The AtronachPhysical Appearance:
Rodard is a sallow creature born from pale Nordic stock and typical Breton bookishness. Years spent confined to Winterhold in the service of petty, secretive masters and studying in dim magelight has left him slightly stooped and scantly built. Only robust genetics and a healthy appetite for heady cheeses and dried meats prevents him from shrinking away to nothing. His wheat-blond hair is ritually razed short to the skin, only a disorganised mop sitting atop his head hinting at its true, unruly nature. The mark of some beast winds it way across his face, fogging one of his crisp hazel eyes; more such scars cover the back of his head, his neck and shoulders.Personality:
A man in tune with his own limitations, Rodard is deeply introspective, preferring the company of his own thoughts. Though no stranger to black humour and capable of superficial charm, there is an undeniable awkwardness about him.Skills:
Major: Illusion, Archery.
Minor: Conjuration (Adept,) Alteration, Alchemy, Enchantment.Backstory:
A young Rodard, sheltered deep in the hinterlands of Skyrim, knew only the quiet bustle of his village and stories of what lay beyond. Life had been simple, magic ill understood and naturally mistrusted, work difficult, rarely rewarding. Only in the hunting of game with his parents did the boy find any thrill. But the dream of tranquillity was short lived.
A creature had tracked the family as they themselves tracked elk up into the mountains. It came from between the trees,slaying first his mother and then his father. It toyed with Rodard who, barely out of childhood, seemed hardly a threat. Perhaps the unatural origins of the beast that stoked the fire magic, but it was in this moment of cruelty that the first vestiges of power manifested within the boy. The creature uttered an almost comical squawk of terror. Rodard opened his remaining eye, and curiousity quickly turned to horror. A terrifying, baleful nothingness
was upon them-- an illusion that drove the creature away.
Rodard spent the next two days crying for help when a hedge mage, searching for alchemical ingredients, came upon him. He nursed Rodard back to health and slowly deciphered what had occured from the boy's traumatized babbling. Deciding the best place for him would be the College, they travelled north to Winterhold.
For the next decade Rodard was condemned to study under older, disdainful peers and masters too pre-occupied with their own research. Only obsessiveness and an unspoken desire for recognition drove him forward. He made remarkable headway in the school of Illusionism despite his inability to generate his own reserves of energy. In the little time he had to himself, he honed his archery hunting arctic foxes and hawks, a skill that was quickly appreciated by the resident craftsmen.
A horrible coincedence put him in the path of the Brotherhood. A routine, though extensive, excavation was underway in the Velothi mountains. It was Rodard's task to haul and catalogue all potentially enchanted objects. They unearthed an artifact; a simple, unornate dagger, forged from ebony. The last thing he remembers was picking up it up.
Almost a day later Rodard awoke, already on his feet. surrounded by his slain comrades. He was held at arrowpoint by an Argonian who looked more curious and determined then frightened.
"You have done admirable work, here," she hissed, drawing the arrow further back when Rodard started. "But you have taken a life that belonged to the Brotherhood. Drop the dagger." Rodard looked down at his hands. The sound he made brought him back to his childhood, the knife slipping through fingers caked in dried blood. "Compelled or otherwise, what you have done here will be seen as murder by all," the Speaker explained, finally un-nocking the arrow. "Ah, but it seems you were not as thorough as I had believed."
One of the masters dragged himself slowly into sight, whimpering for help. A slash of crimson crossed his forehead, leaving a loose flap of skin and far too much blood to see through. The Argonian espied both mages. When Rodard stood frozen in the spot, she spoke up.
"An opportunity arises, mageling. Kill my target, here and now, and perhaps you will not be so alone after all."
Rodard's stare shifted between the two. His face hardened.
A few minutes later, the Speaker and Rodard stepped from the mouth of the ruins, an unassuming dagger floating out in front of them. The Speaker reached over, drawing open Rodard's robe and slipping a neatly folded page into one of it's inner pockets. She took the dagger in a bloody bundle of robes, and left with a grin.
Rodard was sure he'd see her again.Equipment:
Renard's Rousery (Foxskin robe, enchanted with magicka regen,) yew bow, steel arrows, Staff of Moving (Telekenisis,) camping supplies, wooden alchemist's case.