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Post by Vicorva on Sept 30, 2008 21:09:50 GMT
No template, I'll correct where necessary. Looking forwards to seeing what comes up.
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Post by Vicorva on Sept 30, 2008 21:13:57 GMT
The First in the misfit group of lyncanthropes- an alchemically-born werefox.
Real Name: Avalon Dierre Given Name: Mercury Vulpine Nickname: Her name is most often shortened to Ava, although plenty of people know her and call her Mercury, for the colour of her eyes. Race: Breton (Werefox) Gender: Female Age: She appears to be twenty. Birthsigns: The Lover
Focus: Stealth and Social Skills: Stealth, Acrobatics, Illusion, Sleight-of-Hand, Persuasion/Bluff, Dagger, Perform, Athletics Class: Bard
General Appearance: She's small and unimposing, and this is in many ways her greatest strength. She has a sweet, round face with wide eyes, a straight nose, small mouth, and high-cheekbones, and her features on the whole are very expressive and very changeable. Her eyes are silver-blue with an intelligent gleam, with extravagant eyelashes and naturally well-shaped eyebrows. As ever, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and although her features are perfect in the eyes of some, that is not to say that she is every man’s type. Her figure is petite but curvy with a body that is naturally agile and dextrous rather than athletic. Naturally, her movements are quite light, graceful and quiet.
Werefox Appearance: She is small and lithe in build, extremely skinny and only about 5ft tall, she does not grow in height or strength. She has long, bright red and white fur with white-tipped ears and tail, and black lower legs, ears and paws. In many ways, she looks like a werewolf, but more slender and sleek, and with more feline features. In this form, she is much less strong than most other werecreatures, but also much faster, and much more cunning. Those who see her find her to be beautiful and wild, and though fearsome she does not strike the same terror into people as other werecreatures do.
Hair: Avalon has wavy dark brown hair. It reaches mid-back in length, though she wears it back in a ponytail. Much of it falls loose to curl around her face, and her fringe is overgrown and falls into her eyes. Eyes: Her eyes are a deep blue eyes flecked with silver (‘Mercury’) and rimmed darkly by long eyelashes. Their natural look is a mixture of soulful and wary. Height: 5ft0” Build: She's petite and small-boned, but curvy. She gives the impression of being quite agile, and she has quite a wiry build. Skin: Her skin is very pale and smooth. It's unblemished, save for a few freckles. Tattoos/Scars: Nothing conspicuous, though she a small black phoenix tattoo beneath her left shoulder blade, and on the small of her back there is a set of thin but deep claw scars.
Personality: Avalon is calculating and quick-thinking. It's important to recognise this part of her, because she spends a good deal of her time calculating the risks of what she says and does, as opposed to the benefits. She's also a plotter, always thinking of the next step to take, though interestingly she trusts her instincts and will often act on impulse. She's extremely intelligent, witty, and sharp-tongued when in a temper, but she has a restrained personality, able to keep her thoughts to herself in most circumstances, and mix with all kinds of people. Her sense of humour is lively, as she loves to shock people, and is willing to go out of character to do so. The result is one woman who appears to have many personas, but really just has one, variable persona. Generally she comes across as exciting and companionable, although her mood-swings are of legendary proportions, and should be avoided when she is not in-character.
She also has a deeply-ingrained belief that she is evil for what she has done. It leads her, at times, to do evil things, because she feels she cannot escape it.
Weapon(s): Usually, Ava can be found with twin silver daggers at her waist, a long steel dagger in her boot, and various small, flat knives secreted about her person. When she wants to be less conspicuous, she has only one dagger at her waist. Clothing/Armour: She usually wears knee-high leather boots, doeskin leggings, and a pleated black skirt that just reaches her knees. She has a loose white shirt on with a tight leather bodice over the top, and a patched-up black cloak. Around her waist is a heavy utility belt. She has a pair of fingerless leather gloves that extend to her elbows, and around her neck is what looks like an old fashioned key. For formal occasions: A black gown with silver embroidery made of many over-lapping layers of sheer silk to the point of being opaque, with a black and silver bodice. It's beautiful, but not presumptuous, the attire of a lesser noble rather than a queen. It's designed to draw attention to her feminine figure without being inappropriate in any way- a lady's dress. She wears dressier, feminine boots, but they remain quite practical, as they are hidden from view under the hem of her dress.
Inventory: Change of clothes, food rations, a small amount of gold, and various daggers, as well as a few lockpicks. A small lute as well, hanging from a strap.
