Rᴏᴍʟʏɴ Rᴀʟᴀs

[ɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴜs]

 

 •●• ʀᴏᴍʟʏɴ "ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴅ ʀᴜғғɪᴀɴ" ʀᴀʟᴀs •●•

 ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏғ sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ;
 ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴡᴀɪʟɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ;
 ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ's ʀᴇᴅ sɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ɪs ʀᴇᴀᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ-ɴɪɢʜᴛ:
 ᴡᴀʀ! ᴡᴀʀ! ᴡᴀʀ! 
 — ʀᴏʙᴇʀᴛ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ sᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ

 ● ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ●

● ғᴜʟʟ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ● Romlyn Ralas
● ʙʏɴᴀᴍᴇs ● "The Red Ruffian," "Ralas the Rogue," "Bastard of Blacklight," "Beguiler of Womenfolk"

● ᴀɢᴇ ● 243 (est.)
● ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴀɢᴇ ● 44
● ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● 3E 391 (est.)
● ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ʙɪʀᴛʜ ● Blacklight, Morrowind

● ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ● Male
● sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ ● Heterosexual
● ᴍᴀʀɪᴛᴀʟ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs ● Married (Ravani Ralas)

● ᴀғғɪʟɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴs ● Thieves Guild (formerly), Imperial Legion (currently)
● ʀᴀɴᴋ ● Captain (Thieves Guild), Auxiliary (Imperial Legion)

● sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ● Mer
● sᴜʙsᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ● Dunmer

● sᴋɪʟʟs + ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇs ● With more than two centuries under his belt, Romlyn has had more than enough time to hone his abilities to a gleaming edge. While he's hardly a master in all of his abilities, he's doggedly set to improving himself, learning only as the long-lived Mer can.

Resist Fire, those of Dunmer blood have a constant, 50% resistance to fire.

Ancestor's Wrath, for an estimated 60 seconds once per day, a Dunmer can set themselves ablaze to deal damage to opponents who get too close.

Light Armour (100) Having spent decades learning how to defend himself on and off the battlefield, it is of little surprise that Romlyn has mastered light armour. For him, slipping on stiff leathers is like slipping into a second skin. It is comfortable and natural.

One-Handed (75) While he has never quite mastered the art of the sword, Romlyn is a fair expert. More than a few have fallen to his artfully wielded blades, and he's considered a demon of a duel-wielder. Still, he's a fair few flaws in his form, and he gladly accept any advice given to improve himself.

Sneak (50) Having worked for the Morrowind Thieves Guild for several decades, Romlyn was bound to pick up a few of their sneaky tricks. While he's hardly an expert, he's not halfway bad when he puts his mind to it. Alas, stealth is a tricky mistress, and he's not the patience for long-term stealth-driven assignments.

Destruction (25) Of all the schools of magicks, Destruction has always been his favourite. While his spells are often unpredictable and his knowledge of its capabilities novice at best, he's set himself to improve this oft neglected skill.

Conjuration (25) All of what Romlyn knowns of Conjuration could fit in a nicely rounded bowl. Having only delved into the school to learn how to summon swords, he is shoddy at best in this art.

 ● ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ●

● ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ● A full size image of the one above can be found here. With the traditionally long, thin features long held ideal in Dunmer society, Romlyn has ever been popular with the ladies.

With large, slanted eyes set deep above wide cheekbones, his nose is a trifle long and crooked from previous breaks. He has thin eyebrows, of which the right one is bisected by a thin scar. His mouth, while thin, is expressive, often set in cheeky grins that reveal his missing lower left eyetooth.

He stands tall for a Dunmer, though maintains the leaner build. Built like a whip, he's carefully maintained his body with years of vigorous training. He has his fair share of scars, including a rather nasty one stretching from his right ear to the base of his spine. He's managed not to lose any limbs, but he is missing the tips of his left middle and ring finger.

Dark-haired, Romlyn keeps it neatly shaved but for the shock of hair on top of his skull. When he was a younger man, he'd let it grow long, but in recent years he's favoured a shorter fashion.

○ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇxɪᴏɴ ○ Dark
○ ʜᴀɪʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Black
○ ᴇʏᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀ ○ Red
○ ʙᴜɪʟᴅ ○ Athletic

 ● ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ●

●ᴄᴀᴜᴛɪᴏᴜs ● ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ ● ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀssɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ● ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ● ᴅᴇᴄᴇɪᴛғᴜʟ ● sʜʀᴇᴡᴅ●

● ᴄᴀᴜᴛɪᴏᴜs ● Many have claimed Romlyn to be an over-cautious individual, prone to both suspicion and paranoia. It is an oft infuriating aspect of his personality, and many simply gave up trying to gain his hard-earned trust. Vigilant to the point of madness, he is mistrustful of most. There is not a reckless bone in the man's body, and if you were being particularly mean-spirited, you could call him a coward.

● ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ ● While he's not in the throes of suspicion or crippling paranoia, Romlyn can be quite the pleasing individual. With a smile to melt honey, and a voice of velvet-wrapped steel, many people have fallen for his suave demeanor.

● ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀssɪᴏɴᴀᴛᴇ ● A thief though he may have been, Romlyn has always been a compassionate individual. After the events of Red Year, this aspect of his personality only strengthened. Sensitive to the plights of others, he'll always spare a coin or two or offer help where it may be needed. He has a big-heart, and it's been taken advantage of more than a few times. Come to think of it, it's probably why he's so paranoid.

● ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ● When he has pledged himself to a person or a cause, Romlyn is unwavering in his loyalty. Steadfast as only a soldier can be, he is earnest in his dedication and will always work his hardest to see a job done. He took much the same attitude into his marriage, and often drove his wife mad with his commitment to fill her every need.

● ᴅᴇᴄᴇɪᴛғᴜʟ ● With a smooth tongue comes the natural ability to lie. Dishonesty has ever played a large part in Romlyn's life, and he wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for his crafty words. Lies and half-truths come to him as easily as flies to a honey, though he's never favoured lying simply to harm. While he is a liar, he's a practical one, seeking only to further his own needs.

● sʜʀᴇᴡᴅ ● Romlyn has ever been a good judge of character, if not a harsh one. Perceptive as well as sharp-witted, there are few things that slip his notice. He's an intelligent individual, and isn't easily fooled.

● ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ● A person plagued by paranoia and suspicion, Romlyn is a gifted liar with a heart of gold. While many Mer his age would have settled down by now, he has stubbornly remained on the move, helping those he see's fit and slaughtering those he deems cruel. Romlyn takes great pride in the things he's accomplished in life, whether it be the thieving of his youth, or the rag-tag adventures of his later years.

When idle, Romlyn is rather fidgety, often snapping, tapping, and rubbing his fingers. It's a tell of his, one he's tried to squash out before, but it would seem his fingers have a mind of their own. When irritated, he often clenches his jaw or crosses his arms.

While not the type to carry on a hobby such as knitting or writing, Romlyn has a professed love for block puzzles. His wife would often surprise him with the puzzles, keeping a steady supply on her when they were travelling. Even know, he usually keeps several on him at time. They're a good way to keep his idle hands busy, and he enjoys the mental challenge they offer.

While he's never been the sort to sit down and puzzle his way through some old, musty tome, Romlyn has ever enjoyed the tales of bards. When he can, he will spend his evenings in taverns, listening to the lilting tongues of the gifted storytellers.

In his younger years, Romlyn took a serious blow to the back of his head that left him blind for a month. As a result, he often experiences horrible headaches that can lay him up for weeks at a time. If strained or gone long without rest, he'll experience a dimming of his vision.

Romlyn has a horrible fear of hounds and wolves due to a childhood trauma. He will not go within ten feet of any form of a mutt, and will even refuse to enter a house if it has dogs inside.

 ● ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ●

● ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ● The son of an erstwhile courtesan, his mother had worked the many wealthy circles of the land before his birth. However, she swiftly fell out of favour after a scandal involving her and several other girls became public. Romlyn was born not long after, and with little way else to feed herself or a mewling babe, she turned to street prostitution.

