Listener (undiscovered)
Amaris Maesir
Altmer
19
Male
Sign of the Serpent
Follows: Kynareth, Meridia, Sithis,
The Listener, Undiscovered
Kin: Solinar Maesir (father), Shasara Maesir (mother)
Amaris Maesir. They say that Altmer cannot ever be trusted and Amaris is a wonderful example of that warning. He's dangerous. He is connected to the Night Mother. The Listener. He hears her voice and he obeys. You might be next on the list, the next victim whose name is written in blood and called out from the shadows by a voice broken in agony. The Night mother hears their voices, feels their hate and lust for revenge, and she answers their call. But first, she must tell the listener. She must tell Amaris. Amaris is an Altmer, born in the glorious Dwarven city of Markarth. There was always so much expected of him. He was born noble, wealthy, to a family of good connections, and at the peak time when Thalmor were respected and feared by all. Not that any of his family were in the Thalmor themselves. Both his mother and father had high hopes for him, and entering into into such a proud and honorable guard of the High Elves was definitely high on their list. But from a young age, Amaris was troubled. He complained often of headaches, migraines, and hearing a voice in his head. For a long time, the family chalked it up to his strange imagination, but when the nightmares began, they feared the worst: that their son was crazy or cursed. They took him to see herbalists and alchemists. Desperate for a cure, his father even tracked down a witch and several necromancers. None could help him. It wasn't even definite that something magical or physical was affecting him. It was something in his head, and there weren't any spells or potions that could cure it. His family tried to help him, they really did, but Amaris knew it was all wasted efforts. When he was nine, he ran away from home. It was the hardest decision to make. He stole a horse and ran. Where he went, no one knows. Two years later, he left a pouch of money to pay off the fines for stealing the horse, but besides that and a note of apology, there were no other signs or traces of him. Not until he was eighteen, and by that time, the war and the world had changed. Wherever he went, he had to tread carefully. The Thalmor were hated. Despised. Being Altmer, obviously he was associated with them. It didn't matter where he came from or the family he once had. He was High Elf. And High Elves were the enemy. They were wrong though. It wasn't the fact he was High Elf that they should've feared him, it was the person he had turned into. The person he was inside. Under that golden skinned exterior, behind those serpentine eyes, he is a twisted, wicked thing. He learned of his destiny and his curse, being the Listener. The Dark Brotherhood took him down a foul path that he hated to follow. Always he was with the Night Mother, but amidst her voice was that other one in his head, the one that soon melded into hers till he couldn't quite tell which was which. He was ever so honored to serve the Night Mother, but there were many times he was wrong, and the targets he ordered to be executed were innocents who never made the list, just names that came to mind that the other one demanded. He knows not what this voice is from, wether its Sheogorath or another demented god or just some sort of schizophrenic breakdown. The voice in his head drove him to insanity. It's whisper: so distant, the words almost incomprehensible, urging him onward to kill and kill and kill. To fulfill bloody sacraments and murder men, women, children, the old: all were equal under his blade. He took the lives of Dunmer, Orismer, Kahjiit, Manmer, Yokudans; everyone. Everyone. Anyone. He could never satisfy the voice. No matter how much blood he shed, the voice would always come back. So he wanders the world, doing as it bids, never resting and always praying that someday it will finally leave him in peace. The Dark Brotherhood want him back, but he has left them. Not for good. Just until that other voice is gone. Till her voice is gone. Then maybe the Night Mother's soothing whispers from that ancient corpse won't be so unwelcome because he will finally know they are the real commands. Amaris could almost be described as beautiful, but none would make any compliments of the sort to his face. He would never think of himself as looking anywhere near attractive or handsome by any stretch of the imagination, and will often decline and deny such words or advances of that nature. Amaris is fairly tall, which is only common for his race. He stands at about six feet and three inches, but is still growing, so it is expected he will surpass that height in the future. His skin is creamy, soft; a pale, light gold color with a smooth sort of sheen to it. It’s almost tantalizing in its color and feel, as though you couldn’t resist reaching out and running your fingers down it to see if it really is as smooth as refined pearls. Paralyzed. When one looks at his eyes, they feel almost paralyzed. So bright and radiant his eyes are. The color of a true chartreuse fire, like the lights of the sky in the north. They glow and gleam and are oh so beautiful, but the malice. The poison. The hate that brims in those eyes melts the hardest of hearts and solidifies them into petrified form. They are the eyes of a snake: watching the prey, hungering for the prey, waiting to strike. Yet, in the midst of that gaze, there is fear. There is fear, sorrow, and an unimaginable pain. A longing for death. Yes. Those eyes long for death. Not to see death or to cause death, but the longing to dim and fade as the owner of those eyes ceases to be. His hair is long and wispy. It is neither straight nor wavy, but an odd combination of both. It is as light as feathers and soft as the fluff of a kitten. It is the color of pale sunlight and spun gold; it shimmers and flickers as sparks in a fire or light off of water. He keeps it long and wild, never truly caring for where it chooses to go. It always possesses a windblown quality. Occasionally, he will keep it back with small braids entwined in the golden waterfall, but for the most part, it is let loose and free.
