Skyrim Bio Thread

[Tana Little-Bear]

Name: Tana Little-Bear
Age: 15
Race: Nord
Mother: Lillet - Deceased
Father: Jorhesk - Deceased
Home: Coldrock Pass
Combat Style: Daggers
Affiliation: Stormcloaks/Herself

Tana Little-Bear grew up like any other Nord child, nurtured and loved by her mother and father. The small family lived in Windhelm until her fourteenth year, then Jorhesk moved them to a small farm on the outskirts of Winterhold. Six months later the farm was raided by soldiers of the Imperial Legion, and both Lillet and Jorhesk were executed for their allegiances to Ulfric Stormcloak. Young Tana was taken to Solitude and placed in a foster home. Two weeks passed before she escaped, and made her way first to Morthal, and then back to the snowy mountains that she considered home.

Now days she lives in a cave hidden in the North Coldrock Pass, scavenging and hunting for her food, and dreaming of the day when she will have her revenge on the Imperial captain responsible for her parent's deaths. Until then, the girl makes do with harrying Imperial patrols.

[Akasha]

Name: Akasha ja Khanai
Age: 18
Race: Khajiit (Cathay)
Home: Elinhir, Hammerfell
Combat style: Heavy armor, sword and shield
Affiliation: Non-aligned

Clan Khanai is one of several Khajiit tribes who emigrated to Hammerfell centuries ago; Akasha and her family have never known the tropical sands and jungles of Elsweyr. The Redguard of Hammerfell respect Khajiiti strength and guile, and though the Hammerfell Khajiit frequently live on the margins of society, they are not despised like their cousins in Skyrim, or exploited like their distant kin in Morrowind.

Akasha grew up in a farming community on the outskirts of Elinhir, just across Knifepoint Ridge from Falkreath Hold. She hated her agrarian life, but she adored her uncle S'thay, a mercenary who had fought for the Aldmeri Dominion before an injury forced him to retire. S'thay told her and her sister Ashira many stories of distant lands, strange creatures, and magical ruins, and Akasha vowed that she would one day see them for herself. When she turned thirteen her parents reluctantly allowed S'thay to begin instructing her in the use of a sword. By sixteen she began sneaking to the Fighter's Guild in Elinhir to test her skills against the warriors there, and she even entered several junior matches in the arena. When her father discovered her and forbade her from returning, she made plans to join the Dominion army herself.

That changed when a Thalmor Justicar arrived to take S'thay into custody for questioning concerning his travels in Skyrim. Two weeks later they returned and left S'thay on the family's doorstep, a shivering, broken husk of his former self. Akasha and Ashira could only try to ease their uncle's suffering as he slipped further and further away. After ten days, S'thay beckoned his nieces close to his bedside and told them that while in Skyrim he had discovered a great treasure that would bring untold wealth and glory to the clan. He then gave Ashira his longbow and Akasha his scimitar and, with his dying breath, asked them to find the treasure.

Together the sisters have ventured across the mountains into the wilds of Skyrim to seek their fortune.

[Matea Antriius]

Name: Matea Antriius
Age: 23
Race: Imperial
Mother: Alessa Antriius(deceased)
Father: Lucian Antriius(deceased)
Home: Solitude, Skyrim (originally - currently mobile)
Combat style: Heavy armor, Two-Handed blunt weapons
Affiliation: Non-aligned

"It could always be worse"

Matea grew up wanting for nothing. Only daughter of doting parents, her father's small fortune amassed in the shipping industry had her wanting for nothing. When illness took both of them from her at the age of 18 she found herself suddenly without direction and with more wealth than she knew what to do with. She spent several years traveling around the hold, before getting bored with the structured, guided tours her affluence afforded her.

Her youth and naivete would lead her to the first disaster she would experience. Encountering a wandering adventurer near the Blue Palace she was charmed by his stories of adventure and excitement, and offered him room and board at her manor in exchange for further tales of daring. It would be no more than a few days before she returned from market one evening to find everything of value in the home stolen.