Spells: The only magic Ava uses is Illusion. However, between her indomitable will, extremely characterised personality and years of practice, she gets more out of this school than most any other. She can cast any known illusion spell, and many unknown ones besides. However, those who can use and see magic often find themselves uncomfortable around her.
Misc. Skills and Traits: -She is a skilled singer and lute player, and she can even play the flute to some degree. As a bard, she is also extremely talented at story-telling. -She is a skilled liar, negotiator and actress, and diplomacy is something of a hobby for her. She can judge people’s motives and discern their inner-thoughts with uncanny skill. However, those who are similarly gifted or particularly closed-off can take longer to crack. -She is fairly empathic and compassionate. -Thanks to her birthsign, she is quite passionate and opinionated- meaning that, when properly incensed, she may act brashly. -She is a most unusual breed of werecreature: a werefox. As it happens, she is also an unnatural breed of werecreature, created to be that way. She gains none of the strength or combat bonuses a werewolf does, and though she is much faster and smarter than other werecreatues in werefox form, she is easily killed. This is largely because she was created as a fancy, rather than as a hunter of men. She is often still effected by bloodlust, however.
Short Bio: Avalon’s early history is largely clouded due to memory loss. However, she has over the years begun to piece together some of her past, and who she was. She knows she was once the Ambassadorial Doyen of the Thieves’ Guild, a position she now holds part-time. She knows she was engaged to a redguard named Kaye Stacey, who died a heart-broken man when she lost her memory and became a new woman. She also knows that a vampiress, a woman named Cassandra, had much to do with her past and with the odd attributes that have been associated with her over the years. When Avalon lost her memory, Cassandra pretended to be her friend, but the more Ava has investigated, the clearer it has become that Cassandra was never her friend: rather, she was her manipulator. Over the years, Ava has tried on various occasions to escape from the Vampiress, but Cassandra shows no signs that she intends to leave the werefox alone. In recent years, Ava has wondered the world, attaching herself to whatever cause she finds deserving, and often serving the Thieves’ Guild in honour of their old ties. Notably, she wishes to find company as long lived and bizarre as she, but she has failed in every attempt thus far.
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Post by Vrek on Oct 1, 2008 5:26:04 GMT
Name:Ian Vermuth Nickname: N/A Race: Imperial Wereshark Gender: Male Age: 31 Birthsign: The Lover
Focus: Stealth Skills: Sneak, Security, Speechcraft, Alchemy, Marksmen, Illusion. Class: Assassin
General Appearance: Thin, small, unassuming. Nobody ever really believes Ian to be dangerous. He's too unfit to be a warrior of any sort. He's always a bit unkempt, unfitting of most mages. He walks with a slight bend of the back. Most notable, would be his left hand, or lack thereof. His left arm ends in a stump, just below the elbow. He has a bit of fat on him, and has a calloused hand. He over all looks like a simple commoner. Hair:. Short brown hair, always a bit ruffled and dirty. Eyes: Brown. Height: 5'4'' Build: Bit of fat, but average when concerning townsmen. Tattoos/Scars: Missing his left hand just below the elbow.
Personality: Ian is friendly, with just about anyone and everyone. He prides himself on making himself everyone's friend. He always has a bit of a jolly smile about him. On the inside, though, he's a calculating, honorable, but cruel. He's an assassin, and realizes that in truth, he is no one's friend. He does, however, refuse to allow blood to directly fall onto his hands, most often killing his marks with poison or well timed and placed 'accidents', rather then with a blade or spell.
Weapon(s): A blowdart, with a few darts, just in case. Clothing/Armour: Simple cloth clothing, a bit worn. The shirt has a knot tied into the left sleeve where his stump is. He has since donned a thicker coat and fur boots since arriving on Solstheim.
Inventory: A satchel, filled with all sorts of plants, only some poisonous. Something you would see on a gatherer in most places.
Spells: Most Illusion spells. Often used just for warming up a colder person to talk, or escaping unseen from a soured job. He knows how to paralyze, but most likely will never resort to such crude tactics.
Short Bio: Born on the island of Stirk, moved to Anvil when he was only ten. He grew up as a laborer and sailor until he was 19, when he got in a brawl, and killed a man. He was chased from the town, barely alive, when a speaker of the Dark Brotherhood found him and took him in.
When he was 24, after having poisoned an entire ship's food supply, except for what he took with himself, he was attacked by a shark while rowing towards land, during which attack he lost his arm, and, unbeknownst to him, infected him as a wereshark.