Altmer
19
Male
Sign of the Serpent
Follows: Kynareth, Meridia, Sithis,
The Listener, Undiscovered
Kin: Solinar Maesir (father), Shasara Maesir (mother)
Amaris Maesir. They say that Altmer cannot ever be trusted and Amaris is a wonderful example of that warning. He's dangerous. He is connected to the Night Mother. The Listener. He hears her voice and he obeys. You might be next on the list, the next victim whose name is written in blood and called out from the shadows by a voice broken in agony. The Night mother hears their voices, feels their hate and lust for revenge, and she answers their call. But first, she must tell the listener. She must tell Amaris. Amaris is an Altmer, born in the glorious Dwarven city of Markarth. There was always so much expected of him. He was born noble, wealthy, to a family of good connections, and at the peak time when Thalmor were respected and feared by all. Not that any of his family were in the Thalmor themselves. Both his mother and father had high hopes for him, and entering into into such a proud and honorable guard of the High Elves was definitely high on their list. But from a young age, Amaris was troubled. He complained often of headaches, migraines, and hearing a voice in his head. For a long time, the family chalked it up to his strange imagination, but when the nightmares began, they feared the worst: that their son was crazy or cursed. They took him to see herbalists and alchemists. Desperate for a cure, his father even tracked down a witch and several necromancers. None could help him. It wasn't even definite that something magical or physical was affecting him. It was something in his head, and there weren't any spells or potions that could cure it. His family tried to help him, they really did, but Amaris knew it was all wasted efforts. When he was nine, he ran away from home. It was the hardest decision to make. He stole a horse and ran. Where he went, no one knows. Two years later, he left a pouch of money to pay off the fines for stealing the horse, but besides that and a note of apology, there were no other signs or traces of him. Not until he was eighteen, and by that time, the war and the world had changed. Wherever he went, he had to tread carefully. The Thalmor were hated. Despised. Being Altmer, obviously he was associated with them. It didn't matter where he came from or the family he once had. He was High Elf. And High Elves were the enemy. They were wrong though. It wasn't the fact he was High Elf that they should've feared him, it was the person he had turned into. The person he was inside. Under that golden skinned exterior, behind those serpentine eyes, he is a twisted, wicked thing. He learned of his destiny and his curse, being the Listener. The Dark Brotherhood took him down a foul path that he hated to follow. Always he was with the Night Mother, but amidst her voice was that other one in his head, the one that soon melded into hers till he couldn't quite tell which was which. He was ever so honored to serve the Night Mother, but there were many times he was wrong, and the targets he ordered to be executed were innocents who never made the list, just names that came to mind that the other one demanded. He knows not what this voice is from, wether its Sheogorath or another demented god or just some sort of schizophrenic breakdown. The voice in his head drove him to insanity. It's whisper: so distant, the words almost incomprehensible, urging him onward to kill and kill and kill. To fulfill bloody sacraments and murder men, women, children, the old: all were equal under his blade. He took the lives of Dunmer, Orismer, Kahjiit, Manmer, Yokudans; everyone. Everyone. Anyone. He could never satisfy the voice. No matter how much blood he shed, the voice would always come back. So he wanders the world, doing as it bids, never resting and always praying that someday it will finally leave him in peace. The Dark Brotherhood want him back, but he has left them. Not for good. Just until that other voice is gone. Till her voice is gone. Then maybe the Night Mother's soothing whispers from that ancient corpse won't be so unwelcome