[b] Name: [/b] Alvar Greycloak

[b] Race: [/b] Nord

[b] Gender [/b] Male 

[b] Age: [/b] 27

[b] Birthsign: (optional) [/b] Warrior

[b] Appearance: [/b] [hider=Appearance][img]http://static-4.nexusmods.com/15/mods/110/images/50033-1-1390004972.jpg[/img][/hider]
Alvar is a burly man, with muscles lining his arms, bulging. In his hometown he was known for the time he wrestled a cave bear to the ground. Although a bit exaggerated, the story paints his strength fairly well. White scars engrave his knuckles, criss crossing over eachother. These are the most prominent of ones, other scars lining and littering his body. Other details include a tattoo on his left shoulder. The tattoo depicts a wolf, it's fur matted in blood. The wolf's eyes are blood red, and the wolf's snout is raised to the moon. The wolf is howling at the moon. His shaggy and scraggly beard grows in and out, and occasionally he cuts it himself with a hunting knife to keep it from going out of control.

[b]Equipment:[/b] (clothing, armor, weapons, etc.)
- Orcish Greatsword tipped in Lethal Frostbite Spider's poison, for which he has coined the name "Fiorella." If this sword merely knicks you, you will feel an agonizing pain. It has an enchantment on it that allows for the poison to be everlasting.
- Full Set of Dwarven Armor (Excluding Helmet)
- Dragon Plate Armor Helmet 
- Steel Dagger (hidden in his boot)
- Amulet of Strength
- A small collection of soul gems

[b] Skills:[/b] Alvar is not a man of many skills, but those he does possess, he can execute fairly well. For instance, in his many years as a warrior, he can use nearly any weapon perfectly, save archery. Although, he is known for his mastery in the art of bashing people's skulls in with Two-Handed weapons. His extreme strength carries over well to being able to wield a large warhammer or battle axe. But he prefers his greatsword, in the respect that he can swing faster and deal a devastating blow nonetheless. As referenced before, he can also wield one handed weapons such as axes and swords adeptly. But fighting is not his only skill. In his many years as a mercenary, Alvar knows his way around the streets, or under the streets, I might say. He is no stranger when it comes to black market dealings and shady ordeals. He has many contacts and associates that can repay him a "favor." Yet despite his business in the underside of Riften, he is no expert when it comes to lockpicking, pickpocketing, and sneaking. 
(To Sum Up: 1 Handed, 2 Handed, Heavy Armor, and kindofmaybe Speech)

[b]Background:[/b] Late night in Broken Oar Grotto, a group of bandits were holed up, enjoying a feast celebrating their latest conquests of Haafingar, laughing and drinking mead. With several bandits drunk as can be, they wandered off to their separate allocations for sleeping. But two bandits, a woman and a man, were very much enjoying each others company. A clear romance had sparked between the two bandits, the chemistry evident to all of their kin. And what do two lovers do when they get very drunk on mead? Well lets not delve into details, but let's just say they made love to eachother and leave it at that. About nine months later, this bandit couple had relocated to a quaint little camp that they and their group of bandits had set up called Halted Stream Camp. This camp was not far off from Whiterun. In the wee hours of morning in Halted Stream Camp, a baby was born. This baby came out screaming and kicking, not giving the parents an easy time. As the baby was being pulled out, tragedy struck the bandits. A group of Companions had stormed the camp just as this baby was being born. These bandits were skilled fighters, but no match for the Shieldbrothers watching each others backs, covering each others every move, endorsing organized tactics. The camp was slaughtered. Including this baby's mother. This mother was stabbed in the stomach, as she was giving birth. A tragic story, really. But alas, the Companions could not stand for leaving an orphaned child to die. Off they rode back to Whiterun, carrying our baby boy.
 
Our baby finds himself traveling from hand to hand. The baby's caretaker was always changing, and they cycled through a merchant, a Whiterun guard, and even the Companions themselves. But, at about age 3, the little boy found himself a permanent home. A blacksmith who owned an arms shop. His father was Ulran Greycloak gave our baby boy his name, Alvar. At around age five, Alvar got a mother too. Her name was Fjor. His father, Greycloak, had married her. For a while, life was normal for Alvar. He took pleasure in little things, like the Dragon Plated Armor Helmet showcased on his father's shelf. He loved the way it glinted, and how flashy and cool it looked. He wanted to own the helmet one day. And alas, everything was normal. For a while. But when Alvar turned 12, his father was sent off to war to fight for the Stormcloaks. Alvar did not like this, and a sickening grief took over him. He was going to miss his father. But for Alvar life went on. Wasn't really much he could do about. He pushed forward, despite the absence of his father. After two years, when Avar was 14, the dreaded news finally reached his household. His father was dead. Alvar could not go on anymore. He would run off into the wilderness for days on end to be alone. After about a month of this, a court official came to their house to read Ulfberth's will. Ulfberth had left Alvar a large some of money, but that was not what caught Alvar's attention. Ulfberth had left the Dragon Bone Plated Helmet to him. At the time, the helmet was much too big for him, but It was possibly the best thing that he could have received. 

 Eventually though, Alvar could not take the grief. Walking around the house filled with all the old stuff his father would send him into hysteria fits. So, Alvar gathered his things and left home. For about seven years, Alvar trained in the Reach, building his massive muscles he has today. He trained by running half the length of the Reach, climbing sheer rock walls, and other physical fitness activities. By the age of 21, Alvar had the massive set of muscles he owns today. It was time to revisit society once more. He wanted to put his big muscles to work. He had heard rumors of Riften, and decided it was best for him to shop his skills around there. After walking the distance between Markarth and Riften, he entered the city. As he entered the city, many people muffled whispers as he walked past, probably discussing his Dragon Helmet. It is rumored that that night in an Inn, someone attempted to steal his helmet in the dead of night, but he discovered them. He socked them in the face, breaking their nose. The next day, a man approached him. He had heard of the ordeal the night before, and wanted to discuss business with him. The man wanted to hire him as hired muscle. He offered a stable supply of Septims, a suit of armor, and provisions. He accepted, and thus begun his career as a hired muscle. He went on jobs to protect clients, the most notable of them being the Jarl of Morthal, and also jobs to go rough people up and at times, kill them. He became very good at what he did, and soon he was fabled for his work, and even grew a reputation in the Thieves Guild as a reliable mercenary. Members of the guild began hiring him for escort missions, and he worked his way up the ladder. After two years or so in the business, Maven Blackbriar recruited him as her personal bodyguard. He enjoyed this job for 2 years or so, until Maven released him because she no longer required his services. Alvar knew all too well what this meant, and he fled to Whiterun. Maven attempted to send a member of the Dark Brotherhood to "tie up loose ends," but Alvar bested them.
 
And so, Alvar spent the years hopping cities quickly, always on the run from Maven's assasins. He didn't know why Maven wanted him dead, but he knew he could not stay in Skryim where her extent reached. He moved on to Cyrodiil. He quickly settled down in Leyawiin, and like before he was attracted to the underbelly of the city. He reverted to his old ways of being a hired thug, and began making a name for himself once again. Then, the Thieves Guild representatives approached them.

Probably chock full with spelling and grammar mistakes, please excuse them. Also thinking about editing the part out where he trained in the forest, and have him attempted to join the Stormcloaks instead. This way he will have built up muscle in training for them, and will have fled when the war ended with Stormcloaks unsuccesful, but idk. I just feel like training in the wilderness is such a cliche' but whateves. Also I hope it was okay that I used some characters that are actually in the game, will change names if needed.