Name: "Steelpike" Roland Corvo
Age: 21
Gender: Male
Race: Imperial
Birthsign: The Steed

Appearance: Roland is a young man, and tall for a Imperial, about 185 centimetres or about six feet. He is a sinewy man, who is quick and agile, but is not a brawny or muscular man at all, and there are stronger men than him. For his services during the Civil War and in the Imperial Legion, he has gained more than just a few scars. Roland has long, dark brown hair, bordering almost black at times, and clear green eyes, that have a spark of determination and will. His face is kept clean shaven meticulously. He could be considered a handsome man, if he smiled more with his thin mouth.

Biography: Roland was born into the Corvo family on 29th of Midyear, 181 Fourth Era. The members of the Corvo family have served in the Imperial Legion as officers and soldiers for generations. His father Marcus, for example, fought against the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War. As such, Roland has always wanted to distinguish himself in the Legion. Roland lived most of his childhood and teenage years in Cyrodiil, often moving from town to town, as his father was assigned to different towns to act as an inspector and instructor for Legion's troops in Cyrodiilic garrisons.

Roland learned how to use a sword and other weapons while still being a child. Often, he would just use a stick or a wooden sword and fight with his friends, siblings and cousins. As the eldest son of the flock of six children, he was often given the best education, but Roland has always looked after his younger siblings.

Roland grew up into an ambitious young man, who took service to the Empire seriously and saw life in the military as a prestigious one. As he turned eighteen, Roland joined the Imperial Legion as a footman, starting as a swordsman. Proving himself as a competent and aggressive duellist and a handsome young man, Roland became a poster boy, so to speak, for the Legion for a while during his training, as he excelled as a soldier and came from a military family. Two of his younger brothers also joined the Legion as scribes.

He gained some fame before the Skyrim's Civil War, and he rose quickly to the officer ranks just before the war's beginning, he was given the command of a cohort of heavy footmen. His commanding officer would turn out to be Hector Sibassius.

Roland had heard a few rumours and whispers of Hector from some older men of the Legion, but not many concrete facts. Roland soon was acquainted with the man himself, and served as one of his junior staff members throughout the war, helping him pacifying Skyrim's countryside. Roland's cohort of swordsmen often broke the back of Stormcloak resistance in any battle and often took the heaviest losses. Often clad in steel and taller than most Imperials, he gained the nickname "Steelpike" from his fellow soldiers.

Roland often volunteered to take his men into the fray if needed and led them from the front. The unit shared a tight bond and certain feel of entitlement forged in the many battles. They saw themselves as the best unit in the whole Legion, which, of course, could be always argued by other units.

One day, though, Roland's Raiders, as his cohort was known, was attacked by a brown-scaled dragon while on the march. The attack lasted only a couple minutes, but it left the cohort devastated and decimated. Out of the dozens of men under Roland's command, only a handful survived, and the dragon was hardly hurt at all, vanishing as fast as it had attacked. The Raiders lost most of veteran soldiers, who had been serving ever since the beginning of the war and beyond.

The attack left Roland mentally shaken and embittered, and tried to serve the same way as he had before the dragon attack, but something had changed. He had become more short tempered and angry, often snapping at people. Some of his comrades would say that he had lost his edge in the dragon attack, and they would be right. After seeing his men and friends dying a fiery death, Roland was devastated emotionally.

Roland was recovering in a field hospital during the battle of Windhelm. After the Stormcloaks were defeated, Roland was assigned to the Imperial garrison of Solitude as an instructor.

By the summer of 202, 4E, Roland has been instructing new recruits, both Imperials and Nords, although his current commanding officer has taken a dislike on his attitude for some reason, racking a few warnings from his superiors. It might be soon that his officer's commission is withdrawn.

Personality: What is duty? To fulfill the norms of the society? To serve a country? To bring honour to your family, and not to disgrace your name? Roland has pondered these questions lately, as he has continued serving the Empire in the Legions. Never has he been an academic or a philosopher, but recently Roland has started to ponder the wider meaning of life. Why did he survive, but many others perished? What will be left of him after he is gone?

Words like service, duty and the Empire were drilled to his mind by his father Marcus, but in the end, was it Roland's fate or duty to become a corpse in Skyrim, in the name of the Emperor? Has it come the time to lay down the dutiful role of a son, a soldier, a leader? Fighting for a cause has been one of the mainstays of Roland's life, but at what price?

