Topic: Matrons of Murder (Dark Brotherhood Character Sheet Recruitment Thread)

[Darkness Reigns]

"Perhaps you meant to do it. Perhaps it was just an accident. Perhaps the circumstances led you with no other option. It doesn't matter what the motivations were; you lie here before me as a murderer. I do not condemn you for your actions, however. Rather, I come here with an offer. The Night Mother has seen your work, and she is most pleased. That is why I stand before you. I offer you the chance to join my Family: to join the Dark Brotherhood. All you must do is kill one more person...oh, but before we go on with that, why not tell me a little bit more about yourself?"

This is where those interested in the game found here can post their character applications. Those that have already applied should post their sheets here for organizational purposes. Character sheets should include the following information:

Name:
Sex:
Orientation:
Race: (Pick one of the ten core races only: Altmer, Argonian, Bosmer, Breton, Dunmer, Imperial, Khajiit, Nord, Orc, or Redguard.)
Age:
Birthsign: (These will not have too much bearing on characters' development, but can affect certain abilities as much as the player wishes)
Physical Appearance: (can be an image, but a paragraph or two should also suffice)
Personality:
Skills: (pick a few, but not a lot; characters shouldn't be good at everything right off the bat)
Backstory: (include upbringing, events of first murder, and decisions behind joining the Dark Brotherhood. Backstory should also include the approach of the Speaker that invited them, as well as the initiation kill performed before given the location of the Sanctuary. "Figure in a black cloak" is an acceptable description of the Speaker.)
Equipment: (weapons, armor, etc. Don't include legendary or heavily-enchanted equipment. Daedric equipment will need to be well justified, and alchemical ingredients from Daedra will also need to be well justified.)

Example

Name: J'Skar
Sex: Male
Orientation: Straight
Race: Khajiit
Age: 40
Birthsign: The Steed
Physical Appearance: Standing shorter than most from his race, his fur is a dark-brown with jet-black stripes running along his sides and back. The tip of his left ear is missing, and he has a long scar down his left eye. His green eyes always seem to hold a happy expression, as does his lips, always curled to show his pointed fangs glinting in the light.
Personality: Typically upbeat and happy, he likes to talk with his fellow family members. Slow to anger, he is fearsome when his rage does show. He gets focused on tasks given to him or of his own making, and will not stop focusing on it until it is done, though he will acknowledge outside communication.
Skills: Archery, Sneak, One-handed
Backstory: Born in the city of Dune, located in the kingdom of Anequina in Elsweyr, J'Skar seemed to be just an ordinary Khajiit cub. When he was young, he was known for always having a charming smile across his lips. As he grew older, though, he would get himself in trouble a lot. He liked to sneak around the city, getting into places he shouldn't have. His favorite hobby was to scale the tall walls and roofs to snipe at birds with his bow until the Aldmeri guard caught him. He would always laugh when he was taken back to his home, despite at how angry his parents got. Fed up with him, his parents kicked him out of the house, and he shrugged it off. When caught raiding an Aldmeri storehouse for Moon Sugar so he could make his next meal, however, it was quickly decided that he should be exiled from the entire kingdom.

When escorted to the city limits by Aldmeri guards, J'Skar, allowed to take only a bow, some arrows, and the clothes on his back, had a smile on his face like it was no big deal. The Altmer felt that he was insulting them, so one held him by his arms while the other slashed at the left side of his head with a sword. The result was him losing the tip of his ear and a deep gash under his eye. The guards let go of him, leaving him to die without checking his condition, and for the first time, the happy Khajiit felt rage flowing through him. He slowly got up to his feet, drew his bow, then let an arrow fly expertly into the back of one guard's neck, unprotected by his helmet. He ducked behind a rock, leaving the other guard to run past it, making him an easy target for his next shot. J'Skar took some time to admire his kills, watching the blood pour onto the sands of the desert, and he started to purr. He didn't make it too far before the bloodloss and the heat got to him, and he felt that he was at his end. He was approached by an Argonian dressed in black at his most desperate hour, however, and she saved him from certain death. From that day forth, he had become one of the Dark Brotherhood's most prized snipers, and he felt nothing but loyalty to the family that saved his life, and allowed him to take the lives of others, especially the Altmer that cast him out of his home land and left him to die.