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Post by DarkNova50 on Oct 1, 2008 5:47:40 GMT
You know, I've been wanting to bring him back for awhile now, and this seemed like a good opportunity for it. So, here he is, with a few tweaks.
Name: Will Ross Race: Redguard Age: 24 Gender: Male Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: Fighter Focus: Combat Skills: Long Blade, Hand to Hand, Unarmoured, Hunting, Wilderness Survival, Athletics, Blacksmithing, Adaption Description: Neither a soldier nor a mercenary for hire, a fighter makes use of their skills simply to survive
General Appearance: Will has a rather rough and untamed look appearance about him, certainly looking more like a nomad than a regular citizen. He is quite large and muscular, even by Redguard standards, a reflection of his years of intense physical life. He has a well defined face, with a hard jaw and long nose, and has a look of subdued ferocity about him. Hair: Dark brown, nearly black, worn messy and unmanaged, nearly to his shoulders in length Eye Colour: Dark, forest green Height: 6’7” Scars: Dozens of scars mark Will’s chest and arms, a testament to his years of experience.
Mental Description: Charmingly straightforward, his solution to a locked door would be to kick it down. While he is not stupid by any means, and is in fact rather intelligent, he is by no stretch a learned man, either. He tends to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and is more inclined to act brashly as opposed to mulling things over. He enjoys meaningful socialization with others, but dislikes large groups, and so values his privacy.
Primary Weapon: Will uses an old Nordic silver claymore, the once elaborate designs along the blade blunted and dented with years of heavy use. Secondary Weapon: On his belt, he carries a short, pristine ivory dagger, with a small blue sapphire set in the hilt. Unlike his claymore, this weapon appears to almost never have been used. Primary Armour/Clothing: Usually wears a light, practical black cotton shirt, with short sleeves that fit snugly around his muscular biceps. He has a pair of heavier, black cotton pants, somewhat tattered and worn, but still in decent condition, and a pair of heavy black leather boots that reach a few inches above his ankles. For Travelling: A heavy, hoodless grey wolf fur cloak, meant to keep him warm against the harsh climate of Solstheim.
Inventory: A small number of healing potions, a small steel hunting knife, and a large wineskin of mead.
Misc: -Has a strong sense of honour, in that he rarely goes looking for fights, though is likely to attack if provoked. -Respects the rights of others, unless they prove that he should think otherwise, and will fight for the defence of others. -Enjoys music and singing. -Enjoys alcohol.
Bio: Born to two warriors, Will began training in the ways of combat at a young age, becoming a skilled swordsman in his own right by the age of twelve. However, his parents had made a number of powerful enemies over the years, and inevitably, criminal syndicates such as the Camonna Tong began hunting the two Redguards. In order to protect their son from the bloodthirsty thugs, Will’s parents left him within Vivec City, and disappeared from the public eye.
Will worked for a number of years as a mercenary in the Fighter’s Guild, moving from simple courier missions to full blown combat assignments. Eventually, though, he left the guild, and wandered Vvardenfell and the neighbouring provinces on his own for several years, before making his way to Solstheim. Since then, he has lived in solitude, in a small cave near Thirsk, hunting animals and dealing with Berserkers and Fryse Hags in exchange for supplies and favours from the locals.
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 1, 2008 9:27:18 GMT
Aaaaah... Will Ross is back! Awesome. Well, he's in. Vrek, your char is awesome. I really like him. One of the few assassin characters I've ever liked, in fact. (The only one I can recall is webster's Janus, in fact... huh.)
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 1, 2008 14:01:05 GMT
I just couldn't resist... You'll never look at Vantustius the same again.
Name: Vantustius Crunus Nickname: Call him whatever you like, provided it's not insulting. Race: Imperial Werewolf Gender: Male Age: 26 Birthsign: The Tower
Focus: Social Skills: Sneak, Security, Speechcraft, Mercantile, Cooking, Gardening Class: Street Urchin Class Description: Vantustius is a beggar, plain and simple. From a very young age, he has been confined to the hovels of the waterfront, scraping out a living where he was able. Thus, he doesn't have very many useful skills, though he has gotten quite adept at utilizing whatever means possible to try and get others to take pity on and help him. General Appearance: Vantustius is very youthful, very spry. He holds a kind of child-like innocence, despite being twenty years old, and even appears rather kid-like, short but thin, and with an awkward, gangly appearance. His eyes are always bright and aware, intelligent, and he always wears a half-quizzical look, as though he is curious about something that has been bothering him for a while. Despite this, he also has a slightly bored look, as his attention very rarely remains on one thing for too long.
