The Elder Scrolls: Aftermath [Archive Thread]

[The Armed Republic of Dutch Coolness]

THE ELDER SCROLLS: AFTERMATH

ARCHIVE THREAD

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OOC Thread

This is the thread where you post your accepted app. If you want to submit an application, please do so on the OOC thread first.

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Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes
Race: Imperial
Gender/Sex: Female
Appearance: Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes, usually simply 'Emeveria Cardes', is pale and gaunt, short at about 165cm, and unhealthily thin. The Imperial usually looks rather tired, bags underneath her eyes at almost all times. In better days, she might've passed for beautiful, but the years have already taken a toll on her. Her face is stuck in an almost perpetual, sorrowful frown. Soft, curly chestnut frames her face, taken care of not as well as some other nobles would perhaps do. Her skin is unblemished, with no scars, spots, or any other marks to find whatsoever. Her eyes are a bright green, inherited from her (alleged?) father's family line.

She carries herself with grace, despite her fragile form, and appears to be more than confident of herself when she speaks, her voice loud and clear. Her eyes usually seem to scan her surroundings intently, darting from left to right, as if looking for some sort of hidden threat. While cautious, her demeanor still shows some clear signs of arrogance, as is to be expected from higher nobility and royalty especially. Emeveria is not often seen without at least a small following, a handmaiden, a few guards, a steward - there always appears to be at least someone right behind her, hardly ever a moment on her own during the long days she usually makes.
Class: Bard (Oblivion). More of a talker, less of a fighter.
Equipment: She is hardly ever seen in anything other than dresses or robes, let alone in proper equipment one could use while in a fight. The only piece of weaponry she keeps at her side almost all the time is the Sword of the Crusader, inherited from her late father. Keeps some jewelry on her person, although nothing too flashy or expensive.
Skills: Emeveria is a good orator, able to bring her points clearly and in a convincing way. Other than that she is perceptive, both of her surroundings and in a conversation, able to spot an odd face in a crowd, or a lie told in a conversation with relative ease. Aside from this she is excellent at delegating tasks to others with more expertise in the relevant subjects, but without handing them too much power for them to take.
Weaknesses: Physically weak, and most definitely not a fighter, be it with physical weapons, or by more magical means - all in all hardly capable of fighting for herself at all, perhaps able to wield a sword to slight success. Most definitely reliant on her guards for protection, as a result.
Bio: Born as Alessascia Emeveria Marilotta Cardes to her mother Aremilia and her father Remaunes Cardes II, then Emperor, Emeveria lost both of her parents at an early age. Her father was felled by an as of yet unknown disease, while her mother died several years later, the cause of death seemingly a natural one. The young Imperial was raised mostly by servants back at the Palace, as well as a few distant family members and friends. Taught mainly the manners of a noblewoman, and introduced the basics of how one was to be a good ruler, from an early age onward she was to be prepared for the position she was to fulfill one day. As a sole heir, and even the legitimacy of that being a point of discussion to some, several attempts were made in order to remove the child from play, although kidnappings and assassinations alike were foiled, although they obviously did not do much good to the young girl, kept under heavy guard.

With the death of the Regent, right in the middle of the White-Gold Tower, her guard was doubled again, and she would rarely be seen without at least someone to protect her nearby. Ascending the throne at the age of seventeen, Emeveria delegated much of her tasks to others, from members of the Elder Council to nobles or generals of the Imperial Legion - people more capable of seeing the tasks she entrusted upon them completed than she herself ever could. It is something that has marked her rule over the past three years, although she still oversees the most important matters, as well as some of the lesser situations requiring attention. The past few years have seen more than a few attempts on her life have been made, and several rebellious nobles have been apprehended, the Empire's monarch distancing herself from those around her more and more as people she had known for most of her life turned against her.

For now, Empress Cardes keeps control of the Empire, spanning from High Rock to Cyrodiil, and even Valenwood, her Legions dispatching of those that would see her removed from power as the world around her slowly starts to crumble and fade.

Likes: Quiet moments, what few friends she has left, the Cyrodiilic countryside and more specifically the Heartlands and the City Isle, cake, wine, sleeping.
Dislikes: Politics, schemers, the Dominion, Daedra, pretty much any of her foes. Waking up is on the list quite often, too.
Theme song: Here
Age: 20

[Xah]

Haeigr Flamehair

Race: Nord

Gender/Sex: Female

Appearance: Unusually for a native Nord, Haeigr has dark red hair, leading to her acquiring 'Flamehair' as a nickname. This is off-set by her bright blue eyes and pale skin more typical of her fellow Nords. Above average height, Haeigr has a well built upper torso and muscular arms from years attending the forge

Class: Blacksmith

Equipment: Usual collection of tools, oxen cart with portable forge, Dwarven warhammer. Nordic armour

Skills: Smithing. A keen interest in Dwemer artifacts and their operation. Handy with a hammer too.

Weaknesses: Not combat trained in any sense, so her skill with blade and bow is limited. Her temper is as firey as her hair, sometimes getting her into trouble.

Bio: Born and bred in Skyrim, Haeigr is the natural product of what happens when a Nordic blacksmith doesn't get the son he was hoping for but is pleasantly surprised when his only daughter turns out to be the son he never had. What some might call her obsession with Dwemer artifacts stems from the time she was trapped in a Dwemer ruin for two days when she was barely a teenager. Despite the mortal danger, her interest in the things she saw down there has remained with her for life. Twice now she has ventured out to explore the many sites around Skyrim, each time barely escaping with her life, but with a sackful of Dwarven metal to craft with.

Whatever opinion Haeigr holds on the Skycrowns and 'Skyrim is for the Nords', she has managed to suppress, carefully cultivating an open shop and a willingness to trade with any paying customer. Her diplomatic nature is only broken when she feels someone is not taking her seriously, usually because of her gender. The target of her ire is often well aware of her feelings towards them, once their ears stop ringing.

RP Sample: The smithy was filled with the rhythmic sounds of metal on metal and the dull glow from red hot coals was all but outshined by the sunlight streaming in through the open door. Twisting the thin strip of metal from side to side and examining the colours on the surface cast from the light, Haeigr lifted the proto-sword and slid it back into the heat. As she wiped her sweaty hands on her apron a couple of men, dressed in tattered armour, entered from outside, their eyes casting around the room at the wares on show. One of them spotted Haeigr and nudged the other, a glint appearing in his eye. "Ho there woman," the man started. "Could you fetch the master of the forge, the menfolk have business to discuss."

The other smiled. "And if you could get us some mead, that'd be great."

Haeigr's eyes flashed dangerously, she knew the two, itinerant warriors looking for work; they'd been in town a few days and this wasn't the first time she'd heard their comments, but the first time they'd dared to come into the forge to say them. Outside, she had to guard her tongue, lest her business suffered, but this was her world and there was no one else around to worry about. "You know damn fine well that this is my forge," she said. "If you're here to buy, then speak your piece, otherwise get out before you get hurt."

The two men laughed and the first one stepped forwards. "I can't see for the life of me why this place comes so highly recommended," he said. "How good can it get, with a woman in charge?"

He laughed again and turned to face his friend and as he did so, Haeigr hefted the hammer she'd recently been using and casually dropped it on the man's foot. As he screamed in pain from the heavy weight, the other man scowled and began to step forwards, only for Haegir to use the nearby tongs to pick up a piece of glowing coal and flick it expertly at him. Instinctively, the man caught the lump; just to shout in pain and drop it again as it burnt his fingers.

Haegir lifted another hammer down from the rank beside her and took a few steps forwards. “Get out of my forge, and don’t even think about looking for work in his town. If you come in here again, I’ll make sure it’s more than singed fingers and bruised toes you leave with.”

