[color=bc8dbf][b]Name:[/b][/color] Faruq, Bone Knight

[color=bc8dbf][b]Race:[/b][/color] Redguard

[color=bc8dbf][b]Family Origins:[/b][/color] Faruq was born a humble shop-keep and lyrical sell-sword. Alas, his sell-sword father was present only through letters and coin brought by courier every fortnight. In the days Faruq would work with his mother running the shop or picking up supplies, in the evening she would read the letters and tell great tales of his father's feats. In all his years Faruq never heard a sour word pass her lips. He spent his youth in Windhelm, the place of his birth, and has grown accustomed to living under occupation. What he knows of his father was told through stories and letters, aside from that, Faruq knows he is redguard and spent much time in southwest Skyrim. 

[color=bc8dbf][b]Appearance:[/b][/color] [url]http://steamcommunity.com/sharedfiles/filedetails/?id=685032192[/url]

Faruq has the colour of his redguard father, but softened features of his imperial mother. His shoulders are broad and defined from constant use of a sword and shield. He lacks the height some full-blood redguard boast, but what he lacks in stature he makes up for in physical condition. Faruq is best described as thickly built. He is not toned like some knights, but his body is designed for hard work and abuse. His eyes are a warm brown and rest atop defined cheekbones with small scars faded with time. When not dressed for battle he can be seen strolling about wearing a leather doublet, the quality of which was moderate [i]before[/i] enduring years of constant use, boots, and gloves. Faruq wears a soft expression in normal life and is known to paint a white skull upon his face in combat.  

[color=bc8dbf][b]Age:[/b][/color] 27 

[color=bc8dbf][b]Equipment:[/b][/color] Faruq wears a bone-handled sword on his hip and has a steel buckler hung over-top his leather traveler bag. He carries a curved, steel knife on the low of his back beside his water-skin and a simpler knife tucked into his belt for hunting. Within his bag are a day of rations, a leather journal, a bit of moon sugar, a small whetstone and cloth, his coin purse, and finally a writ declaring his knighthood. Atop a leather doublet he wears a black steel plate cuirass with rounded shoulders with a leather hood covering his mail coif. 

[color=bc8dbf][b]Miscellaneous:[/b][/color] Faruq keeps select letters from his father in his bag during travels. From time to time, one may find bundles of lavender and tea-making flowers as well. 

[color=bc8dbf][b]Favored Skills:[/b][/color] 

Highly Proficient: Hand-to-Hand, One-Handed
Moderately Proficient: Shield, Heavy Armour
Somewhat Proficient: Armorer

[color=bc8dbf][b]Crime Committed:[/b][/color] Slander, Rabble-Rousing, Criminal Threats -- including the words 'perhaps you will move when I shove this sword up your [i]expletive[/i] [i]expletive[/i]' 

[color=bc8dbf][b]Character Background:[/b][/color] Born to a mysterious father, a mother with a penchant for storytelling, and an ancient city, there could be no surprise that Faruq would grow hungry for adventure. Memories of his father come largely from the stories told by his mother and the letters that arrived each fortnight. As a child the stories seemed detailed and compelling, often Faruq saw his father, a vague image in his own mind, enacting the stories in his dreams. Such vivid stories brought warmth to the child even as Imperials lay siege and Windhelm changed. Where the stories offered distraction to the child, so too had they comforted his mother. However, age soon revealed that although told to entreat the senses, the stories were indeed quite cryptic. Faruq knew not for whom a bandit chief was slain, nor the precise details of their crimes, which so many tales deemed necessary. Naivety waned as the young redguard grew older and it became clear to his mother that he would not choose the life of a shop-keep as she had. Thankfully, she was a kind and patient and wise woman. As Faruq approached adulthood she tasked him greater duties. He began by picking up packages across the town, then to the docks, and eventually to the farms outside the city walls to the east. While she endured the Imperial guards, who years after the Stormcloak rebellion still warned of danger, the boy enjoyed a taste of adventure. Though the life of a shop-keep was indeed not his fancy, Faruq cannot deny today the skills gained from his youth.