His hair is short, but wild, giving him a disheveled look, which becomes outright dirty when you take in the smears of dirt on his cheeks that seem to be always present. You could throw him bodily into the river, and he'll still emerge with those telltale streaks of dirt across his cheekbones, as though he's been that way for so long that it's sank into his skin.
Hair: Very light brown, hanging messily down to his eyebrows and advancing down to the base of his skull in the back. Always unruly, sticking out in tufts. Eyes: Bright blue, and always shining. rimmed with dark circles, showing that he has problems sleeping. Height: 5'7" Build: Thin as a rail, but very lean. His arms in particular have a slight wiry strength, though it's obvious that he wouldn't be at home wielding anything too heavy. Skin: Vantustius is very fair-skinned, though that could be as you never actually see his skin unless he's freshly washed, usually hidden behind a mask of dirt. Tattoos/Scars: None.
Personality: Vantustius is a kid at heart, and it shows in his actions. Despite the way his life has been, he treats it as a mere obstacle, a test that he must pass, retaining his good humor in spite of the situation around him. Thus, he tries to keep himself as cheery as possible, greeting people around him happily and whole-heartedly, eager to trust and eager to please.
Despite this, he does have a kind of dual nature, especially when he is alone, where his mood darkens considerably. Only when he is with others does he truly feel content, relying upon them to give him direction and desire rather than living for himself. Though this does make him seem rather selfless, it does hurt his morale a bit.
He hates violence, and hates to hurt people, and so views his own affliction as a curse of the worst proportions, fighting his transformation wherever possible. However, he does not yet have the strength of will to keep himself from turning just yet, so often times he wakes up, covered in the blood of his latest victim, and unable to stop himself from killing more. This results in a kind of tortured mindset for the poor, naive man.
Misc Traits: - Vantustius hates fire. - Vantustius is a pacifist, and abhors any weaponry.
Weapon(s): None. Clothing/Armour: Vantustius wears dingy blue linen, nothing overly fancy. Simply a shirt and trousers. His shoes are scuffed and mud-caked almost permanently, and are simple cloth coverings, not able to afford true shoes. The only thing relatively valuable that he keeps, is a small silver locket, that he keeps on him at all times.
Short Bio: Vantustius is a man of the streets, unfortunately for him. He does not know his parentage, having never met his mother or his father, raised by a Dunmer that found him near the harbor, left by the waterfront. However, this life was soon proven not to be enough for the young Vantustius, as a chance encounter with a traveling scholar turned his fortunes around.
He was enraptured with the stories of all the other locations in Nirn, and the peoples therein. As the scholar filled his mind with knowledge, of legend, of myth, Vantustius finally found his calling, and immediately packed up his meager belongings, and set out into the world. One of his first locations he chose was Morrowind, traveling the Ashlands for as long as he was able. However, upon hearing of the unique legend of Hircine in Solstheim, and the tale of the Nerevarine having banished the god at one point, Vantustius couldn't resist!
He headed to Solstheim immediately, only to get caught up in events far over his head immediately after landing. As Vantustius abhors weaponry, he was unprepared for the assault that he received upon attempting to cross the isle, to the cities just beyond the fort of Frostmouth. Savaged by the strange beast that he encountered, Vantustius still somehow managed to survive, broken and bloodied. However, when night fell, he found that his misfortune here extended FAR beyond a simple attack...
Ever since his first night as a Werewolf, Vantustius has been wandering Solstheim, trying to find a place where he belongs. Tortured day and night, during the day by the thoughts of what he will do in the night, and during the night when he helplessly ravages the people that he enjoys speaking with so much, the peoples he had come to study, he seeks a way to end his affliction, and to find a place where he can just... be...
To quote Illusionary: THEY ALL CORRUPT! ;D
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 1, 2008 14:06:33 GMT
ROFL! He's a pretty awesome character, especially with his 'dark side'. Approved!
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Post by FC4 on Oct 1, 2008 20:30:08 GMT
I'll see if I can come up with something, Druidic... that isn't Argoth or Karol.
