Skjorn the Mad, my future ESO main.  I’m still not certain how much or how little I’ll be playing it, but after talking with friends I’ll definitely be picking it up.  Now to brush up on lore and write up this guy’s profile!


The Grim Woodsman.


My favorite part about playing a wide variety of characters is getting to dress them all accordingly.  I’ve been trying to fine tune my former Ranger’s hunting outfit, and finally got it where I want it.  I was going for a look that portrays a brooding woodsman that would be well camouflaged within the more ominous forests, but without using all black dye since that’s kind of dull.  Using a mixture of Far Arrow and Wall Warden armors, I dyed them with a combination of black, olive, and umber.

The Bastard. (Part Two)


Hooves clomped slow and steadily along the dusty path, overgrown with weeds as far as the eye could see. The North-South road, or the Greenway as they called it this far north, was beautiful in the spring. Flowers bloomed through the valley, the woods were verdant as could be, and grass rose as high as a Man in some places. The wagon rumbled along, pulled by only one steed now. A miscalculation during the winter months had forced Faegor to trade their second off in exchange for enough rations to see the small family through to the end of spring.

Yeeeeeeeee!” squealed the nappy haired boy as he crawled out from beneath the canvas covering the supplies, and tried to scramble over the divide where his parents sat. Fortunately it was easy for a two year old to stay entertained while trapped in a wagon. No shortage of peek-a-boo and hide and seek to be played. Unfortunately they still had to deal with a two year old trapped in a wagon.

Danni smiled, lips turning up when she brought a finger to them, “Shhh, Falros.” The woman picked him up, his legs kicking playfully until she brought him over and set him in her lap where he squirmed and tried to reach for anything he could get his mischievous little hands on. “You need to be quiet, little one.”

Faegor sat with reins in hand and paid no mind to his mistress nor son, his attention fully focused on the old road ahead, and the tall grass and woods that lined it.

The boy nodded eagerly and kept his voice to a low whisper, “Yes, mama.” He settled without getting fussy, hands clasping in his lap when his attention was grabbed by a small flock of black birds flying in the distance.

It had been just over three years since they had left the great port city in Gondor far to the south, and now they were only a few days from their destination. The small family had traveled from town to town, and village to village looking for a proper place to settle. None of which could compare to Pelargir, and none would satisfy Faegor’s wishes for them. No, he needed a bustling trade center. He wanted the best for his young mistress and son. With trouble seeming to brew around Eriador, it was pushing both merchant and traveler steadily through Bree-Town. Or so Faegor had been told. High hopes had led them far from their home city, and after three long years the end was finally in sight.

Shadows grew long from the woods as the sun began to set, and Faegor encouraged his tired steed to pull faster. The stretch of valley and woods was not a place to safely camp and the father had hoped to see them beyond it before night was fully upon them.

It was not to be. As the woods drew nearer to the road and the valley narrowed, hooves came thundering out from the shadows. Two massive steeds whinnied as their riders halted them upon the road, blocking the wagon from a distance.

They had dealt with brigands before, and Faegor was quick to bark orders at his mistress. Despite Danni’s surging panic, she kept as calm as could be, plucked her son from her lap and swung him over to place him in the wagon. She lifted the canvas tarp and spoke low to the boy, “Falros. Remember what father taught you. No matter what happens, stay under.” The little boy nodded. He was oblivious to the danger facing them, but he did as told and ducked beneath the tarp to hide amongst the supplies.

The Man of Gondor pulled hard upon the reins and when his steed stiffened its hooves slid against the old dirt road with the weight of the wagon still pushing them. Once it settled, they sat in a thick cloud of dust, giving Faegor a moment of planning. Crossbow was drawn and bolt nocked with deft precision. The man turned to leap from the wagon and was met with a loud crack.

A club of gnarled oak smashed against the man’s face, knocking him unconscious in an instant. It came down again as the body crumpled to the road, and his skull caved in. The mistress had no time to scream. Another had stepped through the cloud to wrap an arm about her, palm smothering her mouth. The brute twisted with a grunt, snapping her neck where she sat, and dragged her limp corpse out to leave it in the road.

The two brigands leapt into the wagon and took their place. Leather snapped and the steed was off again, tiredly galloping toward the woods.