During one of his first contracts, he was paired with a newcomer; an Argonian female named Kud-Neeus. They talked while heading to the target, and found out that her parents had been killed, and she was searching for their real killer. He felt for her, and they were paired for a few more contracts after that. He fell in love with her when he was sure she wasn't just using her illusion magic to charm him, and in a year's time of them dating and killing together, they were wed. Kud-Neeus changed her name to Kud-Skar, and whenever together with his wife, he would always purr.
Equipment: Two longbows, arrows of varying types, a sharpened steel dagger, black leather armor, a wedding ring, and a contagious smile.

Example 2

Name: Dahlia Worstrom
Sex: Female
Orientation: Bi, male lean
Race: Bosmer
Age: 65 (around 25 in human appearances)
Physical Appearance: Tall and lithe, the red-headed Bosmer has hair that runs to just above her shoulder blades. Her skin is sleek, seemingly fragile but actually resilient. Her muscles are surprisingly tone, given her figure.
Personality: Usually quiet, she tends to not say much when spoken to, unless it's about her profession as an assassin and locksmith. She isn't shy, just rarely has anything to say.
Skills: Sneak, Lockpicking, One-handed, Pickpocket
Backstory: Dahlia was born in the city of Arenthia in Valenwood, during the time when the Thalmor still had an alliance with Valenwood and Elsweyr in the third Aldmeri Dominion. She was used to seeing the Altmer patrolling the streets as she walked around with her mother, her father having gone off to join the ranks of the Thalmor, if only to keep his family safe. Her life was relatively peaceful, though she fell into a rough crowd when she was young, and found herself in trouble every once in a while, whether it be making too much noise when having fun or getting caught trying to break into an abandoned building. It became very clear early in her life that she understood locks very well, and understood how to pick them even more; her parents soon gave up trying to lock her toy chest and instead just hid it from her.

When she was sixteen, though, the Green Pact Rebellions started, where the Bosmer of Valenwood rebelled against the Thalmor for breaking their Green Pact when a Thalmor agent attempted to cut down one of the great migratory trees that held the city of Falinesti because he felt that members of the royalty were mocking him. She had no real idea what was going on during that time, but she knew that with the ensuing chaos, there was a lot she could do that she wasn't supposed to. She started to loot the houses of people she didn't like and took a few valuables here and there, and she looted the markets for jewelry she liked. She was having a lot of fun with it, until her father came home abruptly. He told his family that he was no longer a part of the Thalmor, as he believed that the rebellion was right, and he was going to protect them. The violence hadn't reached Arenthia at that point, so they assured him they would be alright, but three days later, the Thalmor came looking for the traitor. Breaking down the door to their home, Dahlia watched in horror in the hidden room of their house as her father sacrificed himself to save his family from the wrath of the Altmer, a longsword plunged through his stomach.

In a fit of fury, despite her mother's protests, Dahlia sprang out of the hidden cellar, and caught by surprise, the three Thalmor didn't have time to react when she dug her dagger, given to her by her father should things gone bad, into each of their necks, narrowly dodging a panicking swipe of the third one's bloody blade. Her mother ran out to try and stop her, but in her rage, Dahlia stuck her dagger right into her mother's eye, stabbing her through the brain. Devastated, Dahlia fled her house, just as the rest of the Thalmor started to lay siege to the city. She fled past the border of Valenwood into the Colovian highlands of Cyrodiil, over the Strid River, and found refuge in an abandoned house. She cried herself to sleep, only to be awoken by a figure in dark robes. She was offered a safe haven in the Dark Brotherhood, and she figured that she belonged there; if she could kill her own mother, she could kill anyone.
Equipment: many lockpicks, a steel dagger, a shortbow, a few arrows, and a practice lock.

