Post by barrez on Jul 12, 2009 8:06:58 GMT -5
Name: Artur
Age: 53
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Birthplace: High Rock
Birthsign: The Steed
Occupation: Hedge wizard for hire, minor healer, ex battlemage and still good with a sword, though a little rusty.
Affiliation: He remains a member of the mages guild, though not exactly a loyal one. He hasn't been seen or heard of in a guild hall for years.
Equipment: A dark red robe showing it's age under which he wears a rusty chainmail cuirass and brown traveller's clothes. He carries at his waist a fine steel shortsword, an iron knife in each of his boots and an amulet of divine intervention around his neck. As well as this, his two rings hold a fortify speed and fortify magicka charge respectively.
Appearance: A thin, rangy man with loose grey hair and unkempt whiskers of stubble, Artur's military trained muscles are quickly going to fat as he uses them so little, preffering to run than to fight. He's of average height, maybe 5'10, with blue eyes still bright with magic. His arms are crisscrossed with old battle scars, and his face is worn and weathered from long periods spent outside in harsh conditions. In short, he is a man rapidly degenerating with age.
Personality: Intelligent and cunning, Artur is not a courageous man, but he will stand up for what he believes is right. However, since his departure from the battlemages, he has been demoralised and feels drained, both physically and emotionally. He will frequently take the easy way out, and never risk his neck lightly in a situation.
History: Little is known of Artur's life prior to joining the mages guild. As a young man, he poured all his savings into a one way trip to the imperial city, to train as a mage. However, he rapidly decided his abilities could be used for a more direct purpose than those of most mages, and joined the ranks of the battlemages. For over twenty years he trained and fought in minor skirmishes across Cyrodiil, though never rising far in the ranks. Then one night, as his unit camped out in the swamps of Leyawin, they were destroyed by a rampaging dremora. Every one of them died that night, except for him, for in Artur's fear he'd used his amulet to transport himself away rather than stand to fight. That was years ago, yet he still bears the shame, and he is still running from the past.
Age: 53
Race: Breton
Gender: Male
Birthplace: High Rock
Birthsign: The Steed
Occupation: Hedge wizard for hire, minor healer, ex battlemage and still good with a sword, though a little rusty.
Affiliation: He remains a member of the mages guild, though not exactly a loyal one. He hasn't been seen or heard of in a guild hall for years.
Equipment: A dark red robe showing it's age under which he wears a rusty chainmail cuirass and brown traveller's clothes. He carries at his waist a fine steel shortsword, an iron knife in each of his boots and an amulet of divine intervention around his neck. As well as this, his two rings hold a fortify speed and fortify magicka charge respectively.
Appearance: A thin, rangy man with loose grey hair and unkempt whiskers of stubble, Artur's military trained muscles are quickly going to fat as he uses them so little, preffering to run than to fight. He's of average height, maybe 5'10, with blue eyes still bright with magic. His arms are crisscrossed with old battle scars, and his face is worn and weathered from long periods spent outside in harsh conditions. In short, he is a man rapidly degenerating with age.
Personality: Intelligent and cunning, Artur is not a courageous man, but he will stand up for what he believes is right. However, since his departure from the battlemages, he has been demoralised and feels drained, both physically and emotionally. He will frequently take the easy way out, and never risk his neck lightly in a situation.
History: Little is known of Artur's life prior to joining the mages guild. As a young man, he poured all his savings into a one way trip to the imperial city, to train as a mage. However, he rapidly decided his abilities could be used for a more direct purpose than those of most mages, and joined the ranks of the battlemages. For over twenty years he trained and fought in minor skirmishes across Cyrodiil, though never rising far in the ranks. Then one night, as his unit camped out in the swamps of Leyawin, they were destroyed by a rampaging dremora. Every one of them died that night, except for him, for in Artur's fear he'd used his amulet to transport himself away rather than stand to fight. That was years ago, yet he still bears the shame, and he is still running from the past.