because he will finally know they are the real commands. Amaris could almost be described as beautiful, but none would make any compliments of the sort to his face. He would never think of himself as looking anywhere near attractive or handsome by any stretch of the imagination, and will often decline and deny such words or advances of that nature. Amaris is fairly tall, which is only common for his race. He stands at about six feet and three inches, but is still growing, so it is expected he will surpass that height in the future. His skin is creamy, soft; a pale, light gold color with a smooth sort of sheen to it. It’s almost tantalizing in its color and feel, as though you couldn’t resist reaching out and running your fingers down it to see if it really is as smooth as refined pearls. Paralyzed. When one looks at his eyes, they feel almost paralyzed. So bright and radiant his eyes are. The color of a true chartreuse fire, like the lights of the sky in the north. They glow and gleam and are oh so beautiful, but the malice. The poison. The hate that brims in those eyes melts the hardest of hearts and solidifies them into petrified form. They are the eyes of a snake: watching the prey, hungering for the prey, waiting to strike. Yet, in the midst of that gaze, there is fear. There is fear, sorrow, and an unimaginable pain. A longing for death. Yes. Those eyes long for death. Not to see death or to cause death, but the longing to dim and fade as the owner of those eyes ceases to be. His hair is long and wispy. It is neither straight nor wavy, but an odd combination of both. It is as light as feathers and soft as the fluff of a kitten. It is the color of pale sunlight and spun gold; it shimmers and flickers as sparks in a fire or light off of water. He keeps it long and wild, never truly caring for where it chooses to go. It always possesses a windblown quality. Occasionally, he will keep it back with small braids entwined in the golden waterfall, but for the most part, it is let loose and free.
Speakers
Silencers
Leader
Rinori Sailbruk
Female
26
Dunmer
Dark Brotherhood, Dawnstar Sanctuary Leader
Sign of the Thief
Follows: Azura
KIN: n/a
Rinori is a Dunmer Assassin who's origins begin from a dysfunctional home in Windhelm. Her father was a mental mess, jumping between many strange personalities and being massively abusive. Her mother was an assassin, and was rarely around. Whenever her mother was around, she rarely payed any attention to Rinori. Rinori however admired her mother, and even aspired to be as talented as her. Of course, being the little sneak she was, she learned the ways of the assassin fast... way too fast. When she turned sixteen, her mother had died due to mysterious circumstances, and her father became more of a mental disaster, beating and kicking Rinori around. By this time, Rinori knew all the basics to being an assassin, and she had enough of being beaten up. So she took a knife and slashed open his neck, and then she fled Windhelm and ventured to Dawnstar. She joined the Dark Brotherhood upon arriving, and spent most of the time rising to the rank of the Sanctuary Leader. The past doesn't bug Rinori, its as if she's lost remorse for many of her actions. She is just doing her job after all. She acts rather strange for her kind. Her presence is eerie and haunting, kind of like a ghost re-visiting their place of death. Rinori doesn't talk all that much, only when she gives orders or when someone pisses her off. Sometimes she can be "nice", but it usually just a pat on the back or a eerie smile she flashes at someone. It's hard to try and read the kind of mood that Rinori is in, she's often in the shadows or getting missions from her superiors. She's in an air of mystery. Being a Dunmer, Rinori's skin is a very light gray compared to others of her race, it gives her a ghostly appearance. Her hair is long and black, swaying in the wind, its rare if she even ties her hair up. Her eyes are a light ruby red color, could be mistaken for pink. She's often wearing black and red clothing, as well as black armor. She's a bit slender, somewhat muscular in her arms and legs.