As the two men departed with curses, Haeigr sighed. No doubt the good guard sergeant will be in soon, advising her not to aggravate potential customers. Seems like there’s never any winners when people are bastards.


Personality: Charismatic and friendly for the most part, especially when dealing with customers, but has a fierce temper when agitated and not afraid to speak her mind.

Likes: Well crafted metal, people with appreciation of her skills, heat and the smell of the forge

Dislikes: Mistreatment of tools, unappreciative customers, being treated lesser due to her gender

[Brusia]

Drusus Scipionus
Race: Imperial
Gender/Sex: Male
Appearance: Drusus
Class: Knight
Equipment: Heavy Imperial armor, enchanted ebony longsword and shield, healing potions
Skills: Very talented strategist and tactician, skilled swordsman, quite rational and intelligent
Weaknesses: Having spent almost all of his life in the Legion, Drusus understands little about the complexities of the Imperial politics his new position as General has now immersed him in. He is also a solitary person with a cold and seemingly unfeeling demeanor, which doesn't make him a very likable fellow to those outside of the people who know him in the Legion.
Bio: Born in the Imperial City to a military family, Drusus spent the bulk of his childhood preparing to follow in his father's footsteps and join the Legion. When he came of age he did precisely that, and soon found himself deployed right into the midst of the fighting in Skyrim. Drusus spent his time in Skyrim studying every text on strategy and tactics he could find, working hard at every duty he was assigned to, and fighting even harder. His dedication (and the low survival rate for the Imperial officers in the conflict) helped him to quickly rise through the ranks, and a mere decade after joining the Legion he attained the rank of Legate.

One day, three years after Drusus had been promoted to Legate, the newly appointed General of the Legion in Skyrim decided he wanted to quickly earn some glory for himself, and against the advice of all of his junior officers, ordered an assault on one of the rebel Lord Skycrown's heavily defended fortresses. The General was a political appointee, with no field experience and little knowledge of tactics, and on the army's arrival to the fortress ignored recommendations put forward by the Legion's scouts to attack the fortress through a hidden sewer entrance, and instead ordered a full frontal assault against the fortress.

The battle began just as poorly as everyone other than the General knew it would, and the Legion sustained heavy casualties in a futile attempt to take the well-defended fortress walls. However, fortune began to change for the Legion when the General decided he wished to see for himself why the soldiers were failing to fulfill his orders, and took an arrow to the face as he approached. The General died instantly, and as the highest ranking surviving officer, Drusus was given command of the Legion. Once in command, he immediately proceeded to take a contingent of the most elite soldiers in the Legion into the sewers the scouts had found earlier, and personally led them through the sewers and into the fortress, where after a few minutes of intense fighting they managed to get the gates open, enabling the Legion to swarm into the fortress and conquer it. Against all odds, Drusus managed to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat, and provided the beleaguered Empire with a sorely needed boost to morale.

Unfortunately, that victory came at a heavy price, as the many casualties the Legion sustained left them highly vulnerable to counterattack. Knowing he didn't have the manpower to successfully defend the fortress, he allowed his men to loot whatever they could carry on their backs, then razed the fortress and began a forced march through hostile territory back into Imperial lands. Knowing Skycrown's forces had him heavily outnumbered and that the odds of the Legion surviving another battle in their current state were slim at best, he worked with spies to help cover the Legion's tracks, and devised a plan to flood Skycrown with false reports of the Legion's location to minimize the risk that they would be intercepted. Fortunately for the Legion, the plan worked, and the false reports sent Skycrown on enough wild goose chases that he failed to intercept the Legion, and the Imperials managed to return to their territory with no additional losses.

Shortly after their return, a relief force arrived from Cyrodiil arrived and presented Drusus with an Imperial summons. It seemed news of his victory had reached the ears of the Empress herself, and she wished to personally commend him for his actions and offer him a promotion to the rank of General. Though he didn't wish to leave his men while the threat of retaliation on the part of Skycrown still seemed high, Drusus knew that one did not simply ignore an Imperial summons, and so made his way back home. He arrived in the city a few days ahead of schedule to a hero's welcome, as people happily cheered a rare piece of good news. He was permitted to stay in the Palace until his appointment with the Empress, and as virtually every politician in the city wanted "a word" with him, Drusus learned that the Empire's political situation was becoming less and less stable every day. As the days dragged on, he received various offers from a number of factions, and even a few cults, who evidently wanted the hero of the hour, and the man who was soon to be promoted to General, to join their side. It was becoming clear that the Empire was on the brink of a coup, or possibly even a civil war, and that Drusus wasn't going to be able to ride out the political strife from the sidelines. Sooner or later he'd have to choose a side, but who exactly he would choose to side with would only be determined in time...
RP Sample: viewtopic.php?ns=1&f=31&t=384650

Personality: Rational, cold, and withdrawn; though he cares greatly about the health and welfare of his men and for the Empire he serves.
Likes: Studying tactics and strategies, serving the Empire, the Imperial Legion, wine
Dislikes: Politics, the Skycrown rebels, incompetence, insubordination
Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzig0qI7SFg
Voice: https://youtu.be/gLoaKByIH30?t=44s

[Zanera]

Allius Redfist

Race: Imperial
Gender/Sex: Male
Class: Warrior
Equipment: Imperial Legion Armor, Imperial Sword, Imperial Shield, watersack, Imperial gauntlets, Imperial Boots, Imperial Officers' Helmet, a cool red cape
Skills: Command and Leadership, Large-scale/small-scale combat, swordsmanship, limited archery ability
Weaknesses: Limited archery ability, is limited in many ways by his profession, may be able to handle himself in a fight but highly prefers fighting alongside his men, dreads to think what might happen to his mind should he lose his entire unit in battle
Bio: Allius came from a middle-class background, being born of a Nord mother and an Imperial father in Bruma. While Allius was taught some Nord traditions, he was mostly instilled with the values of an Imperial. Allius was always interested in the Imperial Legion, although his first few jobs were logging, a farmhand, and a store clerk. Being a store clerk in the Imperial City, Allius' attention was turned towards a recruiting post, and a few months later Allius was being trained as an Imperial Legionnaire. His unit stayed in Cyrodiil for a few weeks before being deployed to Skyrim. Fighting a few skirmishes, Allius' unit took very few losses. When his unit was called to a real battle, they fought hard, and lost many men, and it seemed there was no clear winner. Demoralized, Allius could only be happy that he fought well enough to continue living, and that he had helped kill much of the enemy.

His unit and another were on patrol on the border between Imperial and Stormcrown territory. It was odd that two units were needed to Allius then, but when a large force of Stormcrowns attacked, he then saw why. Allius saw it as extremely poor commandship, as there was a ruined tower the units could easily fall back to, regroup, and fight the Stormcrowns off. It turned out that another four units were supposed to charge in from the Stormcrowns' flank, but they had got attacked by a couple of trolls and their attack was delayed. The two units were losing men fast because of a counterattack that would ultimately come too late. When the commanding officer was felled by an arrow, Allius decided that everyone should break off and make for the ruined tower. There, they regrouped as planned and were now holding, if only slowly whittling down now. When the counterattack did come, there were only four men left, including Allius. Soon the Stormcrowns were either killed or captured, and Allius had sustained many injuries. Going to a field hospital for first aid, Allius was then shipped off to Solitude for further recovery.

