Lungdracula

Aww, thank you, @SerenityKellan

 

Scales-of-Permafrost, LungDrac

 

Character Name: Scales-of-Permafrost
Race: Argonian
Gender: Female

Age: 34

Physique: Muscular

Height: 6'1

Weight: 187 lbs

Eye Colour: Red

Scale Colour: Off white

Scars/Tattoos: Scars from whips on her back from her time as a slave

Birth Sign: The Warrior | The Last Seed | Survival, Blacksmithing
Occupation: Mercenary

Languages: Common tongue (what most people on Nirn speak) and Jel (not as fluently anymore)

Marital Status: Single and hard to impress

 

Gear:

Winterborn Hunter gear (taken from fallen Winterborn), Dead-Water's Guile bow

Commonly carried items:

Coin, mostly, in a satchel. Carries little else other than the gear she travels in with the occasional health potion.

 

Pets:

More of a companion and a punching bag than a pet, Scales-of-Permafrost keeps an impish banekin by the name of Krokrakus around. He's quick to loot corpses that his mistress drops on the battlefield with intentions to keep it for himself, but she always finds a way to squeeze it out of him ... usually by brute force. He's a glutton for punishment and pushes her buttons as much as he can.

 

Speckleback is the name of the pinto mare that Scales-of-Permafrost acquired on her travels. She's got a gentle disposition that makes her easy to work with, but she's quick to bolt in the face of danger.

 

Biography:

Scales-of-Permafrost was taken by Dunmeri slaves from her tribe as a child, only days after tasting Hist sap. Sold to the highest bidder and put to work on a plantation, her life as a slave was fairly average ... except that she started getting into destruction magic when her master wasn't around. She had the beginnings of aptitude for the arcane even though she couldn't read or write just yet. Cryomancy interested her the most, as she found Vvardenfell's volcanic heat too much for her liking. Her master found out she was practicing magic eventually, and, not wanting slaves to become magically inclined, saw fit to punish the young saxhleel with countless lashes from his whip. Scales-of-Permafrost was left curled in the fetal position in the fields once he was done.

 

On the year when she would have gone through her maturation rites in her former tribe, she rallied her fellow slaves into an uprising and helped to kill their master with her novice destruction magic. In the commotion, it was found that he'd taken to dabbling in dark magic and summoned a banekin to do his bidding just before the argonians stormed his home. With the master dead and their contract untouched, Krokrakus was stuck on Nirn. Scales-of-Permafrost took up the contract for herself before fleeing the plantation after making sure everyone else knew where to go. She had only a bow and a quiver full of arrows to take as weapons for her new start in life, so she had to make do with learning how to use it on the fly. The first half of time spent fiddling around with it was a nightmare for her, to say the least.

 

Mercenary work appealed to her the most, so she spent many years using her brute strength and cryomancy to get the odd jobs done, often spending her money on lessons of reading and writing so that she isn't out of the loop. On the way, she traveled to Riften to find a suitably cold climate, as her magic was starting to change her body noticeably. She considers anything over 18 ° C to be too hot, and thrives in subzero temperatures. Her scales are cold to the touch to match her frosty personality. Krokakus is quick to say that the only scalding thing about her is her temper, as well as her prowess in the sack.

 

...

 

Scales-of-Permafrost is also quick to threaten her banekin into silence if anything remotely licentious is said about her. The lady doth protest too much.

 

Maybe it was being sentimental, but the frigid argonian sought out work from the Remnants of Hope for a bit of honest work one day. The jobs weren't too hard, and there are plenty of new and interesting people to get to know within the company. The pay attracted her, but it was the provided decent sleeping quarters and food that made her stay.

 

Skills:
Swimming | Master| - 3

Archery | Adept | - 2

Unarmed fighting | Adept | - 1 (Racial)

Dodge | Adept | - 2

Destruction | Adept | - 2

Intimidate | Adept | - 2

Riding | Novice | - 1

Alchemy | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Athletics | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Lockpicking | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Mysticism | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Blacksmithing | Novice | 0 (Sign)

Survival | Novice | 0 (Sign)

Points Used: 13
Points Available: 17

Flaws:

Deep Sleeper: Though it doesn't happen often, Scales-of-Permafrost is prone to sleeping so deeply that nothing short of a loud noise or being attacked will wake her up. If she's expecting this, however, she tends to be a light sleeper ... until she exhausts herself and falls into a deep sleep anyway. And, when she does, it's like she goes into hibernation; lowered body temperature, slow pulse, quiet breathing. One day it might get her prematurely buried if she's not careful!

 

Ex-Slave: Morrowind has not been kind to this cold-loving argonian. She bears scars from the many lashings she received from being rebellious in her youth.

 

Hatred: Scales-of-Permafrost has unbridled loathing of slave-masters of any sort, to the point of cornering said person alone at the most opportune time and assaulting them.

 

Intolerance: In the same vein of her hatred of Dunmeri slave-masters, Scales-of-Permafrost cannot stand Dunmeri aristocracy or those that are in high positions of power -- or, really, of anyone that holds the opinion that slaves are acceptable for society.

 

Stubborn: She cannot be shaken when it comes to putting slave owners in their place -- under her foot! In other cases, it can be hard to budge this frosty woman on some subjects. It's hard to stop her once she's made her mind up on something.