Female
26
Dunmer
Dark Brotherhood, Dawnstar Sanctuary Leader
Sign of the Thief
Follows: Azura
KIN: n/a
Rinori is a Dunmer Assassin who's origins begin from a dysfunctional home in Windhelm. Her father was a mental mess, jumping between many strange personalities and being massively abusive. Her mother was an assassin, and was rarely around. Whenever her mother was around, she rarely payed any attention to Rinori. Rinori however admired her mother, and even aspired to be as talented as her. Of course, being the little sneak she was, she learned the ways of the assassin fast... way too fast. When she turned sixteen, her mother had died due to mysterious circumstances, and her father became more of a mental disaster, beating and kicking Rinori around. By this time, Rinori knew all the basics to being an assassin, and she had enough of being beaten up. So she took a knife and slashed open his neck, and then she fled Windhelm and ventured to Dawnstar. She joined the Dark Brotherhood upon arriving, and spent most of the time rising to the rank of the Sanctuary Leader. The past doesn't bug Rinori, its as if she's lost remorse for many of her actions. She is just doing her job after all. She acts rather strange for her kind. Her presence is eerie and haunting, kind of like a ghost re-visiting their place of death. Rinori doesn't talk all that much, only when she gives orders or when someone pisses her off. Sometimes she can be "nice", but it usually just a pat on the back or a eerie smile she flashes at someone. It's hard to try and read the kind of mood that Rinori is in, she's often in the shadows or getting missions from her superiors. She's in an air of mystery. Being a Dunmer, Rinori's skin is a very light gray compared to others of her race, it gives her a ghostly appearance. Her hair is long and black, swaying in the wind, its rare if she even ties her hair up. Her eyes are a light ruby red color, could be mistaken for pink. She's often wearing black and red clothing, as well as black armor. She's a bit slender, somewhat muscular in her arms and legs.
ASSASSINS
Eilien Lareth
Altmer
9 (truly, around 409)
Sign of the Ritual
Follows: Mephala, Night Mother, Sithis
Dark Brotherhood Assassin
Kin: unknown
Eilien Lareth seems small and sweet, with a cuteness that must be embraced, he is everything you should fear. Everything you should detest. For he is a vampire, and vampires are carnal creatures of bloodshed and bloodthirst. Eilien Lareth was turned into a vampire when he was nine years old, freezing him to immortality before he matured in body. After four centuries, he has grown much in mind and spirit, trapped forever as this small, vulnerable thing. He served the Dark Brotherhood many years, working as a Silencer and at one point, as a Speaker. But now he is starting over in the Dawnstar Sanctuary as a mere member, just going out and fulfilling contracts. He has to have someone with him on his journeys as he tends to get out of control. He starves himself of blood that he often gets sick and weak, so tasting or smelling blood of his victims throws him into a craze. This makes him a great ally and a vicious weapon, but it does not serve the brotherhood's purposes. He still seeks a way to contain himself and become more human, but the allure of his own powers is to strong for him to shed willingly. Oh no. He will never give this up.
Altmer
9 (truly, around 409)
Sign of the Ritual
Follows: Mephala, Night Mother, Sithis
Dark Brotherhood Assassin
Kin: unknown
Eilien Lareth seems small and sweet, with a cuteness that must be embraced, he is everything you should fear. Everything you should detest. For he is a vampire, and vampires are carnal creatures of bloodshed and bloodthirst. Eilien Lareth was turned into a vampire when he was nine years old, freezing him to immortality before he matured in body. After four centuries, he has grown much in mind and spirit, trapped forever as this small, vulnerable thing. He served the Dark Brotherhood many years, working as a Silencer and at one point, as a Speaker. But now he is starting over in the Dawnstar Sanctuary as a mere member, just going out and fulfilling contracts. He has to have someone with him on his journeys as he tends to get out of control. He starves himself of blood that he often gets sick and weak, so tasting or smelling blood of his victims throws him into a craze. This makes him a great ally and a vicious weapon, but it does not serve the brotherhood's purposes. He still seeks a way to contain himself and become more human, but the allure of his own powers is to strong for him to shed willingly. Oh no. He will never give this up.
Legolas Hollowvale
26
M
Bosmer
sign of the Warrior
Dark Brotherhood somethin
Kin: none
26
M
Bosmer
sign of the Warrior
Dark Brotherhood somethin
Kin: none