Allius was neither thanked nor reprimanded for his actions, and he decided to remain mostly quiet through the healing process. When Allius was ready for battle again, he found himself being promoted to Tribune and sent back to Cyrodiil. Allius thought that maybe the Legion had sympathies with Allius' experience, but it turned out there was just as much fighting in Cyrodiil as there was in Skyrim. His unit was soon deployed to combat various uppity nobles across Cyrodiil, and it was actually a weird change of pace for Allius. Although Allius was uncomfortable now fighting in Cyrodiil against a new enemy of a different caliber, he soon feel into a groove necessary of a commanding officer. Allius had lost a few men, and no one blamed him. Everyone else thought that was the cost of battle and war, while Allius took much longer to get with that line of thinking. Allius accepted what losses may come under his command, as long as it wasn't an obvious blunder on his part, which thankfully, there had been none. Allius wrote the letter himself to the widows and unmothered and unfathered children that they were now widows and unmothered and unfathered children, unable to visit them in person due to the constant deployment of his unit. He had at least hoped the legionnaire delivering the letter had a sense of sympathy.

If Allius lost his unit because of his poor leadership and/or any poor tactical ability, he didn't know how he'd take seeing his own men being killed one by one because of that.

RP Sample:

The leaking daylight cast itself unto the earth once more, throwing itself onto everything in sight, leaving a red color. As the sun set below the hills until there was no longer any residue light, the stars blinked on across the sky, and the crescent moon freely gave its light to the earth. The woods were alive with the howling of wolves and the rustling of night-creatures. The chirping of birds was replaced with the chirping of insects, and the darkness played tricks on the eyes as if the trees themselves were living, breathing, terrible beings. With one's eyes a poor tool, the ear picked up what the eye could not. The rustling of leaves in the wind could be a prowling predator, and perhaps the scurrying of a small rodent was the sound of a large bear bumbling towards you. The calm water of a lake was another heaven on earth, but to touch the stars hear would only reveal the false illusion.

The trail was overgrown, just a long patch of tall weeds and young trees going to the dilapidated fishing house just down the shore. There used to be a thriving community here, but now after all the anger and hate and hope and fear and joy, there was only one man left to remember any of it at all. This man considered himself half-dead, just a remnant of the memories and the spirit wrapped up in this old town, a living story left by the universe for anyone to come by and talk to. This man did not go to church, for he thought he was an abomination on the Lord's earth, for he was undead. The church was unsafe anyhow. The rafter were practically pulp, and another snow could collapse the roof.

No one had come by to visit the town, or see the man. The only reason one couldn't say the town was abandoned was because of the residence of this one man. He lived in this town still. He grew his own food, since the grocery store had not received a shipment in many years. He fixed his own house with whatever was left at the general store, and sometimes, although reluctantly, he'd take what used to be someone else's property. He had always had well water, so he need not worry about water. He had books, many books, but many days he was out and about the town, sometimes deciding to clean a wildflower garden of its weeds, or fixing a fence no one but him would ever see fixed. He himself needed to remember what the town was like. He walked around town, remembering his old routes, his old neighbors, his old friends. Sometimes he was stricken with grief, sometimes he calmly accepted it. There were times when his feet took him towards the lake, where he used to fish and swim and picnic and party. Tonight was another one of those nights. The man did not fear anything in the woods, nor did he ever use a light when he found himself walking along that old road through the woods.

Saying goodbye to the memories once more, the man left the lakeside once again.

Personality: Allius has a stern personality while commanding in battle, while out of it he makes sure his troops obey the rules and upkeep their equipment, but otherwise is lax. He can be sorrowful over the death of a legionnaire.
Likes: Being on top of a situation, the Empire, the Imperial Legion, the Emperor/Empress, rabbit stew
Dislikes: Losing an unnecessary amount of men, the Dominion, what's left of the Thalmor, squabbling nobles, power-hungry politicians, carrot stew
Theme song: Seems fitting enough.
Voice: The voice you'd expect from a Nord but the accent you'd expect from an Imperial
(feel free to add something else to this list yourself!)

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Ingair Silinfhaer

Race: Altmer
Gender/Sex: Male
Class: Bureaucrat, Illusion/Alternation Mage
Equipment: A staff (of no magic quality), noble robes, an amulet of restoration
Skills: Speechcraft, diplomacy, law, illusion magic, restoration magic
Weaknesses: Fighting, command, manual labour, seeing
Bio:
4E 93, 30th of First Seed, Alinor, Summerset Isles
Seeing the sun falling behind the horizon has set my soul in motion. Hence, I shall record my thoughts, memories, and descriptions of events in a notebook. The sun will rise again tomorrow, but there is no telling whether I will. One day, the sun will outlast me, so my memories are best retained. In the search for eternal knowledge, one must not forget that we will all become history, and future generations will want to study our life.

From here, in the Gardens of Heartfire, I can see the blazing sun set into the ocean. A freshly kindled oil lamp keeps me company has my pen scribbles across the pages. Before taking up this booklet, I had a conversation with Iraneth on the subject of life and identity. She seems so certain about herself, who she is and who she wants to be… Yet, I feel no forces draw on my life. I see no clear future for myself. I only know what she is in that future, and with all my heat I desire that she remains there. Now she gazes over the dark waters of the night, and up at the bright, white moon. If I can let her be my guiding light, that will be a boon for all eternity.

4E 120, 4th of Mid Year, Alinor, Summerset Isles
Her eyes kindled like flame when I asked her to marry me. To make happy they who seem most happy of all is as great a gift as any man can receive. I did not know I could make her smile, that most devout and pure of spirits. Sometimes, she seems untouched by time and nature, as if reality drifts through her. At these moments of pure beauty and perfection, I cannot fathom my own mortality, or the power that is held within me. If I can make this creature of light laugh, the world lies open to me.

4E 152, 23th of Frostfall, Alinor, Summerset Isles
I always knew I had an affinity for restoration magic. My healing hands have always proved a boon in my gardening life, and now, with teaching and study from the Great College, I can extend those hands to people and animals in need. This day, I made my first travels outside the city, helping farmers tend to their sick cattle. Iraneth went with me. Even though she was destined to help rule the Aldmeri Dominion, she could not help but stand close to the peasantry. She takes close attention to the plight of the downtrodden. Even in the mud and squalor of the barn, she radiated like the sun itself. Her presence made me tend to my studies even more.

4E 201, 4th of Mid Year, Alinor, Summerset Isles
Inareth and I celebrated the day I asked her to marry me. We contemplated again, like we had done all those years ago in the Garden. Now, we sit in the palatial gardens of our villa, the one she earned by doing her duty to the Aldmeri Dominion. The palatial gardens I helped cultivate. We sit, we drink Argonian Ale, and laugh about all the things we’ve said and done. We were so young when we got to know each other, and now, we were old and wise. And still, our love was as present as the coming dawn. We knew, as long as there were dawns, we would be together. We made a toast to the sunset, which we could see through the pillars of our garden fence, slowly sinking into the distant sea.

We had come to depend on each other, more than any human would dare to dream in their lifetime. Emotionally, yes, but also professionally. When Inareth rose through the ranks of government, so did I. Inareth always was more action-orientated, while I provide her with the best of my legal knowledge. We also keep each other in check. Without one another, we would automatically slide to both our extreme. Now, we could balance each other, to the best of our ability.

4E 330, 1st of Frostfall, Greenheart, Valenwood
Our first time abroad could not have been under heavier circumstances. The increased Imperial threat to our northern border has forced the Aldmeri Dominion to move troops to Valenwood. Troops, and administrators. The tension of the Wood Elves has increased, and with it the crackdown of the law. Inareth and I aren’t happy with it, at all. We never saw ourselves as conquerors, until we had to administer the law in Greenheart. I never signed an order of execution in the Summerset Isles. In Valenwood, I signed three in my first month. The same went for Inareth, who had great trouble keeping the different villages in line. I hope we do not have to stay here for long. The days are arduous, and we receive hateful glances for actions we did not perform. However, if the increased Imperial build-up is anything to go by…

4E 340, 20th of Last Seed, Greenheart, Valenwood
We have been under siege for ninety days now. Three months. Everything is running low now. Water, food, munitions, people. Three deserters had to be hanged on my orders last night. It was the seventh day in a row of executions. Inareth, who had to defend the city warehouses, was now herself under siege. The rations had been cut so severely that the Wood Elves were trying to storm the granaries. Not long now, and there was nothing to defend: food was running low, and every route had been cut. I had prepared for the worst, and the Rites of Death stand ready to be administered for when the Imperials breach the walls. There is no hope for us. The army will not come, and the Imperials will hang every Altmer they find.