Here's a few things to keep in mind while working on character sheets:

• This will be a lore-inspired game, so keep in mind a lot of materials are meant to be hard to find, expensive, or otherwise difficult to obtain.
• This game is set 50 years in the future from the events of Skyrim, so dragons aren't flying in the sky anymore, and finding dragon bones/scales will be rather difficult to find.
• Backstories that have something easy for me to include as possible questlines for characters will be heavily favored.
• These characters are going to be murderers, so those with "pure intentions" may not fit in so well, though brooding edgelords that don't get along well with others are just as undesirable.
• Vampires and werewolves will not be allowed due to their special needs requiring extra and unnecessary attention at times.
• Remember that your character is meant to be a new recruit, so any backstory that makes them already-existing characters prior to the game's start will need rewriting!
• I will be accepting only a maximum of eight players, so don't hesitate to send in a sheet!

I will be attempting to start the game within three weeks' time of starting this thread, to the day. I will either pick eight sheets that I like the most, or simply going with what I have, whatever the case may be. When I start the actual game thread, I will no longer be accepting character sheets!

[PrincessAriel]

Name: Sorian
Sex: Female
Orientation: Pansexual, female preference
Race: Redguard
Age: Looks mid-twenties (24)
Birthsign: The Mage

Physical Appearance:

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Her eyes are far brighter blue than the picture makes them look. Her lips are purple as well as the war paint.

Personality: Sorian is rather rough around the edges, though, only in looks abd demeanor. She doesn't like coming across that way but given her background, she has to. She can actually be rather kind-hearted, rather forgiving as well, except when it comes to those who did her wrong. She despises the Imperials with a passion and will give any the cold shoulder whether they act kind towards her or not. She knows that some aren't bad, but the vile and ruthless Imperials from her past have tainted her thoughts on the Imperials. (It would take some convincing on the Imperials part for her to begin to like them.) Sorian does what she has to do to survive but she does have her limits; she will not kill a child and she will not kill pregnant women. Period. She is new to having to kill and she does not like it, the act itself makes her feel tainted, evil.. But in this world.. One has to do what one has to do.

Skills: One-Handed, Destruction, Block, Heavy Armor

Backstory: Sorian was born in Skyrim, namely the city of Riften. A harsh place for anyone to be born in. Her father was involved with the thieves guild, for the sake of money, while her mother was a sell-sword. Both were dangerous jobs but keeping their home paid for was no easy task, especially when one had to raise a child. Sorian grew up rowdy, she got into a lot of fights growing up due to her short temper, a temper that was quickly beaten out of her by the Orc and Nord children. On her twelve birthday, she was given her lovely scar by a particularly cruel Orc boy when he pushed her off a bridge, thinking she'd hit the water and merely get wet. Instead she fell onto a boat, smacking the side of her face against an oar, leaving a rather nasty gash. With time it would heal but still she carries the scar right below her left eye.

Sorian's father died while out on a quest for the Thieves Guild the day Sorian turned twenty-three. He had made the mistake of trying to steal from a heavily guarded home, a home that hadn't been on his list. He'd gotten too greedy, Sorian couldn't blame him since they were in desperate need of money, but that greed had gotten him an arrow to the back by an Imperial soldier who'd happened by the back door right as her father slipped through the door he'd just lockpicked. The only thing the Imperials had sent them was a letter, a letter with a fine on it and her father's name. He had built up quite a dept, a dept his family would apparently have to pay. The Imperials knew they couldn't pay, how could they not know, Sorian's father hadn't had but a few hundred gold on him at the time. The Thieves Guild kindly offered to help them, but Sorian's mother, in a fury, would not listen to anyone, instead she did the worst thing possible... She went to the place where her beloved had died, to exact her revenge. It had been months since he had died but she didn't seem to care, someone needed to pay.