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Post by scow2 on Oct 1, 2008 23:23:12 GMT
Name: Sarth, which she gave herself Race: Cathay-Raht/bosmer Gender: Female Age: 32. Birthsigns: The Steed
Focus: Stealth and Combat Skills: Prowling, short blade, spear/harpoon/javelin, craft javelin, alchemy, wortcraft, herbalism, tracking, trapsetting/trapmaking, Athletics, Acrobatics Class: Huntress
General Appearance: The Cathay-Raht appears to be very much a jaguar, from her baldish head to her clawed, digitigrade feet. Rich, bronzed golden fur is offset by the dark rosettes in her fur, giving her a natural camoflauge anytime she is in an area with dappled sunlight. Her eyes are a bright green, though not from either of her parents. Her form itself, with exception to the feet and face, is very elven in form, far more lithe than most khajiit. Height: 5' 10” Tattoos/Scars: The symbol of Hircine is carved quite prominently in her back, as well as etched in crimson ink over the scar tissue, so the image is quite permanent. Over her belly and breasts on her front, she has an abstract representation of Kynareth, goddess of nature and winds, etched and inked in a similar manner. These are the two she considers her surrogate parents, and she takes after both in her behavior.
Personality: Sarth is a wild, hedonistic creature, bound by no laws, codes, or morals. She perpetually seeks to improve her predatory abilities, the driving force in her life. She is often offensive, as she does not care about what others think. She does not generally pay attention to those who are insulted by her and insult her back, but those who become too irritating find themselved killed in nastier ways than Sir Robin's bards can think up.
Weapon(s): Two elven Shortswords, which she wears on a very thin cord around her waist, which disappears into her fur.
Clothing/Armour: She rarely wears clothing, but in such circumstances where she must hide her form, she wears a simple rough-hewn bra of rabbit and wolf fur, and a matching loincloth. However, she only wears these when absolutely necessary.
Inventory: She usually makes due with what is at hand, not carrying anything but her weapon belts for her single javelin and swords. Honestly, she has nowhere to store anything (well, technically there is someplace on her body she can hold small items, but lets not get into that...)
Spells: Shapeshift(Jaguar)
Misc. Skills and Traits: - Due to her exposure to multiple harsh environments in her quest to find the most worthy prey and druidic nature, she is resistant to most harsh environments and diseases. She has absolutely no problems walking around in the buff in the freezing wastes of Skyrim and Solsthiem, or scorching deserts of Hammerfell and Elsweyr. - She is sort-of a druid, though by no means the "Civilization is evil and kills all teh treez" type. She specialises in that which is natural to her nature - tracking elusive prey and setting discreet, powerful traps, snares, and ambushes. Being a khajiit, she has an affinity to Jaguars, and she turns into one with very few physical changes.
Bio: Sarth was born the offspring of a khajiiti prisoner of war deep in Valenwood. She was only with her mother until she reached the age she no longer needed her for direct nourishment. She escaped the village, and grew up mostly on her own in the forests of Valenwood. After coming across a shrine to Hircine, she joined the cult, after proving her worth by hunting down, trapping, and killing the former leader of the cult. From the cult, she learned to speak properly, as well as how to learn the languages of her prey on the fly. She had become a hedonistic creature, bound only by the laws of nature, and considering herself the ultimate predator. Through her strong respect for nature, she started hearing Kynareth's voice on the wind, becoming a natural guiding force in her life. She sought "Hircine's gift," lycanthropy, for a while, until she found how easy it was to kill a trio of werewolves (no, the fight was not straight up. Nothing in nature is fair.) However, the revelation of her victory was also a blow to her. If the werebeasts were Hircine's greatest predators, and she bested them, she realised Hircine was not all he seemed to be. Shortly after her dissillusionment with her "father", she found Kynareth's voice on the wind, teaching her the way of the druids. She wandered the world, in search of the most worthy prey to test her skills on, almost always dissappointed. She missed the Bloodmoon up in Solstheim the first time around, when she learned it was comming again so soon, she headed to Solstheim again, so she would not miss the chance to prove herself the ultimate predator. However, she had a far darker reason than just competition. She heard the Daedric Prince Sheogorath had been overthrown by one even more crazy than he, and she seeks to overthrow Hircine in the hunt of her life.
