33Physical Details/Short history:
Takh is impressive even for an orc, towering over men and mer alike. He's muscular in a way that suggests nothing more than the inhuman might of his people; adding to this effect, from the outsider's perspective, is skin so dark it's almost more black than green and tusks like ivory hunting knives...not to mention his glare, a terrible thing like the lance of an Imperial mounted knight, burning a baleful shade of blue. His eyes are the color of a summer evening sky darkened by the promise of storms. His voice, on the other hand, is promise past; it rolls, cracks, and rumbles like thunder after a strike, deep as a daedra's secret...and wholly startling in its clarity and control, like a tiger serving itself afternoon tea and never spilling a drop.
Appearances are deceiving. Takh was once a simple blacksm- well, okay. Takh was once a superlative
blacksmith, whose art had long since transcended mere weaponry and entered in realms left unexplored since the dwemer vanished from the face of Nirn. He loved metal and its working, but above even this he loved Kyne, the Sky Goddess, ever since he saw his first rainbow. Such power as the storm and such beauty as the light it left behind demanded his devotion, and so, he sought to honor Kyne with his craft. He began by making a clock from orichalcum and first principles; that is to say, he whittled each tiny component from raw ingots and fitted them together over a course of three years. When he was finished, he waited almost a fortnight before he found the courage to wind the thing...and when he did? Why, it ticked, of course. It was perfect. He knew then that he was skilled enough to attempt something more...ambitious. It took him another half-decade and far more hands and expertise than his own, but with patience and patronage, he completed his design. He called it Kyne's Chorister; a machine the size of a small temple made to draw in lightning, convert it through runes into raw magicka, and produce a symphony of answering tones to harmonize with the thunder and turn storms into divine music.
The first time it sounded, it shattered itself in a single moment of deafening resonance - some things are beyond even the height of mortal craft to achieve. Yet in that resonance, Takh heard more than music: he heard the voice of Kyne, and when he uplifted his own in prayer, he found that it changed and harmonized just as his Chorister had been meant to do...and his prayer became a Shout that left his soul raw and torn and his body nearly catatonic for days.
When he recovered, he discovered that the High King had died.
He spent the years since preparing himself for what he believes is the path laid out before him: to walk into the howling storm of civil war and help those who will listen to the Goddess and her messengers find a safe path to the eye of the coming catastrophe. That such an eye may be at the very heart of conflict is no contradiction; just as a storm of history is far more complex and dangerous than a natural storm, so too must navigating its eye come with hardship and danger. If Skyrim is to survive (so Takh believes) it must be done, nevertheless.
War's arts come naturally to an orc, and supernaturally to a priest of the goddess of war; expanding the potential of martial readiness are the arts of Seeming (Illusion) and Being (Conjuration), a simple path fit for a simple man, lacking both the complexity and the pitfalls of broader arcana. Not that these are lesser arts; even an Imperial battlemage of veteran status might find themselves impressed by Takh's innovation, such as the use of forge lore and crafting skill to shape daedra as they are called and produce bound weapons and armor far beyond the limitations common to mages who ask only for armament and never for understanding, or the hideous power that can be obtained by combining Illusion's deliberate madness with the infinite ferocity of orsimer berserker rage...and above metal, above even magic, there is the Thu'um.
Takh has spent his time wisely; strong of body, mind, and spirit as his faith demands, he faces Skyrim and prays earnestly that it will also prove wise...and so, operating on nothing more than some manner of chance encounter with the divine and his own relentlessly gnostic interpretations, an orsimer blacksmith has convinced himself that he is meant to be a holy warrior. From the outside, it is easy enough to frown and ask a few obvious questions, and thereby reveal that Takh's certainty is a stone castle built on fog...but then, sometimes the very wrong nevertheless accomplish the very great. The Divines work in mysterious ways. Perhaps before it can be judged, his story must be told.Core Combat Skills*:
Core Supplementary Skills:
- Heavy Armor
Faction Affiliations: "Fuck claim. Skyrim is at storm; Kyne's eye is where I stand, and may Hircine take me should I lose the path. No one deserves a throne. This is about earning it."
- Assorted personal effects including religious literature, a heavy-duty toothbrush, and the world's only orsimer timepiece.
- Arms and armor summoned as needed.