ESO - Who is your character?

[Daryena]

In case anyone feels like jotting down a few facts about your character, here you go! Do as much or as little as you like, make up your own, write a few lines, or even just think about how the questions would apply to you/your character.

Name:

Race:

Class:

Each month has a birth sign, and most signs have certain personality traits associated with them.  What is your character's Birthsign (or if you prefer, Mundus Stone)? (Here's a calendar)

Physical description, including clothing and/or preferred armor type:

Favored weapon(s):

What temple or shrine do they visit the most often, or what shrine do they have in their home (if any)? (Racial Pantheons, Daedra, Argonian Hist)

Where did they grow up, near Daggerfall or did they immigrate recently? (Optional: And what was that like?) Map with race locations.

Is this character related to another Elder Scrolls character of yours from a different game? If so, tell us about them.

Guild or guilds in which they hope to advance:

Something about them that is average, and non-heroic (could be something mundane or a flaw they have):

Like the "themes" found in literature, what might be a theme in your character's story? (Examples: 1 2)

There's a knock at the door -- Who are they afraid it is?

Optional: If your character was, say, drawn into coldharbour by a bunch of Molag Bal ritualists, how did they end up in that ritual?

Any image that represents or fits with your character (i.e., a character sketch, a weapon, an item of clothing or armor, a place that looks like where they grew up)

[Hubris_Inc]

Name: Hubris Fell originally Warwick Fell 

Race: Breton

Class: Templar

Born: 21st seed of Rain's Hand under the Sign of the Mage (prone to arrogance)

Physical description: Medium build and height with dark hair and average complexion, in fact if not for the loss of the left eye one would hardly even notice such a nondescript person. Common style heavy armor obscures extensive body tattooing in the style of the common sailor.

Favored Weapon: Prefers the weight and impact of hammer style weapons be they one handed maces or two handed war hammers.

Religion:  Kynareth the goddess of the heavens, the winds, the elements and the unseen spirits of air. Patron of sailors and travelers. 

I was born in a place only known in certain less than reputable circles as the Mooring Post. My home looked, for the most part, like a simple fishing village located on Iliac Bay that is of course if you could even find its location. The Mooring Post is a little village with a big secret, truth is, it is the center for smuggling between High Rock and Hammerfell. The smugglers of Mooring Post make runs from Wayrest and Daggerfall back and forth to Sentinel and as far as the shores of Cyrodill, if you want it moved without paying the tax or want profit on something less than savory we can ship it no questions asked.

Guilds: Fighters guild adds legitimacy to my wanderings whereas the Thieves guild pays the upkeep on my ship, or at least it did.

I would  not call myself a hero, though I am no coward either, I simply believe in taking care of me and mine. My loyalty to my crew and those that I can trust is as fierce as any squall but I wont die for some noble mans cause. As the old smugglers saying goes why fight the good fight when you can simply sail away.

 

I was the best at what I did and at the Mooring Post everyone in the know knew it as well. I ran goods from Wayrest to Sentinel at speeds that made the competition's head spin. My ship, the Maiden's Sway, was infamous with those in my sphere. With her shallow draft for skirting the shoals and high trim lines she was built to haul fast and get away clean. Maybe it was my birth sign or simply the success but I was obsessed with my own infamy and embraced my own legend. So, when I was notified through the usual channels or a job opportunity in the capitol of Wayrest with the promise of good pay and minimal risk I signed on with the usual bravado. A middling noble by the name of Prel was looking to unload several crates to some buyers from the Summerset isles, while I tended to avoid dealing with the Altmer the pay was too good to pass and my ego brimmed at the thought of pulling off a score this big. Our meet was set on some speck of rock and sand twelve days West of Stros Maki, and with the favorable weather we made landfall a full day ahead of schedule. Sadly our swift seas would prove to be the agent of our demise, for while we waited with the cargo our routes of escape where being cut off one by one. In the dark of night with vile magics my crew and I were subdued, taken onto that spit of land with our cursed cargo and my beloved Maiden's Sway scuttled and set a flame. The pointy eared bastards wore the garb of the Thalmore, and in retrospect I wished they had simply been, the ritual lasted seven days and the mortification of our flesh rivaled my most vivid nightmares: exsanguination, evisceration, amputation, immolation, even skinning my men alive. All the while I was tied to a post and made to watch as my crew, my friends, were mutilated and killed in the name of Molag Bal. After the last of my crew mercifully passed I was all that remained, tied to my post, dehydrated and broken by the horrors I was forced to witness. The cultist filth were heading back out to their ships when one approached, she had a scar on her lip that extended up to reveal a chunk had been taken out of her right nostril, when she spoke it was a choked whisper and the first words i had heard other than mantras and chanting. "Prel promised us a soul full of vanity and pride, arrogance, hubris, and he did not disappoint. My Lord feasts upon the souls of those who believed in false gods your loyal crew slakes his thirst but your soul will serve ever so briefly as the main course." with that she plucked out my eye placed it within a jar and left me to die hitched to my own mooring post.