 

Lukiul: Due to being taken away by Dunmeri slavers at a young age, Scales-of-Permafrost was only able to taste her tribe's Hist sap once. Being away from her people for so long has left her bereft of the culture she could have inherited, and as such, is considered one of the "assimilated" among most saxhleel. She's as much an outsider to them as the next non-argonian.

 

Hypocritical: She's fully aware of the irony of bossing a banekin around, but she doesn't care. Krokrakus disobeys half the time and seems to love her brutality when it comes to punishment. So long as he earns his keep doing random tasks, she's happy to allow him to tag along until the contract is destroyed -- or she is.

Number of Flaws: 7

Oh, this sounds awesome! Count me in!

 

Witsma, Lungdrac

 

Character Name: Witsma
Race: Argonian
Gender: Female

Age: 27

Physique: Bulky; mostly fat

Height: 5'9

Weight: 260 lbs

Eye Colour: Orange

Scale Colour: Dark blue

Scars/Tattoos: None

Birth Sign: [To be determined]
Occupation: Healer (herbal based)

Languages: Common tongue (what most people on Nirn speak) and Jel

Marital Status: Single and looking

Gear:

Black Marsh keeper robes, sandals, and restoration staff; satchel to carry medical items (see below) and coin

Commonly carried items:

Various ointments, salves, bandages, herbal potions, and scant amount of coin in a large satchel.

 

Pets:

An affectionate rosy netch calf by the name of Rosie (A.K.A, "Rosie-posey") almost always floats by her side. She's very fond of her little netch and will play with and coo at it when there's nothing else to do.

 

Her mount is a stubborn old guar named Teegnash. He'll eat almost anything she gives him and occasionally will allow her to scratch underneath his chin, if he's not in a foul mood.

 

Biography:

For her first half of her life, Witsma was sequestered among her tribe deep in the Black Marsh where none of the Dunmeri slavers could reach, where she licked the sap of the Hist like her eggkin as a young child. She loved accompanying her mother into the marshes while she sought out and picked herbs for the village; when playing, she'd sometimes temporarily ditch her friends to find pretty flowers for her parents to enjoy. For a few years after completing her maturation rites, she watched as her eggkin and other members of the tribe were chosen by the Hist for the annual bonding ceremony -- and shed a few tears in private after not being chosen, for she had hoped that someday she'd have children of her own -- before she asked for some guidance from the tribe's tree minder. She was assigned to be an egg tender as a way of indirectly bringing in more saxhleel to the tibe.

 

Witsma was glad to do this for a year or so until she couldn't bear to look after unhatched children that weren't her own anymore. She longed for the Hist to pick her to herald in the next generation like so many of her tribemates, but alas, it was not to be. Tired of stagnating in a village, she gave her parents a few days notice of her leaving so that she could decide what to pack. When the day came, Witsma hugged her relatives goodbye and set off on Teegnash out of the Black Marsh. With her inherited knowledge of herbal remedies, she was able to find small jobs from town to town to keep herself and her animals fed while she wandered around Nirn, picking up new medical techniques, a new language, and learning about other cultures.

 

The Remnants of Hope has been her first company she'd ever joined. The argonian is busy with keeping her herbs fully stocked and keeping a reptilian eye out for jobs to help out with, but she has noticed a good variety of potential suitors among her coworkers. With no Hist to decide whether she's among the handful to start a family, it's up to her to find a suitable nest mate. Could she be in luck this time?

Skills:
Swimming | Master| - 3

Herbalism | Adept | - 2

Restoration | Adept | - 1 (Racial)
Staves | Adept | - 2
Basic first aid | Adept | - 2

Dodge | Adept | - 2
Dance| Novice | - 1
Riding | Novice | - 1

Alchemy | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Athletics| Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Lockpicking | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Mysticism | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Unarmed fighting | Novice | - 0 (Racial)

Points Used: 15
Points Available: 15

Flaws:

Shy: Witsma does not do well in large group of people. She's not the first to approach someone new, but she warms up quickly if enough one-on-one time is spent with her.

Deep Sleeper: When she's asleep, this Argonian is dead to the world. Nothing quieter than a door being kicked open can be heard and she's prone to oversleeping -- bad for when she's gotta be somewhere on time!

Intolerance: While not overly so, Witsma is intolerant of Dunmeri and Altmeri. Dunmeri for the enslavement for her people (thankfully, she was never a slave) and Altmeri for being so condescending and disrespectful of anyone who isn't one of their own. She's open to listening to and possibly even befriending anyone who transcends these stereotypes, however.

 

Low Self-Image: Being an Argonian on the road hasn't won her any popularity contests, to say the least. Witsma isn't confident in her abilities as a healer, but she will always try her best.

 

Naive: She does her best to keep up to date on worldly events, though she's lived in a small village for most of her young life. A lot of news comes as a surprise to her.

 

Pacifist: This Argonian really, really doesn't like killing living beings or fighting. If she can, she prefers staying out of fights and only intervenes when absolutely necessary.

 

Poor: She doesn't carry a lot of gold due to how she operates. She won't charge for her healing services and prefers arrangements with groups that'll feed her and give her a place to stay in exchange for healing.

Number of Flaws: 7