"It could always be worse"

News of her misfortune spread throughout the holds quickly, and a letter from Riften arrived several weeks later by courier with a marriage proposal from a distant cousin of the Black-Briar clan. Septimless and without the skill to manage on her own she had no alternative but to accept, despite her disgust for Riften. Selling her childhood home she bought passage amongst a caravan traveling to Riften, only to be beset upon by bandits just outside of Ivarstead. She survived only by hiding under the overturned cart until she was found by passing members of the Dawnguard, who vowed to see her safely to Riften as it was on their way to Fort Dawnguard.

Getting to know her protectors, and hearing the stories they told of hunting the undead filled her with the same excitement she'd longed for in Solitude, and she never arrived in Riften, traveling instead with the group to Dayspring Canyon, intent on beginning her own adventure. She would spend several months there training under Isran before her first official mission.

"It could always be worse"

She was part of a scouting party in her first mission with the Dawnguard, seeking the location of a suspected vampire nest. Her compatriots and herself were ambushed and she watched as they were slaughtered until only she remained. The master vampire, an aggressive Redguard named Divan instead chose to enthrall her, bringing her along with the rest of his nest as little more than a pet, proof of his mastery over the Dawnguard.

She would spend several more months at the heel of her new master before, looking to bolster the strength of his nest he would choose to infect her with sanguine vampiris. A few weeks later the nest would be wiped out by invading Dawnguard, tipped off by their former member. She's been on her own since then, save for a mangy mutt of a traveling companion named Tiberius who began following her shortly after she betrayed her master, apparently unconcerned with the fact that he should be barking and snapping at an undead creature like herself.

She dresses from head to toe in full-body ebony armor, other than her original Dawnguard helmet that she wears under a black hood and cloak. She does this partially to protect herself from the sun when she finds herself forced to travel during the daylight hours, and partially to hide her appearance and the evidence of her vampiric condition. She is trying to avoid the trappings most vampires have fallen into - hiding in caves and ruins, enthralling people, and indiscriminate slaughter - as her time with the Dawnguard taught her that those traits would only make her easier to be hunted down by those who would seek her destruction.

[Alecto Mordane]

Name: Alecto Mordane
Age: 38
Race: Breton
Home: Imperial City, Cyrodiil
Combat Style: Destruction, Conjuration
Affiliation: Currently the court mage of Falkreath. Worshiper of Namira, Daedric Prince of Decay.

Alecto Mordane arrived in Skyrim with a glowing letter of recommendation from Archmage Verastus of the Arcane University in Cyrodiil. The letter, of course, is a forgery, as he was expelled from the university following the discovery of his aberrant experiments in soul-binding and necromancy. He escaped the Imperial Legion by allowing them to capture and kill a necromantic construct altered to look and sound like him.

Though he has found a temporary refuge in Falkreath, Alecto is uneasy so close to the border of Cyrodiil and is hoping to move north to the Mage's College in Winterhold, where necromancy is discouraged, but not entirely forbidden. In the meantime he seeks the means to continue his research. Happily for him, the war and general conditions of lawlessness in Skyrim mean there is an ample supply of fresh bodies for his experiments, as well as plenty of mercenaries and well-meaning adventurers he can send to collect books, ingredients, and talismans of power.

[Ashira]

Name: Ashira sa Khanai
Age: 25
Race: Khajiit
Home: Elinhir, Hammerfell
Combat Style: Mid to light armor, archery
Affiliation: Non-Aligned

Ashira sa Khanai spent her younger years happily reading as many books as she could get her paws on, more than content to stay indoors unless it was to go out for her archery lessons or daily chores. She took to the bow with a healthy amount of excitement and intuition, and was often encouraged by her uncle S'thay. As with her younger sister Akasha, Ashira greatly enjoyed the stories their uncle told to them, and was equally heartbroken at the broken shell that had been returned by the Thalmor.

Because of her constant reading, Ashira began to train herself to speak with less of a Khajiit inflection and style. Of course she lapses back whenever startled or if she's had too much to drink, but largely she has become very good at speaking like the other humanoid races. This has allowed her a bit more leeway when dealing with merchants and other travelers, as the shock of a Khajiit not speaking in the way most are used to is enough to allow her to get most of what she wants.

