TaliPaendrag Member
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- TaliPaendrag 12 yrs ago
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I'm rather interested. :D
I wouldn't mind helping. :3
As for the popularity of Bretons, I think it has to do with min-maxing or something. They have natural magic resistance and are pretty good at melee and magic combat, so they're kind of a jack of all trades.
As for the popularity of Bretons, I think it has to do with min-maxing or something. They have natural magic resistance and are pretty good at melee and magic combat, so they're kind of a jack of all trades.
If using magic to slip past the guards was too much, let me know and I'll change it. I just wasn't sure how Syndelius was going to get into the city using his skills. :3 Scaling walls isn't exactly inside his area of expertise.
The old man seemed to take Syndelius' words into consideration, mumbling something about how he thought that they were sitting on top of one. The priest who had been rambling on about the gods abandoning them from the top of the large black rock seemed to think that the old man was enlightened, though what that said about the priest was really yet to be seen. Almost at once, however, the eyes of the crowd darted to the old man to see if he had any words of wisdom of his own to share with them. With the tension in the air from the current events, it was really no wonder that the people latched onto the words of a doomsayer to explain everything. They needed something to believe after all.
The Thalmor agent that was a part of the squad pulled out some documents, explaining that they were their orders for the Falkreath mission before passing them around to the members of the squad. Syndelius nodded along as he read the details of what they were to do. Nothing in the documents were all that surprising given the circumstances, though he hadn't been aware of an impending Legion attack on the hold. Once he had finished reading the documents, he folded them and tucked them into his belt pouch, having been the last to read over them.
Considering the fact that they were to enter the city one at a time, Syndelius figured that he would stay out on the road for a little while longer enjoying the pleasant breeze and the shade of the tall evergreen trees. It would probably be a good idea to see if he could gain any valid information from the refugees before entering the city itself. It wasn't likely that he would get anything good from the refugees, but there might be a pattern in their rumors that would help him find what he was looking for once he got into the city itself.
“What goes on in the city, traveler?” he asked an approaching Bosmer with bright green eyes and brown hair, though whether it was dirty or naturally that color was hard to distinguish. He jumped at first, clutching tightly to the bag in his arms before he realized that he was looking at a fellow Mer and relaxed a little.
“The Alessian's are getting torch-happy from what I've heard,” he responded with an involuntary shudder. “Anything and everything that belongs to an Elf is liable to get burned, and that includes the bodies of the Elves themselves. That's why I've packed up and left. I'm not staying around until its too late, whatever my idiotic brother says.” He didn't wait for another question or response, instead stalking off, his fear momentarily replaced with fury and indignation.
The next individual wasn't very helpful, what with her claims that the Alessians were killing every Elf in the streets and devouring the children. Nor was the next, as they claimed that the Alessians were tearing Elves limb from limb in the comfort of their own homes. Basically dozens of rumors over the exact actions of the Alessians, though it was a common feature that their target was anyone of Elvish blood.
Another feature that seemed to show up more often than not was that the atrocities were taking place in either the prison or the basement of the Jarl's Longhouse. Syndelius doubted the latter, but it would certainly be worth checking out the prison if he could. Regardless, it gave him a bit of direction as he pulled up his hood and made his way towards the city.
The guards at the gate certainly posed a problem, as they would never let someone into the city if they had a hood covering their face like Syndelius did. Well, not unless they were complete idiots, and Syndelius wasn't willing to bet on that. Instead, he ducked off the road so that he was hidden by the woods and began channeling his magicka to cast Magelight and attach it to a tree close enough to be seen by the guards, who should go and investigate.
Once the eerie glow was spotted, the guards charged after it, no doubt expecting it to be some sort of Elvish resistance to the new regime. This allowed Syndelius to slip through the gates with no real opposition. Even though one guard had stayed behind, he had been too focused on what was potentially going on than doing his job and watching the people entering the city. From the gate, Syndelius slipped down a dark alley and began to prepare his next move.
The Thalmor agent that was a part of the squad pulled out some documents, explaining that they were their orders for the Falkreath mission before passing them around to the members of the squad. Syndelius nodded along as he read the details of what they were to do. Nothing in the documents were all that surprising given the circumstances, though he hadn't been aware of an impending Legion attack on the hold. Once he had finished reading the documents, he folded them and tucked them into his belt pouch, having been the last to read over them.
Considering the fact that they were to enter the city one at a time, Syndelius figured that he would stay out on the road for a little while longer enjoying the pleasant breeze and the shade of the tall evergreen trees. It would probably be a good idea to see if he could gain any valid information from the refugees before entering the city itself. It wasn't likely that he would get anything good from the refugees, but there might be a pattern in their rumors that would help him find what he was looking for once he got into the city itself.