Sorian, scared for her mother, had followed her with nothing but an iron sword in hand and her Sparks spell. Sorian was determined to stop her mother, she didn't want to lose her mother too, but she was not as swift as her mother. By the time Sorian reached the scene, her mother was already fighting off three Imperials with her greataxe. Sorian watched in awe as her mother slew an Imperial, knocking him back into a nearby pool of water, then watched her aise her axe to the other two, only to have a steel arrow slice right through her right side. Sorian gave a cry, no longer in her stupor from seeing her mother fight, hen charged forward to help, swinging her sword for a soldiers neck. Surprised by her attack, he did not defend himself; he went down with hardly a sound, but the other melee Imperial was already turning to her. Sorian's mother stopped the man's great sword inches from Sorian's exposed arm with her greataxe, grunting with pain. She made easy work of the man, despite her wound, then yet another arrow hit her and another in quick succession. Sorian found the man and killed him too, but it was far too late, more Imperials were being called upon and her mother wouldn't move from the place than she knelt. She told Sorin to run, to flee. So.. She did. To this day that is her biggest regret, but she knew she wouldn't have been able to save her mother, she knew she'd have parished too if she had stayed...

he night, while she screamed into the woods around her, furious beyond words, unable to sleep, a figure in black robes came to her. Offered her something she never thought she'd find; a place to belong.. It involved killing someone, but she was assured the man deserved what was coming to him. Sorian thought the offer over for a few days, but once she began feeling the clawing of hunger in her belly she knew, she knew she would accept the offer. She in the dead of night, with her stolen imperial pieces of armor and forged steel chest piece, she snuck up to her target's home and cut him down when he was just heading inside for the night after having drank himself stupid in a tavern nearby. She felt no regret killing the man, especially since it was the wife that had done the hiring. He use to beat them black and blue, but no more, he'd never hurt another soul.

Equipment: Steel Armor (fine), Imperial Gauntlets (fine), Imperial Boots (fine), Steel sword, a dozen Potions of Minor Healing, a dozen Potions of Minor Magicka

[Nim]

Name: Sharalyn or Shar to close family (only one adoptive sister) and friends
Sex: Female
Orientation: Bi
Race: Dunmer:
Age: Mid to late 20's.  Sharalyn was adopted as a young child and was never told anything about her birth parents.
Birthsign: The Thief
Physical Appearance: 5'11" weighs 145 lbs, D cup sized breasts slim waist and hips with the muscular build of an archer and sword maiden.  Dark grey skin, long dark red hair usually worn in a pony tail.  Her eyes are blood red.  With her high arched brow and deep set eyes Sharalyn on first meeting her would seem extremely angry and difficult to get along with.  Which in part is correct.  She also has three scars running down the side of her left face.  They start just under her left eye and run to just under her chin.  Thes scars are the result of a Saber toothed tiger attack when she was 12 and just learning to hunt.  Around the house while she is working at the forge and smithing she wears the typical brown leather smithing apron and cloths.  When she's not working she wears a comfortable red dress tailored for using weapons if needed.   
Personality: As mentioned above the setting of her eyes makes her look angry and in part she is.  She is angry over the loss of her adoptive parents.  An anger which still remains even after killing the one who murdered them.  This anger however is not the sum of her being.  Once you have gained her trust which can sometimes be a tedious task, Shar is extremely loyal to those she considers to be close to her and will do anything for those she cares about and loves.  One thing to always keep in mind with Sharalyn is in all things she is a warrior first.  To her mind her smithing skills are part of her warrior training.  She feels you have to really understand how something is made and designed before it can be properly wielded to its full potential. Shar is also very adventurous and is more than willing to go out mine her own ores and gather her own furs to make leather with.  Not to leave out the fact that she loves exploring caves and Dwarven ruins.
Skills: Expert archer, above average skills with swords and daggers, very high sneak.  Basic destruction and healing skills.  High Smithing thanks to working with her step parents from a very early age.  But because of the rarity of the materials needed to make certain armors and weapons Shar has been forced to hone her glass armor and weapon skills.
Backstory: Raised by one of the smiths of Markarth where she learned her skills with smithing.  Her race being naturally adept with weapons she fell in love with the use of the bow honing her bow skills by hunting, training and during the time she spent exploring different parts of skyrim.  She also learned how to hold her own with short swords and knives.  After her adoptive parents were murdered Sharalyn set out on a search for those responsible, which led to her first quest to commit murder while avenging her adoptive parents.  In the process she was forced to kill a couple of guards in order to get to where she needed to be as well as one cook who came in after she had killed the woman who had killed her adoptive parents.  Currently Sharalyn has been living in Whiterun doing odd jobs for the companions, hunting for local shop owners and selling the weapons and armor she makes.
Equipment: Glass armor enchanted to resist fire by 25 and improve one arm weapons by 15. Glass bow, short sword and knife all made with her own hands  All with 30 percent fire damage.

