, please! I lov-URK!"​

"Hircine save us!"​

"HHurk!"

"...this is what you are, isn't it? This is what you've always been...do it then."​

I would soon find others, shape my craft, and begin our great work in the south, to bleed a broken empire dry for him. But this? This was for me.

No one living has heard of the village of my birth.

And no one

EVER

WILL​

 

[O N I O N]

Name: Victus, the Adventurer-King
Age: 71
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Former Adventurer Turned Aging Leader and Mentor
Heritage: Imperial (0 pts)
Faction: Adventuring Band (10 pts)
Faction Size: 4 (75 pts)
Character Traits:

• Adventurer (10 pts)
• Charismatic (10 pts)
• Brave (10 pts)
• Great Captain (25 pts)
• Blademaster x3 (45 pts)

Drawbacks:

• Minotaur (-25 pts)
• Old (-50 pts)

Worship: Hero Cults (0 pts)
110/135 pts

In his youth, Victus was known as one of one of Tamriel's greatest adventurers. After his age began to catch up with him and he was no longer able to continue his career as an adventurer, he decided that he would attempt to aid and nurture the next generation of adventurers by founding the Rosebud Company, a loosely knit collection of adventuring parties. Over the past four decades, Victus's band grew to have thousands of adventurers under its organization. Although the force is decentralized and spread all across Tamriel, the combined might of the Rosebud Company intimidates even kingdoms.

 

[Aodyssey]

Name: Gnilaead Elbuod
Age: 12
Pronouns: They/Them/That one
Character Concept: Alternate Start.esp
Heritage: Imga?
Faith: The Eight Divines
Traits: Young, Prophesied, Charismatic, Dragonborn, Adventurer, Indebted
Faction Name: Leyawiin
Faction Trait: City-State
Faction Size: 1
Total: 135-75-25+50-0-0-100-10+25-75-0 = -75

Someone good at economics, please help me budget this. My family is starving.

Alternative (Legal) Spending:

Spoiler

Imperial 0
Eight Divines 0
Dragonborn 100
Prophesied 15
Adventurer 10
Charismatic 10
Young +50
Indebted +25
City-State 75

135-100-15-10-10+50+25-75

Plagiariser

Spoiler

Gnilaead Elbuod was the last of a litter of five born to Suo'ic Adnem, an Alfiq caravaneer from the Western lands of sands and oases, and a mother whose name was better off not known for having left their litter behind on the small shoulders of Gnilaead's father. Suo'ic's father, De'walf, was a prognosticator of some skill in the Ta Court of Tor'val. De'walf told Suo'ic to "follow the White-Gold light," he said, of the queer Imperial beliefs to "find prosperity as a bookbinder," for in those times even the Cat Courts were embroiled in a great fight. That he had done so on his deathbed, between mouthfuls of leaves—the diet of Silvernari Elves—which had led him to waste away from the alien disease of malnutrition, only compounded the difficulty of interpreting his wishes.

Nevertheless, Suo'ic had done so, packing his belongings and setting off to the far East, following the rising of the Cat's Eye, which was the only possible interpretation of his father's prophecy. Suo'ic's caravan was not a wealthy one. His merchandise consisted of the furnitures his family owned, his personal stash of Moon Sugar, and his children. Of these, he sold the furnitures for silver, the Moon Sugar for steel (and when his robbers were high out of their wits, he took all their possessions to resell to fund his travels), and his children for a song.

By the time he arrived at the Niben Mouth, he had only a single child, the littlest Gnilaead, no more Sugar, and several sets of Daedric Plate Armor. He promptly sold off the armors to adventurers to fund the establishment of his greatest achievement, the Southern Books bookstore. The business quickly fell into destitution. This was because the Nibenese, just like all good men of Imperial descent, knew better than to truck with wasteful and consumable goods such as books. There was only a single organization known for reading books, the Men noted reasonably, and they were all blind.

In the end, Suo'ic had to admit defeat, sell Gnilaead to the Mad Count Declaf Elbuod of Leyawiin, and begin his arduous journey back home. To the child, he left a single message, written on the paper he loved so much: "You will always have a home in Somewhere Else."

Gnilaead grew up in the court of the Mad Count, who, it must be said, was very kind to the young boy between his bouts of insane tortures of his many real and imagined conspirators trying to take the Jewel of Topal Bay away from him. He gave the boy a plate of milk to sup on, a fashionable collar made of the same material as his crown, and a very small house in his courtyard to stay in away from the rain. This was because the boy had many assets: he was sold, and hence had a very strictly defined and recorded monetary value, which would only be wasted if he was expended or not recouped. He was strange, with tufts of hair coming out from the triangular tips of ears set upon his crown, and thus would never be considered a viable challenger to the throne. He was funny and companionable in his self-assured way and thus brought laughter to a place otherwise soaked in tears, sweat, blood, and other bodily excreta.