This is where the diary ends. The rest of the history is pulled from various Imperial army records, as well as from personal soldiers.

When we found him, he was hunched over the body of an armoured Altmer. He held her in his arms, pushing his face into her neck. She was dead, apparently from a poisoned arrow from one of our bows. He was apparently trying to heal her, but the poison was too strong. Even this strong mage could do nothing to stop that. His crying was tearing through our souls, so we pulled him from the body. I had killed enough Elves that day, so the company decided to sell the Elf as a slave, to pay for the funeral of our fallen comrades. We still blinded him, though. You never know with these Elves.

We don’t really know how he got such a high position at court. To be the main advisor to the Empress, to stand behind the curtains of her throne room, that takes talent. Especially when one has lost the view of the world. Most people don’t trust him, suspecting him of foul magic and fouler play. I don’t know. He seems reasonable enough to me, and if the Empress trusts him, who are we to disbelieve? However, and Altmer so near to the throne… That smells like Thalmor to me.

Likes: Gardening, songs, sunsets, dawns, books, chess, law
Dislikes: War, archers, politics, Argonian Ale, soldiers, Thalmor
Theme song: https://youtu.be/MyEUx5ol6JQ?t=13s
Voice: Basically, Sir Ian McKellen

[Rodez]

Braden Jurault

Race: Breton
Gender/Sex: Male
Class: Archer (Oblivion)
Equipment:
-Ancestral glass bow of the Juraults
-Steel shortsword
-Steel arrows (x30)
-chain-mail armor
-fine tunic
-hunting tunic
-Ring of Camlorn
-His white destrier mare, Muirene

Skills: Somewhat oddly for a noble, especially a Breton, Braden excels with the bow. His mastery of archery is such that he is capable of hitting targets, moving or otherwise, at great distances, and can even shoot fairly accurately at shorter distances while on the move. An articulate and booming orator, Braden is also skilled at moving the hearts of large crowds, whether it be the masses of a city or soldiers defending a wall. He has also developed a talent for writing and penmanship, which goes hand in hand with his oratory endeavors.

Weaknesses: Braden is just a mediocre swordsman at best, and has little magical skill to speak of. In addition, he is also quite paranoid, which can often endanger his friendships. Indeed, it has grown worse with age - Braden finds it increasingly difficult to trust anyone aside from his wife Sallona.

Bio: When the Breton hedge knight Enmon Jurault spent the night in the Imperial City some forty years prior, one of the serving girls at the inn presented him with, to his enormous surprise, a baby boy. The woman steadfastly refused to divulge the circumstances of the lad's birth, saying only that she had been payed well to not ask questions - however, the infant was a burden she could no longer care for.

Being young, and not hardened from war like many of his compatriots, Enmon relented and adopted the boy as his son, naming him Braden. Enmon returned north to his home in High Rock, where local conflicts were beginning to consume the province. After the ravages of the Second Great War and the resulting upheaval, Enmon was raised to Baron and granted a small castle with an accompanying estate not far from Camlorn. There, at Hendrick Hall, Braden was raised alongside his half-brother Guillaume. Braden was informed of his adopted status as soon as he was old enough to understand; his parents always maintained that he was the biological son of a destitute legionnaire and a bar wench.

A rivalry soon developed between the two half-brothers, which became unhealthy as they entered their teenage years. When Braden was seventeen and his brother nineteen, they came to blows over the love of a gorgeous merchant's daughter, Lucille. Guillaume rushed his brother, sword raised, while Braden calmly notched an arrow and shot his charging half-brother through the heart.

Livid and distraught, his adoptive parents had little choice to banish him, forcing him into the post in the Legion. Braden proved an unsatisfactory swordsman but impressed his officers with his archery. This being a valued skill in Valenwood, his posting, Braden was soon made a junior officer himself, and a garrison commander some years after that. He developed a solid reputation as a leader of men while fighting bands of Dominion loyalists deep inside Valenwood. It was here that his ability to inspire men to greater deeds blossomed. By the time he retired from the Imperial Legion at the age of thirty-three, he had attained the rank of Legate, though he spent only a short while actually holding a command of this size.

Braden purchased a house in Anvil and married an Imperial noble, Sallona Tulaennius. He dabbled in commerce for a few years while his wife gave birth first to a girl, Elienne, and then to a boy, Tristan, two years later. Between decent mercantile earnings and a substantive pension, they were quite well off

It was a little over a year ago when Braden received a most unexpected letter from Camlorn: His adoptive parents had both died within a year of each other, but in Enmon's will Braden was listed as the sole heir of Hendrick Hall and the modest Jurault fortune. Braden promptly moved his family to High Rock and settled down in the castle of his childhood. Almost a year later, Braden is still adjusting to his new role as a relevant Breton noble, having never had the expectation of being Baron. He is also beginning to realize the potential of his current position given the Empire's slow descent into chaos. In his paranoid broodings, Braden has discovered ambition he never knew he possessed.

And at the back of his mind, as it has been all his life, lies the prodding question of just exactly who his biological parents were. Perhaps Hendrick Hall will divulge an as-yet unknown secret.

RP Sample: Take a looksy at the original RP, within the first several pages of the IC


Personality: Braden is neither compassionate nor cruel, simply pragmatic to a fault. Certainly, his oratory skills can give one the impression that he is warm, but this illusion holds less water in private conversation, where he often struggles to contain his annoyance or impatience. Braden possesses a snarky sense of humor, but this has slowly waned as his paranoia has waxed.
Theme song: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=8jKn76PKp6k
Age: 38

[Ism]

Sir Amren Cylriod (Sir Antus Matius)

Race: Imperial (Colovian)
Age: 46
Gender/Sex: Male
Class: Crusader (Custom)
Equipment: Knight of the Nine Armor (Set of steel plate with a surcoat bearing the Red Diamond as a coat of arms) and a shield, as well as a fine steel long-sword and mace, a hunting bow and 80 steel arrows, a horse, a bedroll and a traveling pack.

Skills: Amren is a skilled combatant, able to fight masterfully with his sword, mace and bow, though he favors the sword. He is similarly skilled in fighting in armor, be it plate or mail, or even leather armor. Still, he prefers the safety of plate to leather and mail. Amren is skilled in parrying with his weapons and blocking with his shield, and will do these more often than try to dodge a blow, in no small part due to his preferred armor. Under the tutelage of Grandmaster Areldur, he has become skilled in the Colleges of Restoration and Alteration, though his skill here is nothing spectacular.

Weaknesses: Amren is slow to trust, making it hard to get close to him. He has learned to be suspicious of others, often looking for signs of deception and betrayal in those close to him who have yet to earn his trust. Amren is also unwilling to allow injustice to fester, wanting to pursue and eliminate unjust people and groups whenever he can, which could obviously lead to issues. He has become more pragmatic with age, however, not that he is happy with that fact. Amren's temper is usually under control, he has made great strives in that regard, but when those close to him are threatened he can lose control, often resulting in regretful actions.

Bio: Sir Amren Cylriod, formerly Sir Antus Matius, was born on the 15th of First Seed in 4E 299 under The Serpent; he was born into the ruling House Matius of County Kvatch. He was the second son of Count Maro Matius and younger brother of the now reigning count, Count Corvus Matius. Antus would, at the young age of 7, be made page to Sir Quintus Valus, a knight in service to his father. After little more than a year as a page, Antus followed his master into the Second Great War.