After the death of S'thay, Ashira and Akasha both set out for Skyrim to retrieve the treasure that their uncle had spoken of, determined to find it and bring it back to their clan one way or another. Whatever trials and adventures await them, Ashira will never know, but she is ready to face each one.

[Wulthgar Milk-Drinker]

Name: Wulthgar Milk-Drinker
Age: 34
Race: Nord
Mother: Helgi - Deceased
Father: ???
Home: The Dead Man's Drink - Falkreath, Skyrim Province
Combat style: Dis tracks, bodyguards
Affiliation: The Bard's College - Skyrim, The Daedric Prince Sanguine

Born a bastard with no name to a whore, Wulthgar was further dealt a cruel fate by being born with dwarfism. With no land or money to his name, and no chance to gain either through either honorable or violent means, Wulthgar took instead to a life of the arts, learning a bard's trade and becoming famous (or infamous) for a deft strum of a lute and a razor tongue. He's sang the praises of heroes and the depravity of villains alike - keeping to the folk songs of antiquity while penning his own songs just the same. Being a merchant of the fame trade can itself be dangerous, however, and Wulthgar is careful to ingratiate himself with people more suitable to bailing him out of trouble, when trouble frequently arises. An afficionado of drink, and an (aspiring) afficionado of women, Wulthgar tries whenever possible to surround himself with the finest of things.

[Kazahan]

Name: Kazahan Raihasin
Age: 30
Race: Khajiit
Mother:
Father:
Siblings:
Home: Elsweyr
Combat: Ranger/Warrior
Affiliation: Aldmeri Dominion/Thalmor

This one does not wish to say much about his home, or his past. For I miss my home, greatly; and they are that, in the past, yes? But you are curious and determined to know things that do not trouble you, I see. Very well.

Khajiit was born in Elsweyr, in the midst of the warm sands in a caravan much like those that are here in Skyrim, only larger. Time passed as it will do, inevitably, and Khajiit became a poet, and dancer, and guard, and yes, this one did raid caravans as well. Not a bard, though song was among my talents, yes. One raid resulted in my capture, for I had seen a woman, and killed my comrades that drew upon her. I would not fight after that, and the noble wished to employ me.

And this one fell in love. Alas! Her fur was dark, her eyes darker, and her tail moved like the sands in the wind. She had youth and beauty, and I was lost. Such is the way of things. And it happened that she became smitten with me, though I did not intend for it to happen. She sought me out, and this one was faced with a choice — to succumb to bliss, or to heed the exigencies of my station, for she was the daughter of a Khajiit noble relative of the Mane, and she was beloved by him. I succumbed, and we sought each other out by night and day, growing more reckless and brazen each time. But we were caught. I was brought before her father, and the Mane himself. I was to be executed in a manner most painful. But the Thalmor interceded for me, and stayed my execution. But Khajiit did not wish to be their pawn. This one was brought to Skyrim and fled at the first opportunity, and has wandered the land since, speaking with the caravans, and exploring this cold land. But the Thalmor will not leave me be, like you, and this one cannot escape them forever.

I will say no more. My heart aches... for home, and for love, and it pains me greatly.

[Darruk gro-Khazgur]

Name: Darruk gro-Khazgur
Age: 30
Race: Orsimer
Father: Ugar gro-Khazgur
Mother: Shalgra gra-Khazgur
Home: Mor Khazgur - Haafingar, Skyrim Province
Combat Style: Sword & shield, heavy armor, fire destruction magic
Affiliation: Imperial (worships the Orcish patron Daedra Malacath)

As many Orcs of the Mor Khazgur stronghold, Darruk followed the promise of battle beyond the gates of his home and enlisted into the Imperial Legion. Rising to the rank of First Centurion of the IV Legion, Darruk has seen much of the conflict with the Stormcloaks up close and personal, serving with distinction through several campaigns under Legate Quentin Cipius. A product of the Tullian Reforms, Centurion Darruk is trained not only in the sword and shield of the infantry, but also in practical use of destruction magic, using the ability to assail enemies with fireballs while formations of legionaries deploy to prepare for close assault. As with many Orcs, Darruk is forthright and frank in his words, having no use for lies or excessive flattery. He is also not accustomed to leniency, with a penchant for sending captured stormcloaks to the headman's axe with swift expediency.