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Post by FC4 on Oct 2, 2008 2:24:54 GMT
Name: Islin Jecklin Nickname: Izzy (hates it!), Lynn (loathes it!), Jeckle (it’s growing on him) Gender: Male Age: 36 Race: Dunmer Birthsign: Serpent
Class: Bounty Hunter/Novice Druid Class Description: A Bounty Hunter seeks his prey with the stealth and patience of any hunter, but his prey comes with a price tag attached; usually a pretty big one. Be it a rabid animal, rabid citizen, or whatever is in between, he kills only when given a price and a down payment. His position in the matter is irrelevant; his opinions meaningless. He has only recently come to grips with his inherited role of a Druid. Skills: Acrobatics, Sneak, Marksman, Light Armor, Athletics, Blade, Immaturity
Appearance: Islin is hardly an imposing figure. He is long, lean, and wiry in form, taking the elven stereotype of thin and long to heart. His long face has a strong chin and powerful nose, but small eyes and hardly the largest mouth. His shallow cheeks give him a pointed, somewhat bird-like visage. Despite how ‘imposing’ he is, Islin tries to act tough, and this ‘toughness’ can be easily seen through by those who have seen his other side. Height: 5’ 11” Eyes: Rather small compared to the rest of his face, they are your typical Dunmeri red. They are darker near where the pupil would be. Skin: Ashen blue, better compared to a dull metallic blue color than grey. Hair: A red vibrant enough to match his eyes, it is rather short near the back and gets longer near the bangs. He has it clumped together in his own sort of hairdo, however, trimming the bangs so they do not grow directly in front of his face but more fall towards the sides of his chin, cover his ears, and gradually short as they reach the base of his head. Sometimes gives him a girlish look. Tattoos/Scars: A cut here, a scratch there, a slash across the hip and a cut halfway across one’s chest, and you’ve pretty much got his battle scars. Just… multiply the scratch and cut factors by at least twenty.
Weapons: An Arm-Crossbow, or small crossbow latched to one’s forearm. Attached to the outside of his left arm, it is about half as thick as his arm and extends from his inner elbow to just before his wrist. Attached by leather straps, and these leather straps have twenty silver bolts clipped to them. The bow itself is compact, capable of folding and then popping out when ready to fire. He has four throwing knives attached to leather straps that cross over his chest and back, and a saber at his hip. All his blades have been cheaply plated in silver. Armor: A Netch leather cuirass, more mobile than chitin and stronger than leather. Along with it he has tight fitting Netch Boots and gloves. Clothes: Local fur outfits, including fur pants, moccasins, and long-sleeve shirt. He wears it beneath his armor. He also has a leather belt around his waist with a few pouches, and two crisscrossing straps on his torso to hold his knives as well as small pouches. Over his entire outfit he wears a dark brown robe with buttons down the middle, which he often leaves opened, giving it a trench-coat appearance. The sleeve of the robe hides his crossbow well, and leaving it open means he can quickly access his possessions on his belt. Inventory: In his belt pouches he has mid-range fire-spell scrolls –around five or so- a map of Morrowind, gold, and a ring with an inset emerald. In his other pouch he holds five small bottles of healing potions, as well as two bottles of brandy. In the two pouches on his two chest straps, he holds altogether thirty extra silver bolts.
Misc: –Old enough to know what he’s doing; young enough to do it wrong nonetheless. -Just recently discovered his ‘gifts’, and is still trying to figure out his limits with them. -Finds most animals to be nuisances. -By sheer, dumb luck, he gets by on the hairs of his chin, surviving battles with no fatal injuries, but often failing to kill his target. -Clumsy regularly, but surprisingly agile when in combat; the prospect of getting a sword to the gut makes one pay a hell of a lot more attention.
Druidic Specialty: Air; he can control it, changing wind speed, direction, elevation, whatever, at will. As such, he can indirectly bring about the formation of a thunderstorm through careful manipulation, create tornadoes easily, and drop the temperature quickly with wind chill. However, he’s novice knowledge of these gifts means he often uses it completely accidentally, or not at all, and can only dream of the more powerful abilities.
Animal: Cliff Racer. Not only can he become one, but if there were one in the area, it would be attracted to him and hang around him like a member of the flock. Once a Cliff Racer even went so far as to…. Court him.
Mental: Plain and simple, Islin is a goofball. He was the class clown, the imaginative wannabe cool kid who always messed up. It carried on into his adulthood like a curse. He is a prankster, drinker, gambler, and hopeless romantic. Immature at times and incompetent often. He aspires to one day be famous and have a sexy wife.
Of course, he wouldn’t survive his profession if not for his uncanny cunning and sharp intuition, but they only help him in combat. In life, he’s a hopeless fool of a sap who just seems to want to have a good time; a party animal with an arsenal.