Roland, once a man of laughter, a dutiful son and an examplar soldier, now questions his role in life. Would it be impossible for him to carve his own way into history by not following the examples and principles set by his father and the Legions? After all, the world is large, and able adventurers have begun modestly, and carved kingdoms and fortunes by their wits and with the strenght of their arms. Roland is still young, experienced and ambitious. Perhaps the bards will sing of his accomplishments. Isn't a man's duty to serve himself first, after all?

Skills:

Major
One-handed: Roland is an expert swordsman and duellist, hitting his opponent hard and fast. His bastard sword is like a continuation of his right arm. It feels natural in his hand.
Block: As a swordsman, Roland likes to use a shield usually, both for defence and offence, to block incoming blows or to bash an opponent’s face with it.

Minor
Heavy armour: Roland is used to carrying a heavy armour on him, and he isn’t much fatigued by it while walking or marching.
Athletics: Roland has always been an athletic and a man who likes to stay outside. He endures the hardships of the wilderness better than most people.
Speech: Roland is accustomed to command and instruct people, and while he doesn’t have a silvered tongue, he can talk his way out of most ordinary incidents.


Equipment:
Armour: Red gambeson, black mail hauberk, black breastplate, pauldrons and gauntlets, full-helmet ornamented with bird feathers.
Weapons: A steel bastard sword, a foot-long steel dagger and an oaken shield with a steel rim.
Miscellanous: Green wool shirt, a brown travelling cloak with a hood, a green cotton tunic, a scarf, a backpack, a flagon, an amulet of Talos.

Other: Roland likes card and board games, especially if Septims are involved. He also enjoys drinking Nord mead and Cyrodiilic brandy. He hates the smell of burning flesh and fat, and is afraid of burning alive.

Standing at 5’04” (152.4 centimeters) and weighing in at 135 pounds (61 kilograms), Daro’Vasora is a lithe woman of small stature that makes her appearance somewhat unassuming. Covered in a healthy and shiny slate grey coat of fur with a leopard-like coating of back spots, her colour is uniform save for the white-grey circles of her eyes, brow, muzzle, and abdomen from her throat down to her naval, as well as a similarly toned mane of hair that is kept cropped in a short, high riding ponytail that is thick enough to stay suspended at the back of her skullcap without hanging down.

Unmarked by birthmark, pox scars, scars, or anything else that may mar her appearance, save for the occasional oil, grease, or dirt stain in her coat, she maintains the appearance of someone who cares greatly for her appearance and natural good looks, which she’ll proudly say come from her mother’s side of the litter. Contrasting with the dull stormy tones of her coat are a pair of vibrant emerald eyes that have pupils that narrow into feline slits, giving her a predatory gaze that contradicts her “resting bitch face” that borders between a calculated disinterest and a subtle bemusement that wouldn’t look out of place on a housecat, her low brow sits furrowed as if she is perpetually concentrating. Her cheeks are gaunt, giving her powerful jawline a more severe appearance in contrast with other Khajiit that have impressive tufts of fur upon their faces that conceal their natural profile, and any Altmer that is proud of a pure lineage would likely find her high and pronounced cheekbones quite relatable.

Sporting a lean but wiry frame, broad shoulders, wide hips and a narrow waistline, it’s hard to tell if she’s not eating properly or just in exceptional physical condition, and the truth lies somewhere in between; a lifestyle of rarely sitting down long enough to enjoy a full meal and constant physical exertion have given her subtle but powerful musculature and a somewhat slouched posture that she constantly has to be mindful to try and walk with a straight back, but lurking around narrow confines and climbing tricky surfaces have given her a naturally compact default way of composing herself, as if she were a suspicious sort.

Liking reds, blacks, and greys, she dresses practically in jerkins, vests, trousers, and coats that often are lined with the fur of some native beast that is much better insulated against the cold of Skyrim than she is. Ever adaptable, her fashion changes with the region and she has an eye for aesthetics and on occasion takes to the gowns, dresses, and formalwear of city life, should the occasion arise. Like all Cathay, she walks flat-footed like a human and wears similar footwear to men and elves alike, preferring ankle high leather boots for support and comfort in her travels.