While under Legate Cipius's command at Whiterun, Centurion Darruk is often tasked with leading missions beyond Whiterun hold, sometimes as a small band, but occasionally sending an entire cohort to reinforce other elements of IV Legion if needed.

[Viljo]

name; viljo mountain-born
age: i am 23
race: i liek raecing bcause i am a nord
father: my dads name is viljo too
mother: my mommy's name is gerta
home: the reach neer ivarstead i am a troo son of skyrim : )
fighting: i fight with a BIG sward. i waer hevvy armer bcause i need both ahnds to hold it so i cant hold a sheeld and hevvy armer is gud protecshun
affilashun: what is affilashun? big word. (Stormcloak!)

Viljo Mountain-Born did not grow up wanting to be a Stormcloak. As a large child (his mother told him it was because he had such a big heart his body needed to compensate, but he didn't know what compensate meant), he wanted to paint, and draw. Unfortunately, he has no talent whatsoever, and can barely draw stick figures. This does not stop him from trying. He also loves the creatures of Skyrim, having brought home more than one little frostbite spider or wolf cub. His parents are mystified as to how he survived those experiences. When he reached his majority however, he was persuaded to join the Stormcloaks due to his deep reverence for the traditions of his forebears, and no small amount of peer pressure. He has proven himself an adept warrior with two handed weapons and in heavy armor.

Viljo is almost completely 'semi-canon' as a character. His actions and decisions can or cannot affect the Skyrim RP world based on whether anyone else would like them to. He is meant as a character to tell fun and absurd stories with, and as such, these stories will be largely self-contained and again do not have to affect the world the other players are writing in.

[Meertaasi]

Name: Meertaasi
Age: 28
Race: Argonian
Combat Style: Light armor, stealth, one-handed swords
Affiliation: Dark Brotherhood

Where I come from, I choose not to tell, only that I exist. Among the shadows and darkness, I wait for you. If you have been chosen to hold my twin blades within your gut then that is as it should be, and I will make it come to pass. I pass through the unseen parts of Skyrim as easily as the Falmer pass through their caves and the Dwemer ruins they haunt. I go where I am needed, and keep from the places that do not require my services. If you should have use of my talents, you need only perform the Black Sacrament. If your coin is suitable to my liking, I will do your bidding. But do not call on me lightly. The price you pay for the death you wish delivered is high.

Meertaasi is given to a healthy amount of secrecy regarding his past before coming to inhabit Skyrim, and even his own sisters and brothers within the Dark Brotherhood do not know of his life before he came to them. He is meticulous and precise, rarely given to bouts of rage or uncontrolled action. His desires are simple - to deliver death and gain septims.

[Rolf Stout-Heart]

Name: Rolf Stout-Heart
Age: 24
Race: Nord
Mother: Fjola (deceased)
Father: Geirlund (deceased)
Home: Jorrvaskr, Whiterun
Combat Style: Sword and shield (with Illusion and Alteration magic)
Affiliation: The Companions

Rolf Stout-Heart is an unlikely Companion. He is short, scrawny, and wields a sword like a soup spoon. His shield-brothers and sisters were, for the longest time, resentful of his presence, particularly on the battlefield, where he was often found scrambling around on the floor in search of his weapon. Perhaps, they thought, old Skjor was losing his mind.