Interestingly, he doesn’t truly enjoy his line of work, partly why he drinks after every target he eliminates. It hasn’t turned out to be all he thought it would be, but he pushes on with stubborn determination and the belief that becoming a renowned Bounty Hunter would be bad ass. And the fact that he knows it’s the only line of work he can do with minor competence.
Bio: Born to a perfectly happy family of Mum, Pop, and son, he was raised well and learned well. But he was also a dreamer, his head filled with impossible desires and unattainable goals. So when he left home, he had his mind set on one goal; becoming a Bounty Hunter.
The reason wasn’t sadistic pleasure in killing or hunting, or a need for money. It was simply the fact that he was good at hiding himself and hunting Alit, so why not take it a step further and become totally bad ass? That’s right; he became a Bounty Hunter because he thought it trumped Assassin on the coolness meter tenfold. Life’s been hard, but he’s survived.
After a few run-ins with the local birdlife of Morrowind, however, he had to ask the question; what gives?! The question got answered by a calling to Solsthiem, to deal with werebeasts. Not about to pass up on such awesomeness, though still uncertain what he can do as a Druid, he grabbed anything and everything silver his money could afford (had to silver plate the weapons in order to give a large sum of gold to get some A-hole sailor to take him there) and headed off.
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Post by webster52402 on Oct 2, 2008 2:55:08 GMT
Hmm... I can't see anything wrong with either of them, and IN did say any available mod...
Both Approved! ^_^
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 2, 2008 22:25:45 GMT
Second Char:
Name: Dormund Earth-Shaker Nickname: Dor-Dor Foam-at-the-Mouth Race: Nord Gender: Male Age: 36 Birthsign: The Atronach
Focus: Combat Skills: Bashing, Smashing, Crashing, Crushing, Brushing, Raging, Yelling Class: Berserker
General Appearance: Dor-Dor is a big, muscular man. His features are quite handsome beneath his scraggly beard, greasy dreadlocks, and his often foaming mouth. Indeed, his eyes are a clear and deep blue, his nose strong but manly, and his face is well-sculpte. This coupled with his athletic build might have made quite attractive- but the foam, dirt, and general killing frenzy usually puts women off.
Hair: Once golden, curly and plaited, it is now greasy, darker, and the plaits have become ratty dreadlocks. Eyes: Deep blue. Often dazed and wild. On rare moments, they appear suddenly clear and intelligent. Height: 6ft2” Build: Tall and muscular. Skin: Very pale, but covered in grime. Tattoos/Scars: Various scars and even a few half-healed wounds over various parts of his torso.
Mental Description: Not much to say. He was once an incredibly intelligent and powerful man, and now he is a crazy and powerful man. There are moments, however, when the old self breaks through- brief flashes of a very sad, frightened and clever man- but they pass so quickly they are often missed.
Weapon: A big old silver nordic battleaxe, wielded in one hand as if it were feather-light. Clothing/Armour: Well... see... that's the thing. He's stark naked. His... er... scars?
Spells: He uses the Voice, so when he yells he shakes the whole earth all around him, and has even been known to kill people with it on occasion. Since losing his mind, it happens everytime he yells, but without skill, and so it loses a lot of its potency, although it still horribly pains all those who hear it.
Inventory: Can't really carry that much.
Misc: Though he has often fought with lycanthropes, he has somehow never contracted their disease.
Bio: Once the prize of the Skaal clan, their most fearsome and clever warrior, Dor-Dor has fallen far. He went mad upon the loss of his family to lycanthropes ten years ago, and was cast from his clan for killing all those who neared him. He wanders the forests now, somehow surviving it all- the lycans, the harsh conditions, the lack of easy food. He attacks all who near him, however- a true, insane berserker of Solstheim.
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Post by sibera on Oct 4, 2008 7:50:54 GMT
Editing.
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Post by Vicorva on Oct 4, 2008 10:37:09 GMT
Hmm... I'm not buying both 'born this way' and alchemical tests conducted on him. It all sounds a little like an excuse to uber an already uber character. I'm disliking that on top of it all, he has a potion to control his movements. I like none of this.
Also, almost ALL werecreatures can hear Hircine: the only reason mine can't is that she isn't a real werecreature.
I'm not sure I'm buying the nickname Razorcat either, but that's your business.
Not approved.
Just as a note, 5"11 is almost 6ft, and is fairly tall, rather than short. Now, I know a cathay is bigger than a suthay, but I can't imagine 6ft as being that small for them, considering how small suthay were. (but I'll leave that up to you).