Personality:
Obstinate to a fault and constantly adapting to life’s hurdles with an ease that others would find reason to envy, Daro’Vasora is a woman who has gone through most of her life with a singular focus and the ability to shrug off all but the most difficult of circumstances with an easy pride in her step and a defiant grin upon her pointed teeth. Having had a relatively opulent and comfortable upbringing in the rather shabby city of Leyawiin in Cyrodiil, the Khajiit has never truly wanted for anything of consequence and most of what drives her is the thrill of the chase and earning her keep on her terms. Having used her education and literacy to great effect, there aren’t many libraries across the Empire that haven’t seen her paws digging up dusty tomes and scriptures that may hint at some great forgotten score hidden in the bowels of one of the many ruins that dot Tamriel as she has dedicated most of her early adulthood to unearthing some rare and expensive find and pilfering someone’s culture for profit. For Daro’Vasora, life is a game of finders keepers and if dead people really didn’t want their precious belongings sold on the open market, they would have become a lich before they died.

Daro’Vasora is equal parts charismatic and aloof, tending to keep to her own devices and not caring much for others’ sob stories while maintaining the ability to convince just about anyone that if she says she can do something, she can do it. Fortunately, she isn’t one for empty boasts and the nimble fingered and lithe footed Khajiit has a knack for finding her way through treacherous ruins, avoiding traps, and picking locks as though she designed them, making her invaluable for her talents in absence of thoughtful company. Because she actively tries to avoid being stuck in a situation where someone tries to become too chummy, she often volunteers to scout ahead to both avoid prying conversations and to show off her talents. She’d never admit it, but she craves validation and people stroking her already significant ego; Daro’Vasora seeks approval and acknowledgement from others even if she tells herself that that precise thing is meaningless. She aims to impress, and while she does it for her own gain, deep down its how she fits in a universe that often seems so chaotic and unpredictable. While the Khajiit thrives in chaotic environments, it’s precisely because she keeps her perspective focused on what’s around her and ignoring the bigger picture. Things work themselves out over time, and “consequences” is just another term for “hesitation”. This can make Daro’Vasora somewhat reckless and impulsive at times, but so far her luck has held, perhaps largely in part to her idle devotion to Rajhin and Baan Dar, deities in the Khajiiti pantheon associated with thievery and cleverness.

There are a few quirks that make Daro’Vasora tick, such as her oral-stage fixation which has her constantly having something to chew on or to lazily hang from her mouth, usually a small stick or a bone from a meal dangling from her lips, idly quieting her subconscious as she places her focus on more pressing matters. Without such a simple distraction, the Khajiit can become somewhat distracted, if not irritable. She is an individual that has a hard time sitting idle, and almost always has something on the go during her downtime, such as practicing her lock picking on a small lock she keeps in her pack, organizing her possessions, reading whatever literature she has on her person, or going on short walks back the way she came on the off chance she missed something. She also is the kind of person who rather than bother mending damaged or frayed clothing will simply elect to outright replace it; possessions are fleeting and not at all worth getting sentimental over in her mind.

Another thing that others would do well to heed is that Vasora is very stringent about her personal space and absolutely does not tolerate physical contact. Things she does appreciate, however, are sweets and music. Often losing herself in song, the Khajiit was brought up playing the lute and thanks to her claws is quite talented and precise at it, and she will often take a moment to appreciate others’ songs when she comes across someone preforming the universal language.

Alternatively capable of a razor-keen focus and attention to detail and an impatient irritability when things do not go quickly or smoothly, Daro’Vasora has been known to brutishly overcome obstacles as a last-ditch effort and if something is beyond her ability, subsequently declare it beneath her time and effort. Carrying a mace for both defense and bashing flimsy containers and locks, as well as flasks of acid and Dwemer oil, she will alternatively handle situations with a surgeon-like precision or an ogre-like forcefulness that are two sides of a very colourful Septim.

History:
The daughter of a river merchant and a court scribe, La’Vasora was brought into the world in Leyawiin, the Southernmost city of the Mede Empire and the daring frontier against the uncomfortably close Aldmeri Dominion. The second child and first surviving one of her parents, Ra’Rinjo (Ohmes-raht) and Ko’Juzuni (Ohmes), La’Vasora was born into relative opulence and a spoiled existence. While her would have been older brother died in infancy to a particularly nasty flu, it left La’Vasora’s parents with an urgency and protective drive towards their only child, and as such she wanted for nothing. With her father’s connections running a lucrative trade business at the mouth of Topal Bay and her mother’s position as a court scribe for Count Caro, clothing, toys, literature, and a fine education were hallmarks of the young Khajiit’s upbringing. Even when she was seven when her younger and only sister La’Shuni (Suthay) was born, La’Vasora continued to reap the benefits afforded to her years as a single child. Known as Sora to her childhood friends, largely other Khajiit, Argonians, and a few humans and elves, she spoke Ta’agra and with third-person pronouns at home, but would often speak like her friends to fit in and to immerse herself in her stories, thinking it almost as a second language. By the time she was 9, La’Vasora was fluent in Ta’agra, Cyrodiilic, Aldmeris, and enough of a foundation in ancient languages that she was able to recognize several words and phrases in Dwemeri and Ayleidoon.