Had the world been kind, Gnilaead would have grown up to be stout and strong and have been murdered in the crossfire of the war for the rebuilt Castle Leyawiin. Instead, it was not, and on the fateful day that he had been accidentally locked inside the storeroom. He felt a spirit pass into him and his eyes opened, for the first time in his twelve years of life, and he became a new man-boy. Leyawiin was sacked that day by a Company Warship—the EETC Legitimate Avenue for Recovery of Investment Losses—and Leyawiin Castle burned down around him. All the conspirators had died in the blaze, and so it was that when he stood, white flesh shining through black soot, and spoke, the people agreed that he should lead them.

He spoke, "I am goD."

Gnilaead, Not-A-Cat

Spoiler

@God and the Snake I need a Tongue!

@Teen Spirit @Susano @Fission Battery @VonMountain @O N I O N I find it entirely untolerable that none of the Minotaurs application passed the first round of selection. I propose we create a League of Bull-Nations that would mutually support whichever of us become the selected Bull (or Bulls) with whatever mean possible, likely via a secondary character application. I admit that I have *not* submitted a Minotaur application just yet. I will write one up when I come up with an idea suitable for this champion

Spoiler

but it is my belief that coalition building should occur sooner than later.

 

[O N I O N]

I submitted after the first round of selection, but that does sound like an interesting idea.

 

[Taut_Templar]

Name: Nestor Lascaris "the Dog"
Age: 39
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: Redemption-Seeking Mercenary.
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: The Alessian Order (15)
Traits: Strategist (25), Great Captain (25), Company Benefactors (25), Craven (+15), Traitor (+15)
Faction Name: The Forsaken Hounds
Faction Trait: Mercenary Company (15)
Faction Size: Size Three (50)
Leftover Points: 10
BIO: There was no such thing as rock bottom, Nestor had found. People might claim such a thing, but only experience could teach you the truth - however low you might stoop, or be reduced: there was always further to go.

Once, Nestor had served in the Legions. He had known duty and honor, known the empire, known glory, comradery, and valor. The Legion had plucked him out from the bottom of a bottle and the shackles of a cell after he'd lost everything, given him purpose and returned meaning to his life. They have given him the name "Lascaris" - 'Soldier,' for that was what he had become after leading his cohort to victory when outnumbered three to one.

But one day, the General marched them into a battle that could not be won for a cause that was not just. Nestor could not lead his men to their deaths - no. No, that was not true. He wouldn't lie to himself, not anymore. He hadn't wanted to die that day, and so cut a bargain with their foe. In return for keeping their blades clean, he received a fitting reward, and his comrades died alone.

Since then, Nestor has sold his sword to the highest bidder, most often the Imperial Trading Company, who've found him a professional, effective, and scrupulous proxy. His small army of ex-legionaries, mercenaries, and other outcasts with no purpose but coin and contract have carved out their niche in Cyrodil's insipid, apocalyptic spiral even as its leader is cursed as an emblem of the virtue that has deserted the former Imperial heartland, even as Nestor prays to the One for forgiveness he knows will not be granted.

But as the political situation continues to deteriorate, the "Company's Dog" has realized something: there is no such thing as rock bottom for either men nor nations. No low that will spark some savior to arrive, no depravity that will light outrage in the hearts of his countrymen. If Nestor wishes to be remembered as anything but scum ... he will have to pull himself up.

 

[Nara]

Name: Millorcella Trupel
Age: 46
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Decadent Heiress
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: The Daedra (Molag Bal) (-25)
Traits: Vampire (+75), Civil War (+25), Blind (+0), Charismatic (-25), Politician (-25), Mage x 2 (-25 + Free), Merchant Prince (Free), Planeswalker (-60)
Faction Name: Trupel Family
Faction Trait: City State (-75)
Faction Size: 0
BIO: Footnotes version while I flesh it out

• Lackadaisical (while young) daughter of a Bravilian merchant family.
• Fooled around with magic during a girl's night which tripped Molag Bal's notice. The for-fun ritual became a pact struck at the cost of a friend, and some servants, while he took her eyes as punishment for annoying him.
• Took the gifts of wealth and arcane knowledge to have her older brother framed, tortured and killed so she could be heir.
• Began assisting her father to cement their position in the city of Bravil, using their meetings to weaken his health.
• Threw lavish midnight parties for networking purposes, and to lull in gullible targets.
• Took the reigns of the family around the age of 40, and used cutthroat tactics to take over businesses
• Increasing tensions from her aggressive tactics sparked a war with another merchant family inside the city.