The Bastard. (Part One)



“My handmaiden? My handmaiden?!” A hideous scream followed as she fell to her knees and tried to wrench her own heart out through her bodice, silks tangling in her pale boney fingers. There was no sadness left in her when she could finally look upon them again. An icy malice had filled her puffy eyes, and the resentment dripped in her words, “A curse upon you. A curse upon you both! May you never know happiness. May your family know my pain tenfold!


Faillith had never born a child to Faegor. Years of trying had left her womb as empty as ever, and yet behind her husband stood the young Haradrim handmaiden with lightly swollen belly. Barely of age and already with child, she clung to Faegor and trembled in fear not for her, but her babe.


The greying merchant scowled coldly at his wailing wife. What could he say that hadn’t been said? Without another word said, Faegor silently accepted the curse, took the young girl by her arm, and dragged her from the home to the waiting wagon out in the street. Pelargir, and his incapable wife, would soon be long behind.

Captain Vincentio Apollo Arrius III.



Captain Vincentio Apollo Arrius III

Race: Cassian (High Born)

Age: 26

Occupation:  Captain in the Dominion Navy.

Personality: The Captain is oozing with confidence, but he isn’t exactly arrogant. Vincentio has a natural charm about him as if he knows how dashing he is, but he isn’t quite going to rub it in someone’s face. He was raised well and possesses all of the manners befitting a gentleman and soldier. Outwardly, he’s a charmer, polite, and is a very loyal servant of the Empire.

Motivations: Ultimately to do the Empire and his family proud. (There’s also hidden motivations that won’t be revealed here!)

Quirks: His confidence can be as much a curse as it is a blessing. While a leader needs to not second guess themselves, he can be too stubborn to consider outside advice. As someone who was raised so strictly, he has no qualms letting out a bit of his wild side assuming he thinks he can get away with it. Vincentio is also prone to thinking with his other brain, and has been accused more than once of being hedonistic.

Hobbies: As a Cassian in his prime, Vincentio can find plenty to do outside of his duties. Whether it’s working on or riding his hoverbike, going drinking or dancing, he’s simply open to having a good time and living life while not under the stern gaze of his family or superiors.

Appearance: Vincentio stands at a decent six foot even, with broad shoulders and muscles to match. He’s rugged and handsome with bright blue eyes and dark stubble lining his jaw. The young man is lightly tanned with shortly cropped and classicly styled black hair. In uniform and out, he makes certain he looks dapper at all times (unless he’s just come from the gym, or he’s out in the field wearing his armor).

Overview: Perfection is subjective, yet many would consider Vincentio to have had it all. Upper crust family, good looks, decent smarts, brawn, and an undying devotion to the Empire. He was the poster child for a young Cassian and the sky was the limit. He graduated near top of his class and quickly rose in the ranks of the military, soon finding himself a Captain and commanding his own unit.

Then a mission went sour. What had been a simple patrol had somehow resulted in the death of some of his closest soldiers, including his friend Quintus, with only him managing to escape. Not a week later, Vincentio was seen brazenly walking through the base, arm in arm, with the woman that had been Quintus’ lady. Rumors flew and spread through the base quickly, and soon reached the ears of those that mattered.

The patrol that had gone south became suspect, but internal affairs had no proof of any wrong doing. With too many suspicions aroused for Vincentio to continue to properly lead what was left of his unit, the military quickly transferred him deeper into Nexus, and he now finds himself a soldier of NICE. A win win for the Dominion. Vincentio will either be killed in combat, or he will redeem himself and bring glory to the Empire!

(All subject to change up until launch.)

Bronik Muzat.


Bronik Muzat

Age: 112

Gender: Male

Occupation: Black Hood Operative. Assassin. Scientist.

Bronik is a bit of an enigma. What he portrays in public is entirely different than when he is behind closed doors. Around others he’s a bit of an introvert, quiet and thoughtful – only speaking when he feels the need to and it’s often awkward or out of place.

Away from the prying eyes of the masses is another story all together and not for the faint of heart.

Motivations: Part of him desperately wants to find a cure – the part that is rotting and screaming at him to not let his kind slowly perish over time. The other part of him hopes a cure is never found – the part of him that suffered quietly prior to the Everlife elixir and still has hold of him so many years later. Bronik tirelessly searches for new life and works on compounds in order to both try to stabilize him further, and increase his physical power.