When she was old enough, La’Vasora became somewhat fixated on her father’s story of how he lost his leg during the Great War when Aldmeri forces captured Leyawiin and a roof collapsed on him due to a house fire, causing irreversible damage the required amputation. It was from the war that her father, once a landscaper, came to meet his future contacts in the Dominion in trading cities and turned a great loss into a productive working relationship with other merchants, trading goods between the Dominion and the Empire in the good years, and secretly smuggling in the bad. La’Vasora came into contact with many wondrous and foreign objects that her father instilled a sense of value in, prompting the young cat to take an active interest in valuables and trade.

Having always been something of a troublemaker thanks to her largely consequence-free life, it didn’t take long before she pressed her luck to see what she could knick off of shipments, her small statue and nimble movements helping her get away with a lot more than she had ever expected. However, her luck didn’t hold out; once she became trapped on a barge she was pilfering for spices and amulets and it wasn’t until she was well out in Topal Bay before she was discovered and forced to admit her crimes to the crew, “earning” herself the honourific of Daro. Her mother’s connections saved her from criminal charges, but Daro’Vasora as she was now known had earned an unsavory reputation. Being forced into work as a labourer for her father and a housekeeper for her mother, Daro'Vasora was forced to keep out of trouble and to give the impression that their daughter simply made an honest mistake of youth and could be trusted by the people of Leyawiin and its many visitors. The now teenage Khajiit was constantly filthy and exhausted, but with it came a stronger body and the experience with tricks and skills, solvents and oils that she’d later press into use in her later years; oiling hinges, replacing locks, and polishing precious materials.

Whenever possible, Daro’Vasora would spend time in Castle Leyawiin’s library, often volunteering to organize it and fetch tomes for those that would request it, a spark was ignited in Daro’Vasora’s imagination. Tamriel was covered with the remnants of an ancient and largely forgotten world and valuables beyond imaginations belonging to some of the most significant names in history. Names and artifacts stuck in her mind, and with a growing restlessness, the ambitious young woman declared to her family one day that Leyawiin was too small for her and the world was waiting. Knowing that trouble was going to find her sooner rather than later, her parents consented to letting Daro’Vasora travel. It was better to have her leave home under their guidance than to risk her running off on her own. Ra’Rinjo knew that the same wanderlust that consumed him as a youth was in his daughter, and it was better to put her on the right path with preparation that he never had when he was her age. Taking his boat up river, Ra’Rinjo escorted his daughter to Imperial City where they would meet up with one of his contacts, an Orsimer named Zegol who ran an antiquities shop. After demonstrating some knowledge of Alyeids and the ruins they left behind, Zegol agreed to take the young Khajiit under his wing as an assistant and housekeeper with the understanding that if she lived up to her reputation, she’d be begging in the streets before sundown.

The Orc’s trust was well earned as the capital city became an adventure of a lifetime for Daro’Vasora and before long she was escorting Zegol on a journey to one of the ruins in the Northwest. Proving herself invaluable at reaching places that the middle-aged Orsimer could not, he began to gradually pass his skills onto her, including making an arrangement that one a week she would clean the Arena’s fighting pits with her housekeeping experience in exchange for some rudimentary lessons in handling a weapon. There was seldom a day off for Daro’Vasora and the pay was abysmal, but she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Within a couple of years she was able to afford a room at a boarding house, and thanks to the numerous bookstores in the capital and Zegol’s own documents and experience, Daro’Vasora began to plot her first solo ventures into ruins. More often than not, the ones she visited had already been largely picked clean, but her multiple-week excursions eventually started to pay off and thanks to her ability to see in the dark and her extremely keen senses compared to elves and men, Daro’Vasora began to bring back more and more valuable finds, including the elusive Lady Marne’s jeweled broach dating back to the 2nd Era. With experience came danger, and with it came a rush of survival and outwitting rivals, ne’er-do-wells, and all manner of creatures alike, the Khajiit has left a trail of broken bones, gouged eyes, and battered bodies in her wake. After a close call when her newly afforded apartment was torched by an arsonist that was likely one of her nemesis, Daro’Vasora decided to not stay rooted for the near future, and ever since her family have received letters and parcels from across the Empire from their wayward daughter containing cuts of her profits and relics she’d found along the way but didn’t find worth selling. She misses home, but she’s only just beginning; somewhere out there is the biggest find in history and she will be the one to claim it. Anything else is just a warmup.