“What goes on in the city, traveler?” he asked an approaching Bosmer with bright green eyes and brown hair, though whether it was dirty or naturally that color was hard to distinguish. He jumped at first, clutching tightly to the bag in his arms before he realized that he was looking at a fellow Mer and relaxed a little.
“The Alessian's are getting torch-happy from what I've heard,” he responded with an involuntary shudder. “Anything and everything that belongs to an Elf is liable to get burned, and that includes the bodies of the Elves themselves. That's why I've packed up and left. I'm not staying around until its too late, whatever my idiotic brother says.” He didn't wait for another question or response, instead stalking off, his fear momentarily replaced with fury and indignation.
The next individual wasn't very helpful, what with her claims that the Alessians were killing every Elf in the streets and devouring the children. Nor was the next, as they claimed that the Alessians were tearing Elves limb from limb in the comfort of their own homes. Basically dozens of rumors over the exact actions of the Alessians, though it was a common feature that their target was anyone of Elvish blood.
Another feature that seemed to show up more often than not was that the atrocities were taking place in either the prison or the basement of the Jarl's Longhouse. Syndelius doubted the latter, but it would certainly be worth checking out the prison if he could. Regardless, it gave him a bit of direction as he pulled up his hood and made his way towards the city.
The guards at the gate certainly posed a problem, as they would never let someone into the city if they had a hood covering their face like Syndelius did. Well, not unless they were complete idiots, and Syndelius wasn't willing to bet on that. Instead, he ducked off the road so that he was hidden by the woods and began channeling his magicka to cast Magelight and attach it to a tree close enough to be seen by the guards, who should go and investigate.
Once the eerie glow was spotted, the guards charged after it, no doubt expecting it to be some sort of Elvish resistance to the new regime. This allowed Syndelius to slip through the gates with no real opposition. Even though one guard had stayed behind, he had been too focused on what was potentially going on than doing his job and watching the people entering the city. From the gate, Syndelius slipped down a dark alley and began to prepare his next move.
The problem with that is that it would have to be a restart. I don't want people to feel like they have to fill the same role that someone ditched.
Though consulting some of his notes on the realm of Skyrim, which had been jotted down rather hastily before he had left the College of Whispers to travel, Syndelius was still aware of what was going on around him. His experience in combat had led to the development of his multitasking abilities, a necessary skill for survival when you were surrounded by people who were actively trying to kill you. Even now, he could sense the hostility emanating from some of the Nords and other races. No doubt it was because he was a Dunmer, or Dark Elf. But it didn't matter much if they didn't actually act on their hostility and attack him.
Having been selected for the mission by the head of the College of Whispers had been a little surprising, though Syndelius supposed that it shouldn't have been considering he had been one of the finer battlemages during the unrest caused by Skyrim's Civil War. What wasn't surprising, however, was the diversity of the group. Clearly the higher-ups wanted an elite squad to help ensure that they won the war and not General Sidonis, and it wouldn't have made sense to have picked only people with certain talents for the task.
And they were certainly diverse enough, what with consisting of three stealthy individuals, two mages, and two warriors from the races of Men, Mer, and Beast. For the most part, however, none of the group on the road with him had seemed particularly interested in getting acquainted. Too many of them seemed like life had slapped them silly a couple of times, unwilling to talk much beyond a few monosyllables. In fact, a few of them, like Alana and Finnen, spoke for the very first time at this location in front of the priest who was rambling on about the end of the world.
As Syndelius was contemplating all of this, the other mage approached him and asked how long it was until the next Dragon Break. He was an older individual of Altmer descent, though it had been rather hard to pin that label on him due to his faded features, but there was something about him that seemed familiar for some reason, though Syndelius was unable to put his finger on what exactly it was. It was apparent that he was quite decidedly a raving lunatic, and Syndelius was certain that he had never met a crazy Altmer before, so he pushed the tickling sense of familiarity from his mind and answered his question.
“Given the present societal climate, it could very well occur in twenty years or so,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. Few would understand what a Dragon Break was, so there was a relatively low chance of instigating a local panic. In fact, it was likely that the Altmer didn't know what he was asking either. Hopefully, however, the old mage didn't react negatively to Syndelius's answer. Crazy people were, by definition, entirely unstable, so it was up in the air as to how he would react to something so simple.
Having been selected for the mission by the head of the College of Whispers had been a little surprising, though Syndelius supposed that it shouldn't have been considering he had been one of the finer battlemages during the unrest caused by Skyrim's Civil War. What wasn't surprising, however, was the diversity of the group. Clearly the higher-ups wanted an elite squad to help ensure that they won the war and not General Sidonis, and it wouldn't have made sense to have picked only people with certain talents for the task.