The war was brutal and bloody. Antus would follow Sir Quintus along many battles. Due to his age, Antus was not brought into the fighting, but he would see much of it from afar. It was a frightening spectacle to a young child, to see the carnage and bloodlust of war. Sadly, he would not leave the war unscarred. There was an attack on the encampment Sir Quintus and Antus were in, a fierce assault with a disorganized response. In the chaos of the battle, Antus was separated from Quintus and meandered through the battlefield. He was caught by an Altmer and in fear stabbed the elf in his throat with a dagger. This was the first time he killed anyone, but in the heat of the battle he thought nothing of it. He stumbled out of the camp, but a stray arrow from the battle caught him in his back, though it thankfully missed his spine. The arrow, however, was poisoned and he would soon collapse from the toxin.

Antus would wake up two days later, under the care of one of the battlemages. He would recover, physically, but the stress and fear that came with his first kill and almost dying would remain with him for the rest of his life. He would remain there for a month while he recovered, though he then began serving his master again, as he would for the remainder of the war, with little incident. He would continue serving as a page and later a squire to Sir Quintus, until the 7th of Frostfall 4E 323, when he was made a full knight. This was due to his actions after a marauder band composed of former legionaries began raiding Cyrodil from an unknown base in the Colovian Highlands.

One such raid resulted in the kidnapping of Sabine Mottiere, who was betrothed to Corvus, on her way from Chorrol to Kvatch. Sir Quintus and Antus were among the many knights from Colovia to ride into the Highlands in search for Sabine. The quest was perilous, the Highlands were rugged and filled with all manner of dangerous creatures and characters, more so than in previous years due to the weakened Imperial patrols. Eventually, however, the marauders were discovered to be operating out of an old fort, Fort Ontus. When the knights arrived, they found the fort had been rebuilt and were unable to penetrate it.

A siege commenced, however, there were concerns as to the survival of Sabine, as well as the many other hostages should the siege continue. While scouting the area, Antus discovered several raiders exiting a small tunnel with bound people: hostages. Rushing forward, Antus caught his foes by surprise, managing to slayed on of them quickly. The other two were able to put up a fight, but after years of fighting only merchants and fighters, they were ill prepared to face a trained combatant. He slew them and freed the captives, leading them back to the knights' camp. There was no celebration however, the knights organized a small band led by Sir Quintus to explore the tunnel.

Antus led the knights to the tunnel and journeyed with them into it. They soon entered the fort from a passage dug into the fort's basement. They managed to capture a raider. The bandit was convinced to lead them to the cells, after revealing there were more prisoners, where they freed the remaining captives. The knights freed the captives and quickly fled the fort, but they were discovered. Sir Quintus covered their flight and managed to escape himself, but he would be wounded. The knights continued their siege, now without fear for the hostages. 103 days passed, when the desperate marauders charged both exits in a sally. The raiders were slaughtered to the last man, but they proved themselves formidable foes. In the aftermath of the battle, Sir Quintus made Antus a knight, though the official ceremony would have to wait until they were back in Kvatch. All of the knights involved would earn great prestige and rewards. There would even be a song written about it, "The Fall of Fort Ontus."

Years passed, with Sir Antus proving himself a great knight. He was a champion of the people of Kvatch, rooting out corruption and criminals where they hid. Antus grew wildly popular among the commoners, more and more he was compared favorably to his brother Corvus. This irked Covus greatly, however he hid such feelings behind a mask of humility, letting only those in his inner circle know his true feelings. However, such a situation did not last. In 4E 329, Antus had finished a quest to slay a gang that had been terrifying merchants throughout County Kvatch and had learned, much to his horror, that the gang had been working for Corvus to profit off of the pilfered goods. Antus rushed to Kvatch and to the castle. He had planned to provide the letters showing Corvus's guilt, but learned his father had taken ill. Antus recruited several guards to come with him to confront his brother.

Corvus denied the allegations, saying he had no part in any raiding in Kvatch, before placing an opened bottle of wine in the open; the bottle had been given to Maro as a birthday gift from Antus a month prior, and had been drunk only once, by Maro, the prior day. Corvus explained all of this, a grin on his face the whole time, as he revealed the bottle was poisoned and before he could respond Antus was being dragged into the dungeons by the guards. He languished there for hours, no news nor explanation for what was happening, when he noted a sign on the wall of his cell. He realized his cell connected to a secret passageways which honeycombed the castle, following them out to the royal stables, riding his horse out of the city before the guard realized he was missing.

He rode hard south, reaching Anvil. He was, for better or worse, clothed in simple cloth, having his finery and equipment confiscated by the guards back in Kvatch. He made his way to the port and bartered his way onto a ship, promising to work his way elsewhere. He ended up in Sentinel, where he would work as a private guard for 4 years, mostly dealing with raids on his employers shipping and caravans, easy work really and for good pay. He enjoyed his time there, but it was an alien world to him and he did dislike the great heat and cold of the Alik'r Desert. He worked to earn passage east, hoping to settle in Skyrim, a rural area and live out his days, perhaps as a guard. In truth, despite everything, he wanted to help the common people again. During this time he had adopted the name Amren Cylriod, an anagram of Reman Cyrodil, a hero of his, though he went by the nickname Ren.

After 4 years he left Sentinel behind with a fair bit of gold, enough to establish himself in the small town of Rorikstead. It was far enough out of the way to make his being discovered highly unlikely. He worked with the guards, bringing in several bounties quickly, before being made a guard himself. He served for some time, before marrying a local farmer's daughter, Katla, in 4E 337. They lived happily for two years together, Amren being truly happy for the first time in many years, having a loving wife and a job that made him feel good about himself, feel like a knight again. At times he would wonder if he was happier now than when he was a knight of Kvatch, as he could do good without the pressure of being a noble. On the other hand, he lacked the resources he once had. Regardless, he was happy, though it would not last.

In 4E 339 a bandit group began raiding the area around Rorikstead, with Amren leading a group of guards to chase them down, successfully, of course. However, they returned to find Rorikstead in flames. The town had been damaged by a second host of bandits which had raided Rorikstead while the guard was weak. The total damage was unknown for some weeks, though the town would recover quickly, the people would not. Many residents were wounded or worse and a few were taken captive, Katla included. Upon learning this, Amren entered a rage, a blood-lust that would not be satiated until every last of the bandits lay dead. Alone, without a word spoken, he left Rorikstead behind him, riding hard on the trail of his quarry. For two days he rode, before the trail took him to a cave leading into the mountains.

Amren stormed in, eschewing all stealth and caution, thinking only of his vengeance. These bandits were caught unawares nonetheless, though they were quickly alerted. They were, however, disorganized and separated from each other, spread out among the tunnels and chambers of the cave. Amren tore through them, even as he was wounded he shrugged off the pain, like an orcish beserker he cut each bandit that stood before him down no matter how hard he was hit, marching forward in a tranquil fury. He soon reached the bandit chief and his guard, who each held a hostage before them, the chief ordered Amren to leave or they would kill the hostages, proving it by slitting the throat of the one he held. Unfortunately for him, his hostage was Katla.

Amren flew into a rage at the sight of his wife collapsing to the ground, gasping for breaths as she choked on her own blood. Some part of him knew he should leave, do everything to make sure the other hostages survive, but such reason was lost in his fury. He slaughtered the bandits, though they would kill the hostages. Even when the last fell Amren kept fighting, hacking and slashing at their corpses, until at last he came to his senses in a cave full of corpses. Distraught at his loss and actions, he took the bodies of the hostages outside, one by one, giving them all a funeral pyre. When he was finished, however, his wounds and exhaustion caught up to him and Amren collapsed, taking what he thought would be his last look at the stars as the world faded into shadow.