A few years shy of a man grown, Faruq found himself travelling as far Anga's Mill. Mother had tasked him with securing regular shipments of lumber with the promise that this job could determine whether such trips became the norm. The young man wasted no time riding west from the Windhelm stables. In fact, he left in such a rush that the poor lad paid no mind to the eerie white clouds upon the horizon. A biting wind slowed his travels and though the boy fought desperately onward, the storm fought harder. Gods know how many died from Skyrim's cold embrace, gods know if Faruq will too, but he would not that day. An old cottage sat upon the hill not far from the road on which the boy had fallen. From there an old dunmer emerged, paying the cold no mind, taking in the boy and his horse so that their lives would be spared. Faruq stayed in the cottage under the dunmer's care as fever passed and his mind returned. He knew of the dunmer, well, he knew of the wives' tales. They called him crazed from too many years at war, some suggested he was a drinker of blood, but all the boy saw was a strange old mer whose tea smelled oddly sweet. When Faruq prepared to continue his trip to Anga's Mill the dunmer insisted on following. Though the boy protested, the old dunmer merely repeated, "You know nothing of the cold." The rest of the trip passed without issue. What marked Faruq were the outlandish stories the dunmer shared of vampire caverns and distant cities of ice. When the two separated, the old dunmer refusing to come too new to the city walls, the boy found his mind stuck on the strange mer. Several days passed after the boy's heartfelt return home, but it was clear to his mother something had changed. After a fortnight she sent a courier to the old cottage. Another fortnight passed before the reply. Despite so much time passed Faruq had continued speaking of the older dunmer, and while his mother worried, she knew what must be done.

With his next name day Faruq was sent to the cottage to begin apprenticeship under the old dunmer. He learned of the dunmer's decades of service, which included the Civil War, though the stories often meandered with references to impossible things. Training began early before his mentor tasted the sugar and continued until nightfall. Faruq practiced swordsmanship and combat akin to an Imperial soldier with unique twists that his mentor called 'flavour' before trailing off about colourful argonians and the like. The boy grew to appreciate the whimsy as wooden swords gave way to blunted swords and blunted swords to live steel. He found the old dunmer more than formidable and while the years slowed his mentor the skills faded little. After the second year Faruq was assigned tasks such as guarding trade caravans travelling nearby villages. On the third he began fulfilling bounties posted by the Jarl of Windhelm. By the fourth year of his training Faruq had grown in stature and reputation, and as the old dunmer hoped, earned the title of knight. Faruq returned to his mentor and mother a man of honour. Still, though the years offered much in the way of excitement and challenge, the stories of his father and indeed the old dunmer too echoed in his mind. He yearned for adventure. He yearned to see more than snow-flecked trees and unrelenting storms. When the Aldmeri Dominion and Mede Empire began their war that very year, Faruq found his calling. Before departing from Windhelm he paid his mother farewell. When he made to do the same to his mentor he found a gift waiting -- a bone-handled sword from one of the dunmer's impossible stories. 

For the last ten years Faruq has fought hard against the Dominion. First, he traveled south to Cyrodiil where battles raged throughout. The good knight thought he would be of use, and after days of hard riding found himself put to work by nobles struggling to evacuate their people. Faruq learned the ways of war quickly. For each township or city suspecting attack camps would raise kilometers out and away. A few knights, those not needed to strategize, guarded the folk on the journey from bandits and raiders and others who might capitalize on chaos. A few times Faruq would return to battles nearly, if not already concluded. More often than not they fell in favour of the Dominion. Still, he continued his efforts until years passed and his aid reaped some measure of recognition. Faruq rode into Kvatch among a hardened legion intent of taking back the city from the Dominion. Beside the Imperial captain, from whom Faruq took orders, was a knight from a noble house in Kvatch. The entire lot were allowed through the city gates only to suffer traps and cruel magic. Faruq fought beside the noble-knight, and when the latter called for retreat, Faruq did not wait for the captain to agree. What few survivors escaped those bloody gates left speechless from the horror. It was then that Faruq heard the noble-knight say the words that would ultimately guide him to Meir Thorvale -- "We shan't survive this alone."