And they were certainly diverse enough, what with consisting of three stealthy individuals, two mages, and two warriors from the races of Men, Mer, and Beast. For the most part, however, none of the group on the road with him had seemed particularly interested in getting acquainted. Too many of them seemed like life had slapped them silly a couple of times, unwilling to talk much beyond a few monosyllables. In fact, a few of them, like Alana and Finnen, spoke for the very first time at this location in front of the priest who was rambling on about the end of the world.
As Syndelius was contemplating all of this, the other mage approached him and asked how long it was until the next Dragon Break. He was an older individual of Altmer descent, though it had been rather hard to pin that label on him due to his faded features, but there was something about him that seemed familiar for some reason, though Syndelius was unable to put his finger on what exactly it was. It was apparent that he was quite decidedly a raving lunatic, and Syndelius was certain that he had never met a crazy Altmer before, so he pushed the tickling sense of familiarity from his mind and answered his question.
“Given the present societal climate, it could very well occur in twenty years or so,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. Few would understand what a Dragon Break was, so there was a relatively low chance of instigating a local panic. In fact, it was likely that the Altmer didn't know what he was asking either. Hopefully, however, the old mage didn't react negatively to Syndelius's answer. Crazy people were, by definition, entirely unstable, so it was up in the air as to how he would react to something so simple.
My bad. I wasn't aware that it had been disbanded before the events of Skyrim. But I got it all fixed now! :3
Name: Syndelius Odin-Ahhe
Age: 32
Race: Dark Elf
Class: Battlemage
Birthsign: The Atronach
Equipment: A set of traditional mage robes, enchanted to increase the rate of magicka regeneration, a satchel for carrying potion ingredients, a steel dagger, and his Staff of Healing
Talents/Spells/Strengths: Excels in Destruction and Conjuration magic, but dabbles with the other schools of magic as well, especially Alteration and Restoration. He's also skilled in the use of a staff for melee combat, though he obviously prefers to stay out of those situations. His reservoir of magicka is also noticeably larger than normal due to the blessing of his birthsign.
Weaknesses: Syndelius doesn't have a lot of stamina or strength due to his focus on magic. Also, using Conjuration to create a sword or some such weapon is really a last resort, as he is a novice swordsman at best. Due to his birthsign, he also doesn't recharge magicka naturally. He has to either absorb the magic from other spells or use enchanted gear to recharge it for him. This has the potential to pose a serious problem in combat where there are few mages around.
Personality (optional): Syndelius's blunt mannerisms have a tendency to make him come across as an arrogant individual, but he really isn't arrogant. Confident, sure, but not overly prideful. He actually quite enjoys teaching, and can admit when he is wrong about something. It's only when he knows that he isn't that his bluntness really shines.
Background: Born into a poor farmer's family, it seemed that Syndelius was destined to be just another commoner in the history of the world, but he had an inquisitive mind a knack for understanding magical theories that intrigued one of the wizards of a high family in Morrowind, which allowed him to become a wizard's apprentice.
He learned a lot while an apprentice, but sadly, his master died while he was still learning apprentice-level Destruction spells in a politically motivated attack by a rival family. Deciding that returning home would be admitting to failure, Syndelius worked odd jobs for a few months until he gathered up enough money to travel to Cyrodii to see about joining the College of Whispers, where he would be able to continue learning and perfecting the art of magic.
Once he reached the heart of the Empire, he sought out the first guildhall he could find and applied, demonstrating his ability in a test of sorts to determine if he was able to join. Despite his young age, the Head of the Hall determined that he showed potential and allowed him entrance into the guild so that he could learn the arts of magic.
The next several years were spent just learning. And he learned a little of everything, from the nature of the planes to the history of the Empire to the specifics of the different schools of magic. Though a lot of it was tedious and hard work, he didn't mind. In fact, he thrived on the learning and couldn't wait to begin some of his own research projects. Unfortunately, however, unrest spread from the rebellion of the Nords in Skyrim to the heartland of the Empire, and he was required to go out on missions of sorts to help ensure that nothing spread.
By the time peace had returned, albeit a tentative one, he was approaching his thirtieth winter, and it was only another two years until strife rose again as the prominent General Sidonis led a raid that resulted in the deaths of Elenwen, Elisif, and Ulfric and began the rebellion anew. Due to the threat posed to his people, he was more than willing to sign up for a position on the Dragon's Eye squad, and was readily accepted for his magical talents.
@Terminal: Okay then. I'll start working on one then. :D
I'm not entirely sure what character I want to play. I'm leaning towards either a scholarly magic-user or some kind of battlemage. But I don't want to copy Terminal by accident, so I think that I'll wait to see what he's doing before I decide. :3
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