He would awake, however, in a small cabin in the mountains south of Morthal. Amren soon met the cabin's other occupant and owner, an old Altmer by the name of Areldur. They would converse, Amren explaining what happened at Rorikstead and in the caves, expressing remorse. Areldur comforted Amren, explaining he too made a choice he had never forgiven himself for, but that he had made up for it by fighting to better the world, even risking his life fighting a great evil. Areldur revealed himself to be Sir Areldur, the last known surviving Knight of the Nine. He regaled Amren with tales of the order over the next few weeks of the Knights and even the Divine Crusader, who mysteriously disappeared, leaving the relics behind.

He also told of the death of the order, many dying in the first Great War, others dying when the Priory of the Nine was destroyed by the advancing Thalmor army. Only seven knights survived, selected by drawing lots to ferry the relics to safety before the Priory fell, Areldur taking the shield north to Skyrim. The plan was to return to Cyrodil and the Priory when the war was over, but the Concordat essentially outlawed their order and the knights went underground. Areldur never heard from them again, though he heard of knights who had survived the war who were killed by the Thalmor for Talos worship. Areldur, believing his order had failed in their duty, retreated form the world, living a secluded life as a hermit. A friendship and trust developed between the two, leading to Amren revealing his true identity, though nothing changed between them. Amren did however, ask to join the order, believing the two of them could begin to restore it from the brink, in part because he believed it would serve as his penance for allowing his lust for vengeance kill innocents. Areldur agreed, but desired to teach Amren restoration magic first, explaining its benefits could heal the soul as well as the body, to which Amren relented.

So it was that in 4E 442 that Amren began his quest, having become quite skilled in restoration and sharpened his skills in practice with Areldur. The first part of the quest was mundane, bringing in bounties to earn coin to better outfit himself and buy up land and resources to build a new priory. Nothing much happened during this time, though the Battle-Born family would learn of their efforts and patronize the order, speeding their efforts along and even drawing in some recruits. In 4E 445, Grandmaster Areldur founded the third incarnation of the Knights of the Nine from the Priory of the Nine, a compound composed of a barracks, chapel, stable and some farms surrounding them, protected by a palisade. The order was small, only a few knights, though there are many members of the clergy present, researchers helping to track down the Crusader's Relics. Amren was knighted of course and as the most skilled fighter was the man who would seek out the first relic. He was placed on the trail of Sir Olav Byrd, who led a nomadic life as a knight errant while carrying the Gauntlets of the Crusader. Recently, the trail has led to a possible relative, Greta Byrd, in Dawnstar, where Sir Amren is now traveling to.

RP Sample: One and Two

Personality: Sir Amren Cylriod is a noble and pious man, diligent, dedicated and loyal. He seeks to fight corruption, cruelty and evil wherever they thrive and he believes the Nine Divines are the best guides in this endeavor. However, he is not the idealist he was in his youth, his betrayal by Covus and loss ofKatla have soured him, making him more cynical and jaded. Still, he keeps his faith, believing that the teachings of the Nine would better the world if they were followed and so does his best to follow them. Humility is also a trait Amren has, his life having humbled him time and time again. He dislikes arrogance in others and especially dislikes it in authority figures. He is also a man who will follow his word, though he will not allow his word to be twisted and is careful in making promises he cannot keep, or would not want to.
Likes: Acts of kindness/charity/mercy, just rule, devotion to the Nine and their commandments, humility, courage, honor, loyalty, faithfulness/piety
Dislikes: Cruelty, corruption, Daedra worship, disrespecting the Nine, arrogance, deceitfulness, duplicity, the Conjuration college of magic
Theme song: May It Be-Enya
Voice: Stephen Dillane

[New Minahasa]

Orzuk Chief-bane
Race: Orc.
Gender/Sex: Male.
Appearance: Orzuk.
Class: Knight, preferring to fight in melee and in heavy armour.
Equipment: Orcish Armor, Orcish Shield, Orcish War Axe.
Skills: Hand-to-hand combat, melee weapons, and leadership.
Weaknesses: Orzuk never excelled in diplomacy and has no skill in speech, being a leader himself, speech could prove to be critical in his endeavors. Orzuk prefers to express himself the Orcish way; through brute force. His left eye was also blinded in combat, lessening his perception.
Bio:

Orzuk lived within one of the many Orc strongholds within the Dragontail Mountains, being recognized as one of the "Iron Orcs". His was the Blacktusk tribe, and so was he a Blacktusk Orc. The tribe lived like the many other Orc tribes; raiding and pillaging the Breton countryside became their hobby, and they disliked many outsiders, even their fellow Orc-brethren who lived in cities whom they consider "city Orcs", which are no better than the outsiders themselves.

Orzuk was originally called "gro-Logrog", meaning "the son of Logrog", and until he took the authority of the clan from the previous chieftain did he earn the name "Chief-bane". Orzuk was fiercely loyal to his previous chieftain, until he began to make deals and peace with the Bretons, causing unrest within the tribe. Conflicts occured between the tribe members until Orzuk finally stepped in and challenged his former chieftain to a duel which he won. He ruled the Blacktusk tribe with an ironfist, and alongside his personal advisor which he always kept close dearly had he managed to rally a few tribes to back him up in his grand scheme.

RP Sample: Republics of Dust.

Personality: Strong-willed, ambitious, and cunning, but at the same time hot-headed and impatient, although not reckless.
Likes: Honourable fights and battles, strong women, honourable warriors from any race.
Dislikes: Dishonourable fights and battles, weak women, dishonourable warriors, magic-wielders (which he sees as dishonourable), and the damned racist Bretons.
Theme song: I'm using this theme for every Orc/Ork race I'm playing, no matter which universe.
Voice: Tremble before me!

[Ulls]

Ariedothat

Race: Reachmen
Gender/Sex: Male
Appearance: Its over there on the right.
Class: Mage, historian and curator of the Synod,
Equipment: Synod mage clothing, normal clothing, a bag of coins
Skills: Master at Restoration, Expert in Mysticism, Adept at Illusion, Journeyman in Alchemy
Weaknesses: Destruction magic, he doesn't like it and believes it's an overuse school. Doesn't know how to use sword and bow. Most powerful spells that he uses in the school of Mysticism drains him considerably since he doesn't have much formal training with the entire school outside his mother but he has learned more than most mages in the current era and truly powerful spells have been lost to all but their creators.
Bio: Born in Red Eagle's Redoubt. He was brought up by a shaman who learned Mysticism that was kept in their tribe but most was lost since the end of the Second Era. However, he had shown a skill and a heart for Restoration and he would sneak into the Marakarth to get expensive spell books to learn how to heal.

These skills were also reinforced with his mother sending some wounded warriors who survive raids against Imperial Jarls or other tribes. This got the notice of a enemy tribe that tried to assassinate him. He left his mother when this happened and became a citizen of the Empire as a amateur healer. The local Synod chapter had found out about him when he was working for a local alchemist in Riften. He accepted being part of the guild and show himself a skilled user of the school of Restoration.

Within a couple of decades, he mastered Restoration and learned more than a few skills of Illusion and alchemy when he wanted to go get a few pints of beer and had been able to heal himself of any buzz and use magic to convince the bartenders to give him more rounds. This had came at the expense of many colleagues who saw him misuse his magic to heal himself and try to keep his youth. Many wanted him to be expelled, yet he was very influential so he agreed to be the curator and historian of the many artifacts that they have.