I vastly prefer my young idealist but it is what it is

 

[Revan4221X]

​

---

As the Wheel turns upon the beating of the DOOM-DRUM old curses flare. "Once at the end of every Era" they said. "You shall return to lay waste to your world. To return back to Madness, a broken soul ruilng over a broken land." the Greymarch has come once more. That what once was shall be. JYGGALAG has returned, heralded by the beat of the DOOM-DRUM.​

---

Name: Arcius Turren
Age: 38
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Concept: The Mad Cultist of Order
Heritage: Imperial
Faith: Daedra (-25)
Traits: Brigand (+10), Traitor (+15), Apostate (+50), Mage (-25), Planeswalker (-60), Bladesmaster (-15), Battlemage (-25), Icon of Faith (-25), Noble (Free)
Faction Name: The Crystal Vanguard
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue (Free)
Faction Size: Two (-25)
10 Points to Starting Budget
BIO: It is 1E 2700 and it is the coming of a new Era. The beat of the Doom-Drum thrums in anticipation as time ticks ever forward. As oracles and priests of moths speak of the one who shall arise and sweep all others to dust. To usher in this new Era. It is a certain thing. It is the coming of a new Era. And as the Wheel turns, an isle rises upon a bay within Nibenay.

A door in Niben Bay. Sitting upon a floating isle where there never was one. A three faced door with a mouth agape with the light of Oblivion. There it calls to all who lay eyes upon it. A clear danger as villagers, sailors, and travelers go missing, investigating a door only to never return. And as more go missing, word trickles up the chain. From Yeoman to Magistrate to Merchants to the battlemages of Nibenay.

Born to the noble house of Turren of Nibenay, Arcius' was a battlemage through and through, like his father before him and his father before him. Arcius took upon these rumors and concerns and decided that he would deal with it. To put an end to the disappearances. Setting out to investigate the door in Niben Bay and traveled through to the Shivering Isles. The Daedric realm of Sheogorath.

The Madhouse of Sheogorath has claimed many who travel to his realm. And Arcius Turren was no exception. Madness did claim him. But not the madness of Sheogorath. For it is the end of an Era and the Greymarch has come. Arcius Turren was broken by Jyggalag, the Daedric Prince of Order, following under his madness and joining his Priests of Order in worship. But Arcius did not stay in the Shivering Isles, he made pact with the Prince of Order. To return to Tamriel. A vanguard of his Greymarch.

So walked out the noble battlemage Arcius Turren, returning to Nibenay with his madness. A madness that spread fast through his retinue and his lands. Order had come and those that did not follow would find that the Crystal Vanguard would see all crushed. Tamriel was to be Jyggalag's. They are the Crystal Vanguard of the Greymarch. And they would see the Forces of Order come to join them.

 

[Silver Gambit]

​

Name: Felian The Last of the Loyal
Age: 32
Pronouns: She/Her
Character Concept: Last Loyal Knight
Heritage: Imperial (0)
Faith: The Hero Cults (0)
Traits: Brave (10) Strategist (25) Blademaster *10 (150) Sword Hero (0) Civil War (-50) Lackey (-15) Unconvincing (-10)
Faction Name: The Remnants of House Merinial
Faction Trait: Noble Retinue (15)
Faction Size: Size One (0)
BIO: When the Akaviri invasion first landed in Alt-Cyrodiil it was in the lands of House Merinial that they found themselves in. House Merinial was once a small barony on the border, poor in friends and resources.

When faced with complete destruction then it is only fair that some would turn to what they would assume to be their only saving grace, betrayal. The armies of House Merinial led by Baroness Malenia The Severed, a swordswoman of some renown, met the Akaviri Invasion, led by Nobis-Nagai, on the field. Outnumbered and outgunned they would have died to a man for certain, but they would have at least died with honor and dignity.

Then the treacherous General Cato turned on the few still loyal to the baroness before the battle had even begun, for General Cato had met with the emissary of The Great Conqueror Nobis-Nagai prior to the battle being met. In return for his service in their invasion and the defeat of his once lord he and those who turned traitor with him would be allowed to live under the new regime.

When offered the choice of certain but honorable death and probable but dishonorable survival most people chose life. Baroness Malenia would have died on that field for certain if it was not for Sir Felian. With spear in one hand and sword in the other, she personally fought off hordes of traitors and Akaviri alike, even after her lady had fallen in battle she fought on.

It was only when the famed Dragonguard had joined the fray that she was forced to flee, carrying her injured and comatose liege lord with her. She is now being hunted across Cyrodiil, though she fights every day and every night to protect her lady. The hounds of the traitors desperate for their salvation are hot on her heels in fear of their supposed benefactors turning on them without proof of Lady Malenia's death.

Felian is good only for serving, in her own words at least, and is unlikely to be able to persuade others for help against their foe alone. Only should she be able to wake and heal her lady will help be possible.