Faruq arrived to High Rock less than one month ago. Flustered with the apathy shown by lords from his native Skyrim, he entered the province with fire in his belly and politics far from his mind. He demanded an audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale citing important news of the war. A fortnight passed before he was received, shame to say, he smelled a touch of the sugar. When Faruq demanded aid to combat the looming threat of the Dominion, the Count bristled. When the Count explained their position -- a thing they need not do -- Faruq spat back insults. Foolishly, he called the Count traitorous and without mind and a few words he learned on the battlefield that still burned his own ears. The Count's guardsmen took hold of Faruq and had the situation still been salvageable, the redguard's fist into a guard's mouth saw otherwise. Today the Bone Knight sits in a cell with one lesson fresh in mind. [i]"Be weary of calling a count a cunt."[/i]


[color=bc8dbf][b]Fighting Style:[/b][/color] Defend your own then strike fast and true. The words passed down from his mentor perhaps referred to a style of combat less overt and heavy than what Faruq would pursue, but they remain true. Faruq trusts metal and has learned every piece to be a weapon. Whether the vambrace, which might catch a blade if struck, or a shield that may block or strike, he was taught to use everything at his disposal. He enters combat as if a knight of legend invulnerable to his foe. That is to say, given the opportunity to surprise Faruq will instead warn his opponent in order to conduct a proper battle. He prefers single combat with a blade and buckler, and while he is less mobile than those with lighter armour, what he lacks in movement upon the field he makes up for in quick strikes (relative to that of a two-handed blade, that is). Although Faruq does not typically indulge in destructive magics or poisons, he learned from his mentor to respect them. He will allow a blow in combat, but never if he suspects an enemy to have fouled their blade. Finally, despite a decade of campaigning in the war against the Dominion Faruq is in truth still learning. Much of his time has gone to evacuating citizens, building camps, and travel. He is a better warrior than the man who left Windhelm all those years ago, that is undoubted, but he is far from the level of a soldier.

[color=bc8dbf][b]Personality:[/b][/color] The last years of youth are still upon Faruq. Despite years of war and hard training, at the core, he is still young redguard chasing stories. First he ran about all of Windhelm with an obscure image of his father in his mind. Eventually the old dunmer appeared in his life with grand tales that, if touched by the Mad Prince, served to inspire him further. That need to understand his father and to realize a life worthy of both him and his mentor is the driving force propelling Faruq forward. However, there is a deeper level to all this that even Faruq does not realize. In his heart of hearts he doubts that his father's stories are in fact noble, that the killing and feats, if true, were done for the betterment of a hold. Also, the old dunmer himself has recounted tales of killing and deaths clearly immoral. The core of the conflict deep within Faruq is not that his heroes are villains, but instead that Faruq is in fact tainted. Doomed to a life poisoning the world. This is perhaps his greatest fear.

On that note, Faruq actually makes for pleasant company. He has absorbed many a tale of brave knights and heroes, if nothing else good for entertainment, and sincerely cares what others feel and have to say. He can hold a decent conversation, but know that if wisdom more often spills from his tongue than is written in verse (wise words come accidentally, and perhaps ill-understood). He is young in heart, drinks like a lad given his first cup of ale, and is easily deceived by the promise of luxury. Of course, the trials of the last ten years have had their effects too. As exemplified during his audience with the Count of Meir Thorvale his anger towards those who does not live to his moral code can quickly swell. This is worsened by his recent use of moon sugar to aid sleep and quiet the nightmares from horrors long passed. But let's not get into that, say, have you ever heard the story of Grey Knight?

[color=bc8dbf][b]Font Colour:[/b] Faint purple ftw.[/color]