If you want this character approved, I would work less on trying to make him a tame kitty with a zillion reasons why he's better than the normal werelion, and focus more on making him simply a werelion. I don't mind if he's powerful: all werecreatures are by nature. What I do mind is you taking my saying 'if you have a good backstory' and making it into 'if you have a backstory, you can do whatever the hell you like'.
Try and make him more believable.
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Post by Chaos 303030 on Oct 4, 2008 16:27:40 GMT
Name: Arya Redwind Nickname: Differs depending on companions. Gender: Female Age: 29 Race: Bosmer(Mother)-Imperial(Father) cross Birthsign: The Steed
Class: Druid Class Description: Arya always felt a connection with the world, and by developing her connection into skills and talents with the help of various druids she had met during her travels, she tightened the bond, and found herself drawn to the element of Fire in particular, for fire clears the way for new life to grow. Skills: Staves, Light Armor, Athletics, Acrobatics, Marksman, Sneak
Appearance: Inheriting features from both the Imperials and the Bosmer, Arya is slighter than an average Imperial female and yet more muscled than a Bosmer. Her ears have a very small point to them and she has legs built better for running than an Imperial would have. She has a respectable tan, from spending most of her time out in the open(Use this for reference:http://www.gibberlings3.net/readmes/readme-druidsor_files/fcast02m.jpg) Height: 5'5 Eyes: An Icy hue of blue. Skin: Fair, regular tone for a Bosmer although slightly darker. Hair: Long, blue black hair, about neck length. Tattoos/Scars: Tattoo of a vine going up her right arm. Weapons: Staff, enhanced with a spiked silver mace head on one end. A glistening, masterfully crafted scimitar in her scabbard. It is believed to have been passed down through her family on the Bosmeri side. It has a beautiful, glossy green hilt and the edge is keen and made of silver. The edge not used for cutting is made of a sturdier although flexible metal of unknown origin. It has ornate engravings running the length of the blade. Sturdy wood shortbow, enhanced with wood. 30 silver arrows in her quiver and 30 more in a back-up ammo pouch on her belt. Armor: Boiled netch armor, dyed more of a bark brown than the regular black and engraved with various plant-like symbols. Padded fur boots for comfort and speed. Padded cloth gloves. Silver bracers. Clothes: Underneath her armor she wears a layer of thick, padded clothing which she had bought before beginning her voyage to Solsthiem. She has a fine red-colored belt, with various cloth sacks and pouches dangling from it in addition to her scabbard. Over everything, she has a green cloak, held together by a leaf-shaped clasp. She rarely brinks down the hood. Inventory: Bag with 230 septims, some flint, some kindling, and a carving knife.
Misc: -Avoids fights when at all possible. -Although quite comfortable with her abilities, she is not a master druid and as such makes mistakes on the occasion. -Her favorite animal is a cat.
Druidic Specialty: Fire; She can conjure balls of flame, ignite objects, raise the temperature, and with focus can conjure a mighty blaze. However, many of the deeper secrets of the flame are as of yet unavailable to her and during her travels she keeps herself alert incase a chance at learning more should arise. If paired with strong winds, she could create quite an impressive display. Animal: Wolf. She can shapeshift into a large wolf with white-gray fur, and quite enjoys running against the wind while it ruffles her fur. Other wolves often feel drawn to her, though diseased wolves tend to dislike her just as much as usual.
Mental: Alyssa is caring and cant bare to see things in pain or torment. Although a pacifist, she does know how to fight should the need arise. She generally thinks of everything with a cheery outlook, seeing most things as either brighter or more beautiful than they really are,or just seeing the best that could come of a mistake or action. On the odd occasion that someone manages to break through her optimism and reveal to her how bleak a situation truly is, she will break down into a fit of near hysteria.
Bio: Often believed to be a breton throughout her life, which she quickly denied, she was raised with her mother in the vast woods of Valenwood. She found cannibalism quite distasteful, and was attracted to nature. Often she had heard of druids and their connection with the world around them, and she sought them out at a young age to see if perhaps her connection was similar. The Druid she had journeyed to confirmed her suspicion, and started to train her in the Druidic arts. She met many animals and learned how to calm them efficiently. From there, she traveled to each of the provinces, seeking out the most skilled druids of the land. While traveling through the ashen landscapes of Vvardenfell, she felt a pull or a call of sorts to journey to Solsthiem. She purchased supplies in Khuul and boarded the boat to the frigid wasteland.
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