Quirks: The Mordesh has no shortage of quirks or flaws. He likely suffers from mental disorders both from trauma and self inflicted scientific trials. Bronik can easily become obsessed with something he is working on. His morals have all but been eradicated and he is willing to do anything necessary to see a goal or mission achieved, and is willing to suffer the consequences of his vices and experiments.

Hobbies: Bronik’s primary ‘hobby’ is meddling with new life – both sentient and otherwise – in order to produce new compounds. If not on a mission, he can most often be found in his lab, or sitting in his study glued to a book.

History: In a land of beauty and culture, not all were so lucky to have been quite so blessed as others. Bronik had been born with all of the brains, but little of the looks or brawn. There were even whispers that he had been born with flawed genetics, leaving his eye sight bad and his stature abnormally runty, body weak. The Mordesh stood out in a crowd – special in all the wrong ways. His parents loved him regardless, but the love of family wasn’t enough to to get him through a day without being picked on or bullied.

Bronik carried on regardless though hardly with head held high. He kept to himself – shy, quiet, awkward. Once old enough to start seeking a career, the clumsy and weak Mordesh couldn’t hold down a steady job. Something always went awry and he found himself fired time and again. In time he gave up all hope for a normal life and opted to remain living with his parents, hiding away in his room. There he did little else besides study and paint, keeping himself locked up and far away from the scrutinizing gazes and mocking words.

Word spread like wildfire as the Everlife Elixir was announced. Promises of not only immortality, but renewal and new heights of perfection – every flaw being reversed. What good would living forever be if he was to be forever miserable? It wasn’t immortality he sought – it was being normal. Being like everyone else. Bronik and his family couldn’t have been more ecstatic for him and he was quick to take the Elixir.

It worked. Muscle increased, posture corrected, skin repaired, hair thickened, and his glasses could finally be thrown in the garbage. Until it stopped working. What had been the miracle he’d been desperate for had all too soon turned into a living nightmare. The newly perfected skin started to sag, and then rot. Hair fell out in clumps. Sight diminished.

If it wasn’t for that brief glimmer of hope, Bronik would have given up entirely. Inwardly, he knew that if scientists could concoct such an elixir, surely there would be more. Then the Rage began. It took his parents quickly and he was left to fend for himself, somehow not turning Ravenous so fast as others. He was used to being home, so it was nothing for him to barracade himself there and remain holed up.

He was one of the lucky few to last long enough to hear word of the Vitalus Serum. The survivors, for the most part, banded together, and he found a small community to stay and fight with. Fifty long, horrific years of fighting. Endless fighting. Hiding. Running. Remembering to take their doses. More fighting. Hiding. Running. It was like one long nightmare that he would never be able to shake, or wake from – both blessed and cursed with immortality. A lifetime to most spent surviving and yet he hadn’t aged a day since the Elixir – not counting the rot of course.

Fifty horrific years, and suddenly ships began to arrive. Small, stealthy, speedy ships used for smuggling illegal cargo were now smuggling a very different sort of illegal cargo. Carrying all the Mordesh they could, they snuck past the Dominion’s blockades. It was surreal. Fifty years and suddenly safety. Some went mad from the peace and quiet, if they hadn’t already lost their marbles prior.

This time, Bronik didn’t lock himself away as much. He was well used to the looks the Exiles gave him from his youth. The Mordesh was determined. Passionate. Obsessed. He spent time with the scientists, studying, researching endlessly. He finally found something he was good at. Alchemy. Though while many slaved away in search of a cure to their condition, Bronik slaved away for another purpose entirely. He didn’t really want to be cured! Despite the burdensome rot, the stasis chambers, and the doses of serum, Bronik was contently imperfect and on even ground with the rest of his kind that remained. Instead, Bronik sought to heighten his newfound body. Strengthen it. Renew it as much as he could. Stronger. Faster. And he succeeded. To an extent. Each time he injected himself with a new serum, it seemed a bit of his mind went.

Which leads us to present time. Upon Nexus, the majority of Mordesh are in a desperate search for a cure. Bronik had eagerly joined up with the Black Hoods, not because it’ll necessarily help to find a cure – but because … well, that’ll be left to be figured out by you.


(All subject to change up until launch.)


Most of the time I create characters, I usually just sort of have a basic concept come to me.  Occasionally I am hugely inspired by an existing character for whatever reason.  This is one of those characters I would LOVE to base a character off of.  I’ve just never actually done it.  I’m also not sure which game I would prefer to do it in.  All I know is it would be hilarious.