[Randomness On 2 Legs]

“Finally.” Azalan said and rubbed his wrists. There were marks left from where the bindings were. “While your at it, mind letting my wings loose? These straps are very annoying. Oh, and which one of your soldiers has my bag? That contains all of my research materials.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Azalan asked and squinted his eyes at the man. He looked up at the ominous tower. “Ah yes, this is what I was informed of. Very strange indeed…” Azalan trailed off.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

“Hey, take it easy pal.” Azalan said and brushed off the man’s hand. “It’s not like I can do anything, I mean with this exuberant security.” Azalan said with a hint of sarcasm.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

“Historian, wizard, cleric, heavenly being” Azalan said and pointed to his wings which were also tightly bound. “Whatever you prefer.” He finished as he stared down the man and woman in front of him.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan slowly looked up and opened his eyes, as he rocked back in forth the caravan that was bouncing along the rough road. He looked at his hands which were tied together by tight leather straps. He looked out of a small window to his right. The wagon came to a jerking halt. The door at the front of the wagon swung open. He stepped out and squinted as he was hit by the blinding light.

“Azalan Einarth. You are here because of your impressive work in the magical and historical studies.” A soldier read from a scroll.

“Yeah, yeah.” Azalan said and looked around. The caravan was surrounded by dozens of soldiers, with their weapons trained on him. “You know, I’m only one person. There is no need for this many soldiers.” Azalan said and yawned  as he pulled at the straps on his hands. The soldier did not answer, but instead turned towards a large excavation site, guarded by soldiers. “You mind cutting these?” He asked a nearby soldier and held his hands up.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Name: Azalan

Age:28

Gender: Male

Occupation: Doctor/healer/cleric/any thing that has to do with healing.

Nation: Zodia

Race: Human

Powers: Has the ability to heal almost anything and keeps the harmony of people. The only problem is that if he uses his powers to much, he’ll start to slowly go insane. Along with that he has exceptional sword fighting skills for when he needs them and angel like wings he uses to fly short distances.

Background: He has lived a fairly normal life in Zodia. Well, as normally as he could, with constant wars going on and him trying to figure out his powers. Fortunately a group of priests took him in during the war and trained him to use his powers for the good of man kind.

Appearance: He wears a pure white suit and keeps his sword strapped to his waist at all times. He’s about 5’11” and 147 lbs. He is as pale as pale can be, has one of those weird viking haircuts where they shave off the sides and back but they leave the top, ya know? Anyways it’s ginger colored and he has deep blue eyes.

Extra: Puts the life of others before him.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan awoke from his sleep a blinding light. Slowly as he opened his eyes he looked around. “This is the last time I sleep in a tree…” He said to himself as he stretched and started to climb down. Once at the bottom he opened his knapsack and pulled out a map and began studying it. “Let’s see here… If I go here…” Azalan mumbled to himself. “Alright, Falkreath it is.” He said and folded his map and put it back up. He took a deep breath through his nose and walked towards the town.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

“I never said fight. Just stand your ground. Don’t fall to their level.” Azalan said. “So,” he continued “What is a Khajiit doing, wandering about in Windhelm.”

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan smiled as he watched the khajiit leave the tavern. He ate the last bit of pie and threw the tin at a nod across the room and ran out towards Dendrite, as the man started yelling. “You know, you shouldn’t give in to their bullying. It makes you look weak.” Azalan said as he caught up to her.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan hoped down into an alleyway, out of site of anybody’s gaze. Quickly he took of his boots, cowl, and gloves and put them into his knapsack. He put on a pair of loose clothes to cover his armor and a pair of leather boots. He hurried out of the alleyway and fixed his hair into a ponytail. Azalan walked to the front of the local tavern and went in. As he went in few of the people looked at him and grunted, but returned to their solemn drinking. He sat down at the bar and ordered an apple pie.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan saw the Kahjiit sneak away from his casing. “Seems like I’ve helped more then myself.” He said and sheathed his bow. He slowly stood up in the cold night wind. He pulled the mask of his cowl up, covering his face. Azalan made a sharp turn and started a silent sprint across the roof tops.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Azalan stalked along the roofs of Windhelm. He was not on a contract, but rather a personal grudge he needed to take care of. The drunk Nord that had made him drop his pie at a tavern. He drew his bow and took a deep breath. Silently, he let the arrow fly, slipping through a small crack in a window, nailing the Nord in the throat. He let out a small maniacal laugh as he watched him fall to the ground in a puddle of blood, and his (who he presumed was his wife) started to panic and ran to get the town guard, screaming and crying. “This is why you don’t fuck with my pie…” he said in a smooth, yet gruesome voice.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Name: Azalan Vedaoth
Race: Dunmer
Gender: Male

 

Age: 28
Height: 5’7″
Sexuality: Straight
Appearance: He has rather dark skin, blood red eyes, and pitch black hair. He wears the ancient Dark Brotherhood Armour and has a ring with a small sapphire on it. When he is not wearing his cowl, he puts his hair in a ponytail that goes down to the middle of his back.
Bio: As a young child he was sold into slavery. As he was stripped from his mother she slipped the ring he now wears into his pocket. And that was all he had to remember her by. This of course of course led him down a very dark path. Constantly being punished by the slavers and being tortured had fed his rage. Once he had the courage, he conjured up whatever fight he had left in him, and killed every slaver he was near. But he could not defeat the ring leader. Fortunately he was much faster than the brute who had captured him. And so, he wandered the roads of Tamriel, and wandered towards Skyrim where the Dark Brotherhood took him in and honed his skills as an assassin. He is now one of the most respected members of the family.

Type of fighting/class: Nightblade. He uses an ebony dagger in close combat and when sneaking. If he needs it he uses a mix of illusion, destruction, and conjuration for moments of crises.
Extra: He is always watching his back and is distrustful of everybody. Only does he trust his close friends (the few he has) and the other members of the Dark Brotherhood.
Extra: Really likes pie.
Extra: Has a love for the exotic Khajiit and Argonian.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Garmoniya stalked along the outskirts of the northern territory, making mental notes about landmarks and possible attack positions from other packs.

[Randomness On 2 Legs]

Thomas coughed and covered his mouth and nose with his shirt. “Follow me!” He said through a cough. He turned around and opened a portal. “Through *cough* here.” He said “Be ready though, it hurts!” He jumped through the portal and signaled for the others to follow.