Skills:

Major:
Lockpicking Daro’Vasora’s ability to pick apart locks and manipulate pins and tumblers is nothing short of impressive. Having an intimate knowledge of how many kinds of locks are assembled and exactly what it takes to get them moving, as well as what tools of the trade ensure the best chance of success, the Khajiit makes all but the toughest locks look like she has the key for it.

Acrobatics Nimble of foot and more coordinated than most, Daro’Vasora’s keen eyes pick out the safest or quickest paths and her body takes her there with athletic grace. She is a skilled climber, swimmer, and her impressive reaction time has been the difference between a grievous injury and living to fight another day. If Daro’Vasora sees a way forward, she takes it with confidence.

Minor:
Stealth A requirement for someone who aims to avoid fights or make off with goods undetected, Daro’Vasora can slink around most environments with adequate concealment and silence, but there isn’t much protection against plunder bouncing around or concealing some footfalls.

One-Handed Blunt Trained how to use a mace and quite fond of using it, Daro’Vasora can largely hold her own but she is hardly a warrior or a particularly skilled fighter. As long as she can dodge what the bad guy is trying to do to her and they are none too quick on the uptake, she can score a few surprising victories against unlikely opponents. However, she isn’t one to stand and fight; if she sees an opportunity to escape, she will take it. Better to make a daring get away than to end up a rich corpse.

Mercantile Being the daughter of a successful merchant and the associate of another, Daro’Vasora is rather handy at navigating the ins and outs of commerce and she has a knack of knowing where to unload her finds and make a fair deal off of her finds. She is hardly a haggler and she doesn’t religiously follow market trends or even know where hidden figurative goldmines are for the most part, but she certainly can turn a profit when she sets her mind to it.

Equipment:

-A steel mace with a deer-hide wrapped grip and wrist strap. It is pretty battered, but still very robust. She wears it off of her waist belt where the strap hangs from a curved steel hook.

-A small moonstone dagger she keeps strapped to her wrist that Ra’Rinjo gifted her before they parted ways, it is one of the few possessions she has that has sentimental value. It is well used and kept somewhat sharp, but it is used for almost exclusively utilitarian uses such as cutting rope, fabric, or even prying stubborn lids.

-A flat hard leather pauldron-like sleeve that contains a number of lockpicks and spares for ease of carry and easy access.

-A soft dark brown leather tunic and hard leather utility belt adorn her frame, offering both superficial protection for more flexibility and quiet movement and a stylish trim. There are a number of pouches kept about her waist that she keeps the majority of her tools and small finds. This includes a pair of pouches with interior loops that carry 8 glass vials each; the one on her right hip carries oil and acids, the one of the left an assortment of stamina and health potions, mostly to heal minor injuries and to make sure she doesn’t run out of strength or get winded in critical moments.

-A boiled hide hiking pack with strap and buckle closures and exterior loops and pockets for carrying an iron pry bar and objects that are too big to fit in the pack itself. The pack has exterior pockets that usually are packed with rations and her personal belongings, which are;



Birthsign: The Serpent

Miscellaneous:

-Will speak in first-person pronouns in groups or meetings, but in more private moments or talking to herself, she reverts to her regular third-person manner of speech as it is more natural for her.

-She is equal parts fascinated and terrified of the Falmer; they are the boogeymen she hopes to never, ever encounter

-Wealth is easy come, easy go for her. She tends to stock up in times of plenty and purchase entirely new supplies or clothing

-While she doesn’t own one, she can play the lute rather well

-While she drinks, Sora is rather mortified of being intoxicated, especially around people

-Sora has reoccurring nightmares about being chased by ghosts or captured by necromancer, the undead are one of her greatest fears

-She has a soft spot for storytellers