It was a chance encounter in the Bannered Mare that changed Rolf's fortune forever. He was 19 then, and was at the time procuring alchemical reagents for Nurelion of Windhelm; a business that had him paying regular visits to Whiterun, and to the mage, Farengar, in particular. One night, he was approached by a man called Skjor, a grizzled warrior of the Companions. He had known his father, he said, and they sat together and drank as the old man related tales of a man Rolf never knew. The Stout-Hearts were a proud and ancient line of warriors, and it had always been Rolf's dream to bring the family name fresh glory like his father, and his father before him. But, it was just as his uncle, the great Brunwulf Strong-Arm, so often told him: he was weak. An alchemist's apprentice. A milk-drinker. But, unbeknownst to his great uncle Brunwulf, Rolf had a secret.

Magic. That's what his mother had called it, and before she died, she made him promise to never tell a soul, not even his father. It seemed a Nord with magic was like a horse with wings: wonderful, but unnatural. So he kept his gift hidden, like a diseased limb, and spoke not a word of it. That was until he met Farengar. The Jarl's wizard was a wily one and had tricked him into buying a book of magic along with his usual supply of reagents. When he realised what it was, Rolf hid the book away in his uncle's attic. He tried to put it out of his mind, of course, but the pages called to him. Farengar's books became his doorway into the magical world. First, he studied the way of Illusion, which he felt prudent, given the nature of his studies. Next, he sought the path of Alteration, so that he might make himself strong and one day claim his rightful glory.

And so, a chance encounter over a few jugs of ale proved serendipitous, when a hooded assassin dropped from the rafters with murder in his eyes and a blade in his hand. Skjor moved just in time to see the dagger splinter the chair, piercing the place where his heart had just been. His sword was disarmed as soon as it was drawn, falling to the ground with a clatter. And as his attacker raised his blade for a killing blow, he suddenly became dumbstruck, and stared vacantly into the face of his would-be victim for a fleeting instant. But it had been long enough for Rolf to retrieve the fallen sword and, as the assassin resumed his murderous assault, drive it through his belly. It had been an ugly protracted death. It had also been Rolf's first kill and it was the kill that secured him a place amongst the Companions.

In the years that followed, Rolf fought with the Companions, and found that, while his sword skills failed him, his valor did not. To his shield-brothers and sisters, he proved himself, and earned for himself a place at their table. He was a Stout-Heart through and through.

He still visits his uncle from time to time, providing him with gold and limited company, but time and age has made of Brunwulf Strong-Arm a bitter man. His leg, irreparable from battle, is stiff and aches during the long winters, and the children have taken to calling him "Brunwulf Dead-Leg." Windhelm is a cold and unkind place and Rolf is glad when the time comes to return at last to the blazing hearth of Jorrvaskr, where he is greeted by Skjor, who claims he can make him stronger...

[Mandor of Archen]

Name: Lord Mandor, Treethane of Archen
Age: 43
Race: Bosmer
Mother: Deceased
Father: Deceased
Home: Formerly Archen, Valenwood. Currently Solstheim.
Combat Style: Light Stalhrim armor, Hallowed Stalhrim Greatsword
Affiliation: Himself, his people, The Storyteller Y'ffre

Exiled from his home in Valenwood for leading a revolt against the Thalmor purges of Bosmeri, Mandor was stripped of his position as Treethane of Archen and taken forcibly to Solstheim.

Determined to have his vengeance on those who wronged him and his people, Mandor has spent his time in exile adventuring - gathering allies within the Skaal, honing his skills with a sword and plundering as much gold as he can carry.

Now he begins to quest to bring down the Thalmor within the heart of Skyrim and return home.

[Calloway Sharr]

Name: Calloway Sharr
Age: 27
Race: Khajiit
Mother: Cindy Sharr
Father: Jeremy Sharr
Home: Originally of Cyrodill, now tends to wander as work takes him.
Combat Style: Not in the face! (Typically avoids combat, does carry a saber and a buckler)
Affiliation: Whoever wants to look fabulous!