This came at the surprise of the Reachmen as the Synod had artifacts from the time when Mysticism was popular. He quickly learned much about the Old Way and consider this his second most used school in his magical arsenal. The Synod were impressed by his knowledge of Mysticism but consider it not worth since most of the spells in the School had been divot up to other schools. Still, he learned all that he could and one day hoped he could meet the Monks and asked them questions.

Something change during the last few years. He saw the rise of upstart nobles and rebels made him think that the mages should do something. Yet he knew that they wouldn't approve since magic is a dangerous weapon when used in the wrong hands and has many examples in history. Still, he lied about leaving the guild, thinking about using his knowledge to actually change the world around him. He now searches for a key to a legendary wizard tower known as Frostcrag Spire from here he believes he can start in making his goals a reality.
RP Sample: https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?p=31163085#p31163085

[Hastiaka]

High Justiciar Naemon

Race: Altmer
Gender/Sex: Male
Class: Sorcerer
Equipment: An enchanted glass sword, several potions for restoration and destruction tomes
Skills: Naemon has mastered the school of destruction, conjuration and allusion.
Naemon is also adept at the school of restoration and also good in the speech and mercantile perks.
Weaknesses: Naemon's weakness is melee combat.
Bio: So, you're asking about me and my story?

He was born in Marnor Keep on the 25th of the Second Seed, 4E 390 to a Thalmor indoctrinator. When he was barely ten years old, he watched with horror as the wretched ''Fourth Aldmeri Dominion'' rounded up his parents and allowed the foolish crowds in Alinor to mercilessly butcher them. During the great war, his uncle- a former Thalmor now serving within the government of the new Dominion, helped him and catered him for the next twenty years of his life. During the second great war, he was in Sunhold with his extended family for a family vacation. When the Maormeri armies landed, Naemon assisted the defense of the city. After his extraordinary display of heroism, valor and courage, a Thalmor agent was sent to recruit him secretly.

Barely a year after Naemon's recruitment, popular support for the King was deteriorating. In an effort to save his influence, the King departed with a large fresh army several thousand strong to defend the city of Marbruk- they would never return. The defeat of the king's army at Marbruk was the final straw for the people. Shortly after the king's corpse was returned to the royal palace, Princess Seianacana Feya Aldmeri was crowned queen of the Aldmeri Dominion. Her ascension to power was marked with protests, violent demonstrations and unrest all across the surviving domains of the Aldmeri Dominion.

Four years after the Imperial invasion of Valenwood and Elsweyr, the Thalmor rallied the entire population of Summerset and converged on the Aldmeri Dominion National Congress. The enraged populace burnt the entire complex- burning alive hundreds of Altmer, Bosmer and Khajiiti legislators and officials. During this time, Naemon led the major offensives and rapidly rose through the ranks of the Thalmor. After the survivors of the Fourth Dominion officially surrendered power after the battle of Silcarn castle, the Thalmor were reinstated as the governing body of all the Dominion.

There was a election for the office of the High Justiciar and surprisingly, Naemon won the elections and was declared High Justiciar. His first years were about the reconstruction of the damaged cities and the construction of massive bulwarks across the coasts of the isles. Then, he became more and more authoritarian. He began to embark on a massive brainwashing campaign to militarize the entire nation and tells every citizen that if the do not burn the Imperial City- the Altmeri race will be gone forever.

Secretly, he is part of a large daedra worshipping faction of the Thalmor. They answer to Meridia, their patron.
RP Sample: Ascension!

(please remove all text in this app that isn't within the bold tags)
(everything underneath is optional)

Personality: Naemon is a manipulative mer, he likes to sway everything to his whim.
Likes: The Aldmeri Dominion, Altmers, Bosmer, Khajiit, Daedric Prince Meridia.
Dislikes: The Empire, the Arenthian government, Humans, non-mer.
Theme song:
Voice:

---

Queen Seianacana Feya Aldmeri

Race: Altmer
Gender/Sex: Female
Class: Mage
Equipment: Queen's royal robes, The royal scepter and several potions.
Skills: Mastered the school of restoration and illusion.
Weaknesses: Physical combat
Bio: Queen Seia was born thirty years after the oblivion crisis. When she was a baby, the Thalmor captured her parents and killed them and for three centuries, she was on the run. During the rise of his brother, she was hiding in the mountains of Skyrim when the Imperial Legion captured her. She was kept in the Imperial City for months and was tortured for information. After months of captivity, she escaped and went back to the Summerset Isles where she was taken care of her brother.

During the second great war, she was responsible of calming down the worried and panicky populations of homeland Alinor. After the defeat of the Dominion to the Empire, she was crowned queen of the Dominion. She is now a puppet leader of the Dominion. Secretly, she is oppressed by the Thalmor and is intimidating her for her ''irresponsible beliefs''

She currently resides in the Royal Palace of Alinor. It seems however, that it's only a matter of time until the little influence she has on the palace will be lost for her retinue is reduced to a little more than half a hundred mer. She is also aware of the daedric influences that has poisoned the Thalmor and she is working with the Trebbite order to eliminate all daedric influences in the dominion.

RP Sample: Ascension!

[Nadd]

Syanna Guimard

Race: Breton
Gender/Sex: Female
Class/Occupation: Spellsword (Oblivion), Baroness in Evermore, Grand Master of the Knights of Saint Pelin.
Age: 29
Theme song: Click Here

Personality: Looks can be deceiving when it comes to Syanna Guimard. Her appearance is that of a charming princess, but that is something Syanna definitively is not. Instead, Syanna is a cold and manipulative person, plagued with terrible jokes. The best way to describe her is a person who finishes the job, no matter the cost. In a way, she can be described as an impulsive person, though only in stressful situations. She prefers the presence of nature and animals over that of people. And when she must interact with others, she likes to keep it professional.

Appearance: Often described as the ideal Breton maiden by scholars, Syanna has long brown hair, almost bordering black. Maybe as a statement, or as a joke towards the whole ideal maiden description, Syanna usually has her hair braided in traditional fashion. Further augmenting the ideal maiden description, or at least one version of it, Syanna has pure white skin, leaning more towards Nordic then Imperial. She has a thin but muscular body, fit for endurance instead of raw strength. Her height is that of an average Breton woman, and while she has some scars, they are all hidden under her clothes, such as a deep scar on her buttocks.

Equipment: Under most occasions, she wears a white tunic under a steel chestplate, with a leather pouch and a grey coat. She also have an array of elegant formal dresses, though most of them equipped with trousers. When going into battle she equips herself with light steel plate armour. And unless in a formal party, she has her trusted ebony shortsword, a heirloom from her father, at her hip.

Skills: Syanna is an expert in the schools of destruction and alteration, as well as knowing some minor illusion magic. She is adept in athletics and acrobatics as well as the art of the blade.

Weaknesses: Even though she is a sorcerer, she knows little from the restoration school of magic. Instead focusing on offensive magic. This makes her very vulnerable to physical wounds. She also has a lack of raw physical strength, only focusing on endurance. Her dislike of cities often make her increasingly restless and stressed the more time she stays in them.

Bio: Born to the younger brother of the King of Evermore, or the Marquise as he is known locally, Syanna was already amongst the most prestigious Breton nobles from her birth. As was the custom, a close relative of the King would become the Grand Master of the knightly order of Evermore; The Knights of Saint Pelin. Unlike many other of the Breton knightly orders, the Knights of Saint Pelin would constantly be fighting. As a border-kingdom towards both Hammerfell and the Reach, foreign incursions was a constant problem. Her father had been given the position of Grand Master as the brother of the king, and a powerful warrior. This meant that Syanna never really met her father, as she lived together with her mother and younger brother. On her eighth summer when they were on holiday in Daggerfall, news of her father's death reached them. Her mother broke down in sorrow, but they still had to get back to Evermore as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the danger of pirates meant they would not be able to go by sea, so they started the journey by land.