[devish]

Name: Asharae
Sex: Female
Orientation: Straight-ish
Race: Dunmer
Age: Looks around 28
Birthsign: The Tower
Physical Appearance: Asharae is a slight woman, with sharp eyes and a perpetual almost-glower on her face.  Her dark hair is usually pulled back, woven into several braids and then twisted together to form an elaborate bun on the crown of her head.  She typically dresses in semi-formal dresses, light pieces of armor concealed beneath the silks and satins.  There is a very visible scar on the outer right side of her face, it looks like burned skin and causes the skin of her eyebrow to be pulled a little to the right.
Personality: To most, Asharae is dower and quiet but to the few that she trusts, she is still reserved but much happier to discuss arts, music and culture.  She delights in tasting new foods, shopping for small trinkets in Vivec's Foreign Quarter and leafing through the rare tomes of Jobasha.
Skills: (pick a few, but not a lot; characters shouldn't be good at everything right off the bat) Stealth, mercantile, persuasion
Backstory: (include upbringing, events of first murder, and decisions behind joining the Dark Brotherhood. Backstory should also include the approach of the Speaker that invited them, as well as the initiation kill performed before given the location of the Sanctuary. "Figure in a black cloak" is an acceptable description of the Speaker.)
Asharae is from a wealthy family located in Balmora.  When she reached adulthood, she became an officer in her family's trade business (importing and exporting cloth and dyes mostly) where she excelled and became well-known for her shrewd mind and no-nonsense approach.  A few years after assuming the role, she was caught in a house fire, suffering burns across her back and the side of her face.  She spent almost a year in recovery and seclusion and was strongly discouraged from returning to the business due to her altered appearance and injuries.  Instead, she resumed her responsibilities and eventually claimed the majority share from her parents and started running herself, expanding into a couple of small boutiques in Balmora and Vivec.

Roughly four years later, Asharae was in tense negotiations with a prospective silk vendor.  The negotiations became heated and he attempted to grab and pin her to the table where he made it clear that he'd trade a hefty discount for sex.  In the official report, she said that she panicked and acted in self-defense, but the truth was that sliding her dagger across his neck in one swift motion felt as natural as brushing her hair from her eyes.  She temporarily stepped down from her family's business to "recover" and took a trip to Ald Ruhn.  It was there that a shadowy figure in a black cloak approached her and told her that the Dark Brotherhood had been watching her.  She was invited to join the organization and agreed, realizing that she had other talents that could be put to good use in its service.  Since then, she has nearly disappeared from public life and severed contact with her family.  It's been years since she last spoke to her parents, who assume she passed away.
Equipment: (weapons, armor, etc. Don't include legendary or heavily-enchanted equipment. Daedric equipment will need to be well justified, and alchemical ingredients from Daedra will also need to be well justified.) Steel short sword, leather cuirass, leather gloves, half a dozen potions of minor healing, several varieties of mushrooms and a set of journeyman lock picks.

[Darkness Reigns]

A gentle reminder that this game is going to be set 50 years after the events of Skyrim, so Morrowind, especially the isle of Vvardenfel, is completely different than how it appears in its game. If you have any questions as to the state of any of the provinces, I'm just a PM away!