Calloway Sharr is a Khajiit by birth, but not by much else. Should you simply hear him speak, you would not imagine him to bear fur, nor a tail, and unlike his race he doesn't go on and on about the stupid moons. In fact, he actually knows very little about Khajiit culture or ways, having been raised in the Imperial City in Cyrodiil by a couple of Imperials who could not bear a child of their own. Slight of build, Calloway was never going to be suited for manual labor or the armed forces, and so it was a given that he would follow the trade of his parents and become a tailor. With dextrous fingers and a keen eye, Calloway quickly learned how to sew, and his soft paws made for quite a novelty upon clients as he measured them. Before long, he had become a minor celebrity on Cyrodiil, the Khajiit tailor, and he picked up some of the most exclusive customers. Income from nobility fed his desire for a lavish lifestyle, thanks to his seemingly natural ability with a needle and thread. Well, that and other skills his father taught him.

True, Calloway's father was a tailor, but he was more than that. He was a spy. Using his station, he gained access to many wealthy and powerful people, and was skilled in the arts of observation, manipulation and theft. These skills he taught to Calloway, who being Khajiit, was an immediate success at nighttime burglary and stealthy movement. To Calloway, though, it was just a game to play with his father, nothing he ever truly grasped the seriousness of.

In time Calloway tired of the Imperial City, and ventured out onto the road, called to cities far and wide by clients who could afford to summon him. But not all of his work was in tailoring, as he did make use of the skills his father taught him as well, most often in secret. Forgery, lockpicking, theft, and languages, those were his father's forte, and while Calloway learned them, he still found himself too distracted by clothing to remember he knew them most of the time. Scatterbrained to a fault, Calloway cannot seem to bring himself to any direction in life other than the pursuit of improving others' wardrobes, and furthering the legend of his own name. His journal keeps a list of those who have called for him, as well as their address, but so flighty is he that he often forgets, instead going off on whatever new tangent or theme he's come up with, often leaving his hopeful customers waiting and waiting for him to ever show up.

At the moment, he's going through his list of potential customers in Skyrim, having never traveled so far from home before. And, while his slender form and somewhat effeminate mannerisms appear to make him a target, he has made it this far on his own, so others may wish to pause and consider just how he might have accomplished that.

[Caethras Maur]

Name: Ceathras Maur
Age: 144
Race: Altmer
Home: Skywatch, the Summerset Isles
Combat style: Heavy armor, twin swords
Affiliation: Thalmor, Aldmeri Dominion

Caethras Maur enlisted in the army of the Aldmeri Dominion at the tender age of 30, an ambitious, dedicated, and ruthless young mer from a family of little account. He labored in obscurity for decades, but eventually his skill and commanding presence caught the attention of Lord Naarifin, one of the rising stars of the Dominion military. Naarifin took Caethras as his protégé and lifted him into the command ranks of the military as the Dominion began expanding its influence throughout Tamriel.

By the beginning of the Great War with the Medean Empire in 4E 171, Caethras had earned a place among Naarifin's inner circle of lieutenants. He served with distinction throughout the highly successful invasion of Cyrodiil, which culminated in the sacking of the Imperial City by Naarafin's army. For two years Caethras served as Naarifin's executor, squashing pockets of resistance in the region of the Imperial City and solidifying Aldmeri control as the Dominion prepared to wipe out the final vestiges of Emperor Titus Mede II's power. Believing victory to be inevitable, Naarafin sent Caethras with a small force to the nearby Aldmeri command outpost in Bravil to invite the assembled generals there to feast in the emperor's palace.

By the time he arrived with his triumphant summons, the resurgent Imperial armies had already retaken Imperial City and slaughtered every mer inside. The Aldmeri command council, who had already been informed of the defeat by their scryers, were not amused by Caethras's arrival.

Disgraced, instead of returning to the Summerset Isles with the rest of the Aldmeri forces in Cyrodiil after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, Caethras was assigned to the Hammerfell offensive under the command of Lady Arannelya. Though the Aldmeri armies successfully drove the Redguard forces across the Alik'r desert, their own supplies ran dry, and they, too, were forced to withdraw. Caethras's military career was now associated with the two greatest defeats in the history of the Third Aldmeri Dominion.

Rather than retire in obscurity, Caethras has joined the ranks of the Thalmor Justiciars and has been assigned to Skyrim as a senior field agent. Though their cloak-and-dagger ways disgust him, Caethras has applied himself to his new duties with a zeal that unsettles even his superiors.