But a fateful encounter in Glenumbra changed Eoliene's life forever. While passing through the ancient battlegrounds of Glenumbra Moors, the column was attacked by werewolves. After several minutes of fierce fighting, her carriage was attacked and they were forced out into the chaos, where she was quickly separated from her mother and brother. One of the knights picked her up and attempted to get her out of the fighting and to safety. But they did not get far before the werewolves caught up to them. The knight told Eoline to run away while he kept them occupied, and she ran without turning back. But she did not get far before they caught up to her again. Then, as she was going to be killed, fierce magic set all the werewolves on fire, fleeing for their lives. Syanna had been saved by witches from the Beldama Wyrd. But the rest of the column was already dead, including her family. Unwilling to escort her to the closest settlement, the witches took her back with them, far into the forests of Glenumbra. Syanna was in such a shocked state that she could not muster any strength to argue. For seven years she lived together with the witches, slowly forgetting and supressing her former life. She learnt delicate and powerful magic, and the ability to appreciate nature. It was here she learnt to worship Y'ffre.

At the age of fifteen, Syanna was found by a hunter while walking in the woods. Having forgotten or suppressed her former memories, Syanna was highly interested in this foreign person, and followed him. He brought her to the closest town, where they imediately locked her up called for the local constable. Shocked and scared, Ireiel's first meeting with civilization after so many years was a painful experience. When the constable arrived, he took her with him to Daggerfall where they eventually found out her identity, and put her on a ship for Evermore. As she arrived in Evermore, she begun remembering her life before the Wyrd. But maybe as a side-effect of her past experiences, she was not comfortable with large crowds of people. Her uncle the king quickly decided to send her out to one of the distant garrisons of the Knights of Saint Pelin. There she would be thought all the education she had lost in years she had been gone. And be kept under close watch.
 
For five years until her twentieth birthday, she lived with the knightly order, learning from scholars, warriors and mages alike. It did not take long for them to notice her remarkable magic abilities, and it was decided that magic would be her main focus. She was taught all the strict Breton magic doctrines, but Syanna still managed to retain some of her former magic abilities and her Y'ffre worship in secret. After the age of twenty, she officially joined the knights, and started joining them on missions. Rising through the ranks as her achievements grew, Syanna was viewed as a possible successor to the position of Grand Master, but her uncle always declined. It was not until he died and her cousin took over the trone that Syanna was given her father's title of Baron(ess). Her cousin had been one of the few people that had been close with Syanna after her return, and he wanted to give her a position equal to her abilities. It was under his initiative that she was given the position of Grand Master of the knights of saint Pelin, at the remarkable age of 27. Since then, she has almost constantly been out in the Reach and by the border with Hammerfell, fighting back incursions into Evermore's territory.

RP Sample:

The City of Chorrol
 
Taselius Vendis was sitting behind his desk, working. His master, the Count of Chorrol Rallesius Valga was not the most efficient of people. Just recently, he had been unable to come to the meeting of the Cabinet because of "sickness". In reality, he had been out in the city brothels and gotten too drunk to even walk. Now, all the work he was to do laid in a pile of papers on Taselius' desk. He let out a sigh as he was about to sort through them. Just as he started reading through the first page, he heard a knock on the door. Taselius jumped a little in his chair, as he was not expecting anybody this late, nor was he much of a calm person. He slowly rose from his chair and walked over to the door. "Hello, can I help you?" He uttered. Several seconds went past before someone answered. "I've got something for you. It's important… For you." A dark voice answered. Taselius was perplexed. He had never been in a situation like this before. He thought for several seconds before finally making a decision and opening the door. A faint squeak could be heard from the wooden door as he slid it open. What he saw made him even more perplexed then before. Nothing, there was nobody outside. He walked out into the corridor, but it was completely empty. As he stood there looking around, he wondered if this had all been a prank. He turned around to go inside, suddenly noticing something on the ground. A piece of paper, with a small metal object lying on it. He leaned down and picked up the letter and metal object. As he inspected the metal object, taking it closer to his eyes, he almost fell backwards from the shock. The metal object was a ring, his wife's ring. He could not fathom why the ring of his dear wife was lying outside his office door. Remembering the piece of paper, he quickly read the text written on it. Barely understanding it, he looked down the corridor before running inside his office, locking the door behind him. After taking a deep breath, he looked down and read the letter again.
 
"To dear Vendis.
It is the wish of the Mistress that you offer up yourself for the wellbeing of Colovia.
Take the life of the Vizier, Jerunia, tomorrow.
If he is still alive tomorrow evening, the life of your wife will be forfeited.
We hope you will make the right choice.
From C.V
 
Ps. Burn the letter, or the safety of your wife will be in jeopardy."
 
Taselius fell on his knees. He knew who the letter was from, and why it asked him to kill the Vizier. He was not stupid. He knew of the older sister to the Count, and the circumstances leading up to the current Count's inauguration. But, for them to have chosen him to do this dirty job, and even involve his wife… He was shocked. He used several hours sitting in front of the fireplace, just thinking. In the end, he threw the letter into the fire, watching it burn into ash. He had made a decision.
 
[…]
 
The sun was high in the sky when the Cabinet of Chorrol met for their daily meeting. The city was bustling with life, and as usual, the Count was nowhere to be seen. Probably lying in bed with a hangover, Taselius thought to himself. As usual in the absence of the Count, the Vizier, Jerunia took charge, leading and deciding everything. Taselius sat most of the time, looking into the roof. He had never noticed the impressive craftsmanship in the castle before. Not before long, the Cabinet had finished the meeting, and people were beginning to leave. Taselius stood up and walked over to Vizier Jerunia. "Excuse me Vizier. I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you. Do you mind going to a more private place?" He asked. "Of great importance you say… Very well, let's go to my office then." Vizier Jerunia answered, and started to walk out of the chamber, towards his office. Taselius followed close behind. When they arrived, Taselius hurried in, closing the door behind him. "What is the matter, I expect it to be good. I have important things to deal with." Vizier Jerunia said in an irritated tone. Taselius, who had been looking down since he entered to room, looked straight into the eyes of Vizier Jerunia. "There has been an complication." He uttered, walking towards the Vizier. "For the wellbeing of Colovia… From mistress C.V" he whispered. Vizier Jerunia's eyes widened as he heard the letters C.V, knowing well what they meant. "Oh, no. She can't have come out now. Quickly, tell me everything you know. We must get rid of her as soon as possible, and get back that blasted ring. She is too dangerous to leave alive!" He shouted. Taselius said nothing, only continued to walk towards the Vizier. "Hey, stop moving. Answer me man! What are you? …" His sentence took a quick stop as he felt something warm in his chest. He looked down as his sight started to get faint. A thick bolt was stuck in his chest. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He took to his chest as dark red blood started to run down his stomach. Just before his sight went black, he looked forward, seeing Taselius standing right in front of him, aiming a small and empty crossbow towards him. The body of Vizier Jerunia fell down onto the floor, lifeless. Taselius just stood there, looking at it for several minutes. There was the deed that saved his wife, he thought. Dropping the crossbow on the floor, he went over to the window. The city was still bustling with life, but it was getting late. He gazed over at the west end of the city, towards his home. After standing by the window for what felt like half an hour, he opened it and jumped.
 
The next morning, news spread that the Vizier Jerunia had been murdered in his office. The presumed perpetrator was a Cabinet member by the name of Taselius Vendis. What was thought to be his body was found crushed below the window of the deceased Vizier's office. The rest of his family was nowhere to find, nor had the Count "Rallesius Valga" been seen or heard from in public. Life for the citizens in the city of Chorrol went on as if nothing had happened. Though, unbeknownst to them, the system governing them had just collapsed into chaos.