I have returned from Coldharbor and my goals are two fold. First, Prel's head on a spike at the docks of Wayrest and then that Thalmore bitch bound and gagged to answer for my crew and my ship. Her death will be slow, I am shooting for at least ten days even if I have to heal her myself. Vengeance takes time and money so I will sell my sword and count my gold and just maybe earn some redemption and allies along the way. I have to keep my head down for now the Knights of the Rose protect the corrupt "nobles" of Wayrest  and the Thalmore lurk behind those in power here as well. When the knock at the door sounds I dread exposure and capture from either arm of the elite. 

 

             

 

 

The long last look of the Maiden's Sway.

 

 

 

[IlservianPalacost]

Name: Ilservian Palacost

Race: Nord

Class: Nightblade

Born on the 18th day of First Seed, though it was the Serpent that appeared in the sky on the day Ilservian entered the world, whether that proves an ill omen or a blessed gift has yet to be seen.

Ilservian is tall, though perhaps not the tallest of his race at near on 6'5. Muscular yet lean, he cuts an imposing figure. There is a way to his movements that expresses great speed, agility and strength should the need arise. Black hair hangs down and around his pale, lightly whiskered face, about to his shoulders. Two bright pools of ice blue shimmer from behind the shadow of his hair, always watchful of his surroundings.
Ilservian can usually be seen clad in dirty, travel worn leather and on rare occasion mail, a black cloak or coat usually thrown on over everything to hide his weapons and movement from the eyes of others.

Favored weapon(s): Ilservian has always favored the sword above all other weapons (though he favors his bow as well; nothing like putting an arrow through an enemy's throat from a hundred yards before he is even aware of your presence after all), the balance and strength of a good blade is something that just can't be beat.

Deity: Ilservian was raised worshipping Kyne, though he fell out of practice as time went on. Sometimes in his travels, when caught in a particular bastard of a storm, he will curse the god and label her a cruel bitch; whether this ever helped matters is another story entirely.

Origin: Born and raised in the mountains surrounding Riften in Skyrim, Ilservian was forced out of his small village at an early age after a band of mountain savages killed most of the inhabitants (Ilservian's parents included) and razed the town. Ilservian lived for a time in Riften, but he was soon travelling, finding work as a mercenary and honing his skills with a blade when it pleased him while other times simply stealing to get by.  

Flaw: Say one thing for Ilservian Palacost, say he's an unlucky son of a bitch.

Cold Harbour...: See above... An easy job they said, sneak into some bastard's house and take some old book they said, nothin' to it. What a load of mammoth shit. Maybe Ilservian would have made it out, maybe he would have made it past the room full of cultists and been lounging in an Inn in Solitude, maybe he would have coin to insure he didn't sleep hungry or alone for the next six months, but maybe doesn't mean much when your elbow knocks a vase off a shelf during your daring, stealthy escape. Yelling, steel drawn, curses on tongues, it was all a blur after. Ilservian slew at least three of them, but after that there was a bright, purple light and the feeling of his insides being torn apart, then only a cold prison cell in some strange place. Ilservian had some choice words for Kyne after that one, storm or no.

[Daryena]

This is as far as I got before the game launched!  More later

Name: Dary Agareth

Race: Dunmer

Class: Templar

Birthsign: The Ritual

Physical description: Long, lusterless hair and deep skin.  Her favorite attire is an emerald silk dress with soul gems sewn into it.  A dark, almost black sapphire hangs from her neck.

Favored weapon: An ugly and extremely abused wooden staff - the face carved on the head, no longer recognizable if it ever was, is missing one shiny dark eye.

Worship: The Tribunal and some of the Dunmer's favored daedric princes.

Origin: Blacklight in Morrowind.  Immigrated to High Rock a few years ago while pursuing magical studies, particularly relating to the school of Mysticism.

Guild: Mage's guild. She was a member for many years already in Morrowind.

Personality: Somewhat aloof, except when she's making inappropriate jokes.

Themes: Ambition, identity, mystery

Every time there's a knock at the door, she's afraid it's her old "friends"...

Optional: If your character was, say, drawn into coldharbour by a bunch of Molag Bal ritualists, how did they end up in that ritual?

I’d gone way too far. 

It had been easy to join the order, but extremely difficult to advance. The secrets, the access… I had come so close to being an ear to the whispers.  At first I only wanted a little more power—the resources that had tempted me to join were enough.  But it was hard to stop there when I knew what was beyond the next door.  The possibility beckoned to me daily, and eventually I had to walk through.

To be continued

^ My bad photo manipulation of Morgana

[IlservianPalacost]

I just re read your character profiles, Dary and Hubris, I think I'm going to have them make cameos whenever I get around to writing some eso stuff about ilservian. There's some good stuff here. If anyone else wants to have their character involved in some way (outside of mentioned in passing, I don't want to develop someone else's creation ha) post up a profile. 

[Hubris_Inc]

I'm cool with that, have at it I say.