[Snake]

Name: Syra
Sex: Female
Orientation: Straight but doesn't often bother with it
Race: Nord with a touch of Bosmer blood
Age: 18
Birthsign: The Shadow
Physical Appearance: Here you go, obviously without the wings
Personality: Syra's usually pretty laid back and casual about most things; and her natural gifts would more put her with the thieves guild.  She has the attitude of someone that doesn't take alot of things seriously but anyone with good sense can tell it's a facade; she in fact is highly observant of what's around her.  A bit of a hothead, Syra likes to fight when things seem even or tilted toward her favor; but had no issue slinking away to backstab someone later. Socially; she can't be considered a butterfly but she manages well enough to get by.  Other times she comes off as playful or smug but alot of it is an act. 
Skills: Sneak, Pickpocket, Lockpicking, One-handed, Illusion Magic
Backstory: Syra was born in Cyrodiil actually; in the city-state of Bravil where her father was a member of the thieves' guild as one of it's contacts and active thieves in the city. Her mother was a bosmer elf that could be best described as a ranger; she didn't stay in the city long and preferred to be out in the wilds or out on a ship.  While Syra's older sister took a shine to their mother's line of work, Syra was taught early on by her father.  That was until he robbed someone with a little more clout than anticipated and had the dark brotherhood summoned to assassinate him.

That left Syra alone and forced to fend for herself, and terrified that the Brotherhood would come after her as well since she was a witness.  She fled Bravil at the age of 14, hiding in a trade caravan that stopped in the Imperial City and later finished their travel in Skyrim, in Riften. Syra thought she was safe from any possible brotherhood pursuers and ended up falling back into what she knew: thievery.  However, it seemed like bad luck was haunting her as she ended up causing the actual thieves' guild to botch a job since she hit the same place on the same night.

She, having just crested her 15th birthday at the time, had killed the thieve's guild member in self-defense and fled with the prize.  Syra took the first wagon out of the city she could to avoid repercussions from the guild; having heard rumors that they didn't take kindly to such things. Because she moved about so much, she found herself in various cities around Skyrim in 3 years from Windhelm, to Whiterun and and all the way to Markarth.  Staying one step ahead of the guards and living on the back of her thievery; growing bolder and more skilled as time passed.

To aid in her robberies, Syra began to pick up illusion magic from reading a tome she'd filched from a caravan.  Her mind felt, at first, like it'd just exploded as the magical knowledge from teh book filled her mind.  It had been strange to go from knowing no magic to knowing a basic illusion spell like fury, and then after reading another tome; calm.  In her mind it was still thievery; she was stealing the books to gain the knowledge after all.

However, she ended up in over her head when she turned 18 and had been caught robbing a store by the owner.  She promptly hit the man with a fury spell and ran outside with the now-pissed off owner on her tails; then getting him caught up fighting the guards. After the guards knocked the belligerence out of the guy; he fingered her as the thief.  With the chase on, Syra was steps from escaping solitude when one of the innkeepers, spotting her fleeing teh guards blocked her way.  Without thinking and more afraid of being caught; she tackled the guy, bearing him to the ground and burying a dagger in his chest in the process.

She quickly got up and sprinted out of the closing gates and fled the city.  Later that night; she found herself alone camping on the road when a stranger in a black cloak approached her.  Pointing out that they knew what she'd done; they offered her a chance to clear her name with their help in exchange for a little favor....

Syra, being worked up from her experience didn't recognize a speaker for the dark brotherhood (afterall, who ever really sees them?) and accepted the chance to clear her name.  The price was that she had to slip BACK into the city and assassinate the first son of a nobleman.  That sounded insane and not worth the trouble but Syra found she had no choice in the matter; either that or get locked up for thievery and murder. Might as well toss another one on the count, after all, murder could still be bought off with a weregild payment.

Using her innate gift of her birthsign; Syra infiltrated teh city invisibly and hunted down the young noble she was to slay.  Catching him returning to his home after a night of drinking and wenching; he was an easy kill; a short drop from a shadowed wall, a knife in the back  through the heart and drag into a hidden spot in the courtyard of another noble's home. The deed was done and Syra slunk through the city to the windmill exit to the shipyard.  With a fast dash down the stairs, taking them 2-3 at a time and smooth dive into the harbor to lose any pursuers she was done.