[Clark]

Name: Clark
Age: 17
Race: Breton
Home: Dragon Bridge.
Combat style: Illusion, Alteration, Destruction
Affiliation: College of Winterhold

Clark loves to learn. As a child, Clark's father and mother traveled across Tamriel as visiting dignitaries. Children have no place in the affairs of Kings, Jarls, and the like. So, Clark spent much of his childhood out of doors, looking at plants, animals, and especially books. He learned everything any way he could, even if it meant getting sick from eating a bug, getting scratched by a cat, or getting chased away from forges and alchemy tables. When he one day took a book off a shelf called Candlelight, he discovered not a story, but instructions!

"That's a spellbook," a creaky old voice told him. Clark was fearful at first, but when he turned and saw a man dressed in funny clothes smiling at him, he felt better. "I'm the court mage here," the old man said. "You look like a bright lad. If you want to, I can teach you about magic."

Clark nodded vigorously. No one in his family could do magic, and wouldn't his parents be surprised to find what he had been learning!

"Candlelight is fun. It makes a little ball of light that hovers over your head. Watch me."

Clark's parents spent three whole days from dawn to dusk discussing Imperial affairs. Clark spent three whole days from dawn to dusk mastering the magic spell. Manifesting the magical power was the hardest part, but once Clark could do that, the Magelight spell came easily. His parents said they were proud, but were mostly just glad he hadn't hurt anyone or anything.

As they traveled, Clark continued to study. His parents planned to send him to the Arcane University in Cyrodil as soon as he came of age. That was the plan, until one fateful visit to Skyrim. Clark's parents were visiting Solitude the day Ulfric Stormcloak arrived. The curious Breton was almost of age, and ready to head back to Cyrodil for his education. By the end of the day, Clark discovered he was an orphan, the borders of Skyrim were closed, and the land mired in civil war.

Esilif, taking pity on him, gave him a small home in Dragon Bridge where he could stay, and her letter of recommendation to him for the Archmage at the College of Winterhold.

Now, Clark studies at the College of Winterhold, absorbing knowledge, finding the beauty of the land, savoring its history, and loving the mystery of the Dwemer while trying very hard to forget about the war. He keeps his attitude positive, and his outlook sunny (even if he has to make himself stay positive). He avoids the war at any cost, preferring to test his cunning and ability in the ruins of Skyrim alongside his teachers.

[Ursula Beirne]

Name: Ursula Beirne (BEARN-yuh)
Age: 20
Home: A small hamlet town in the city state of Jehanna
Combat: Destruction, Conjuration, and One-Handed
Affiliation: None

Ursula Beirne is a descendant of the fierce and dangerous Reachmen. Her family, which considers themselves low nobility, was among those who fled the pillaging Nords along the Reach, and settled themselves in High Rock; the Beirne clan is noted for being able to trace a lineage back through to the Alessian Empire, though never to a more distinguished wealthy and powerful figure or epic hero, as many genealogies do. Her name is peculiar to the Beirne clan, and it is thought to be an early butchering of "Alessia" which has persisted throughout the ages. she was tested for magickal affinity at six. Deemed to be gifted, her parents, instead of sending her to the Mage guild, hired a tutor. Ursula's upbringing in her small town lit a fire in her heart for adventure, glory, and fame; so when she turned sixteen, she began travelling through High Rock, learning magick and working to feed herself. Unfortunately, her brash manner and combativeness coupled with a face she calls "troublesomely fair, innit?" has resulted in her gaining a bounty and the enmity of many families throughout High Rock, though one particular family in the city state of Northpoint is determined to find her. After a quick stop home, she's entered Skyrim, avoiding her pursuers and is headed to Whiterun as the only real path to glory and fame in Skyrim is through the Companions. Along the way, she's looked into every cave and tomb and isolate hut, fighting bandits and draugr and whatnot with fire runes and a silver longsword in the main. What else does she know? Well, a girl's got to have secrets, you know!