The next evening she was approached by the same figure again and this time given the passcode to the Dawnstar sanctuary as well as the location.

Equipment: Blackened Thieves guild armor (she took it from the first thief she killed then altered it's color), A black mage's hood (covers her face a little better), Two Shortswords (since I think it's horseshit that ES doesn't have them as a weapon.), 5 throwing knives, 2 vials of paralyzing poison, 3 healing potions, and a tome of Muffle she's yet to fully grasp.  She also has basic ingredients to concoct more paralyzing poisons.

[Darkness Reigns]

Syra looks pretty good, and I don't just mean her appearance. She'll definitely be considered.

Due to the fact I've been missing from the boards a lot the past two weeks, I'm extending the deadline for submitting character sheets by a week. I'd hate for people to lose out just because I wasn't around.

[Elven Sex Goddess]

Name:  Juntta Steelbender
Sex:  Female
Orientation:  Heterosexual
Race:  Orc (Orsimer)
Age:  24
Birthsign:  The Lover

Physical Appearance:

Portrait

Personality:  Quiet brooding personality,  that at times seems she is distracted. Slow to befriend,  to put forth trust in others.  Once one has earned her trust, it is given without reservation.   A soft spot for families.   To the point she will interfere if sees such being bullied.  Yet such belies what is a cold blooded ability to kill.   With a murderous rage that consumes her in such moments.   

Skills:  Smithing, Heavy Armor,  two handed

Backstory:  Juntta hails from the Dragontail Mountains.   One of two daughters of Karack Steelbender a smith.   Who is a fine Orsimar craftsman.  Known for his ability to produce quality heavy armor and weapons.   Juntta is the oldest daughter by five years.  Her younger sister was called Bertta.  Her father's assistant known as Tallgrimm.   Is Juntta's lover and betroth.  They were upon the  coming of spring to be wed.

All of that changed one day.   When the village and the smith is attacked.  By happenstance ofluck Juntta had been away  running a finished order to a nearby stronghold.  That was more then a day away.   When she returns the village, she finds less then a quarter of the village left.   Most of the village burn down,  few structures left standing.   Her father's smithy one of the few such buildings standing.   It is not joyous reunion she finds as she rushes and enters the smithy.   But to find where a brutal fight had happen.   Her father, sister and lover all  dead.    Not like many of the villagers who had been taken as slaves.   Her family had put up a fight.   There are others from the village, stalwarts such as hunters, warriors.   Who had retreated to the smith and its forge, a defensible position. Despite this, the marauders had been too numerous and these fearless defenders would all find their end.

After the clean up with those that were left,  the surviviors of the attack.   In which seeing to the burial of the three people she had loved in the world.   Juntta becomes withdrawn,  the smith remains closed for good.   But not inactive as Juntta who had the skill inherited from her father in working with steel.  For the next week  Juntta mourns by working at the forge.  The fire of the forge burning bright and hot.  The sound of her hammer working night and day.  Making herself armor and a two-handed battleaxe.  The thirst for blood and revenge is great upon her.  It is what is driving her.  For upon finishing her work in crafting her armor and weapon.  Juntta takes to road for vengence.   With the unspoken knowlegde that she will never be back.  Never to return to a life that once was.  That life had died, as her loved ones had died. 

Now several months later.  With a small reputation growing on the roads.   That would draw others to take notice.    Another scene of violence and death will play out   As she has come upon a trio of small time highwaymen.  It mattered not that this trio she watched is likely not of those that had attacked her village.    Small time petty thieves is the likely  what this trio are.  But that does not matter as Juntta stands in the shadow of the dim light of a setting sun.    The murderous rage building up within her.    The need to kill growing stronger.    This is the sixth such encounter on the road these past months.  It had been awhile since her last kills.    What she does not know in that moment.  Is she herself is being watched by another figured in a black hooded cloak itself unseen to her and to the trio.  She would soon engage and end by murdering all three of them.  With a beserker rage,   and with a quality granted by the sign she was born under;  Juntta freezes the three as she charges into their camp looking wild and crazed.  The charge accompany by a loud blood curdling scream.    The three highwaymen frozen in the moment with inaction.   The first one to die is killed in brutal fashion. As she sunders this one in two from head to groin with her battleaxe.   The sound of such is sickening as bone is splintered and smashed with her powerful stroke.  Made strong by the hammer and anvil of the forge.   This took about ten seconds so by the time the two gory halves of the first to die hits the ground.   The other two are now moving to defend and retaillate against this crazed female.  The next minute or so is intense with desperation on the two.   They both would fall to her.   Under the brutality of her savage attacking,  leaving a wake of carnage and now all three dead.

The speaker would then approach Juntta who looks at him with labor breath.   As she has taken a seat by squatting down and sitting on her heels.  Her blood gory stained battleaxe laying across her thighs.     The bile of blood and gore upon her.  person.   Some blood oozing from cuts inflicted, with the majority of it from the now three dead highwaymen.    The glazed look of murderous rage receding from the depths of her eyes.     The speaker stepping out from his hidden spot.   As if suddenly appearing by magic.   Junta looks up towards the black hooded cloak figure.   

The invite is given and a decision is weighed.  With  a rage to kill  receded.   Her eyes thou still hold that glossy look.  She simply grunts and nods, as she accepts, there are many in the world that need to die.    Rising up she would swing the battleaxe up and over to place upon her back.   

Equipment: Heavy armor (breastplate with shoulder guards, elbow guards, gauntlets, greaves,  thigh guards.)   Two handed battle axe.

[majisha]

:) Hey, I'd be really interested in playing. I love the elder scrolls universe!

Name: Lorhael Rosegrove
Sex: Female
Orientation: Straight
Race: Breton
Age: 19
Birthsign: The Shadow
Appearance:

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Personality: Intensely bubbly, Lorhael appears more akin to a innocent bystander than the assassin at large.
Skills: Alchemy (Heavy Spec), Speachcraft (Heavy Spec), Light Armor (Light Spec), Sneak (Light Spec), One Handed (Very Light Spec)
Backstory:

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Lorhael grew up in the slums of Riften. Her mother was never a part of her life. Lorhael's father insisted that she died during childbirth. It was those same gambling habits that forced Lorhael to become an apprentice to the local alchemist. She was learning a useful skill, her father's debts were being payed off, and life was looking for the better.

And by some Black Briar shceme, Lorhael's father took up skooma. The drug changed him to a slaphappy wastrel. Every coin Lorhael made went straight to feed his addiction. It was during one of his stupors that he confessed her mother was probably alive as a slave somewhere, sold to help pay his debts. In rage, Lorhael brewed a potant poison from Jazbay Grapes, Nightshade, and Nirnroot. No one would suspect how a skooma addict died.

She left Riften and traveled as a guest among the Khajiit caravans. Her travels with them greatly improved her academical knowledge, as her travels brought her far more flora than what Rifen alone had to offer. In exchange for these wares, the khajiit gladly taught her the basics of light armory, stealth, and furthered her bartering and people skills.

One night she woke to find herself unable to move, save for her eyes. Lying next to her was a dark figure, staring at her. Lorhael panicked, but found herself quite helpless thanks to the poison running through her body. The figure introduced itself as a "speaker". He calmly explained that a member of the khajiit caravan, Jzart, had an assassination placed on him, and that it was so very convenient that there was already a murderer in the camp. The speaker continued with that if Lorhael killed Jzart, she would be welcome to a new family, one that would be paying her instead of the other way around.

That morning Jzart was found dead, poisoned, and Lorhael was nowhere to be found.

Equipment: Leather Armor, Steel Dagger, various poisons/potions (do I need to specify which?)

[Oversight]

Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide

Name: Rodard Montrose
Sex: Male
Orientation: Heterosexual
Race: Breton (debatably)
Age: Youthful (20)
Birthsign: The Atronach

Physical 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.