As he grew from babe to youth, and his mother grew ever more bitter with life, he grew curious about his father. For him, there would have been no greater joy at discovering the mysterious identity of his father. Perhaps he'd been a pirate, with gold teeth and a swashbuckling air! Or a brave warrior, wielding shield and sword!

His mother was quick to dispel such illusions. With a clout to the back of the head, she told him he was too old for such delusions, and that his father had either been a hobbled old Nord owning substantial property in the north of Skyrim, or a Redoran ponce who'd been so drunk he'd barely known where to put it.

The cold truth crushed the boy at the time, but as the young tend to do, he quickly bounced back. Street walker though she may have been, his mother did not neglect his education like so many of his filthy friends. She taught him his numbers and letters, his mathematics and the fancy talk of the rich. She even taught him Tamrielic, which she'd learned as a girl.

These lessons were often taught early in the morning, before the sun even rose. He still remembers the rustle of parchment and the sharp-scent of his mother, the cold that numbed his toes no matter how they stoked the fire. These are fond memories for him, and he holds them close to his heart.

As child faded away to young man, Romlyn started picking up his own work. While he wasn't quite gifted enough to officially work for the Thieves Guild yet, they set him to cleaning and working the bars in one of their seedy establishments. It prickled the then young man, but he did the work with a grudging form of patience. Members of the Guild would often stay late into the night, and it was often well past dawn before he could crawl into his bed.

After "working" for the Guild for nearly three years, he was finally permitted to run errands for him. It wasn't long before they found out he was absolute crap at pickpocketing and lockpicking, but had a knack for climbing and sneaking his way around obstacles.

It was around this time that his mother started seeing one of her wealthier customers. It wasn't long before one thing led to another, and before Romlyn could even blink she'd wedded the man. Suffice it to say, Romlyn and he did not get along. The man cringed at even the idea of bringing in the street urchin as a servant, much less as an adopted son, and outright refused to do it.

Sparing his mother the choice, Romlyn up and left. He wouldn't see her for nearly a century afterwards, but they remained in contact via sparse letters and occasional gifts. Though it stung to do so, he had his mind set on his own future, one that didn't involved a pompous arse ruling over him.

Working hard and keeping his head down, Romlyn managed the rank of Captain within a span of twenty years. Praised for his tactical approach to operations, and his knack for efficiently removing hostile targets, he was a favoured operative, though only one of many.

[ɪɢɴᴀᴛɪᴜs]

(cont.)

While on assignment in Windhelm, Romlyn had the luck of crossing a band of pirates docked nearby. It was a stupid thing to do, and he found himself regretting stealing their substantial chest of gold when he woke to find himself naked and trussed like a turkey in a cabin he had no recollection of entering. This was how he met Ravani.

A maddened Sea Witch if he'd ever seen one, her compensation came in the form of his left hand, which she broke. She then left him in that cabin for three days before releasing him buck-naked in the middle of nowhere. He hated the damned woman with a passion.

As fate deemed it, they would meet each other with increasing frequency, usually with one party coming to some form of bodily harm. They hated each other like they had no other, and both would have gladly killed the other.

Some time after she'd left him for dead in a small row boat in the middle of the sea after hijacking the ship he'd been seeking passage on, and not long after he'd given her location to a group of Thalmor agents seeking her out for crimes against the Dominion, they woke up in bed with one another. It was after a night of heavy drinking, and while most people would have simply left the room and tried to forget about it, they immediately beat the piss out of each other. Then slept with each other again.

Thus they're fighting evolved into fighting and fucking. Before they even knew it, the sharp blade of hate had been softened into something the both of them refused to acknowledge. Their close friends and associates were more than ready to throw the both of them into the ocean and be done with it, but before anything could be done about it, Red Year happened.

They'd both been in Morrowind at the time, and in the chaos that followed, each believed the other dead. It would take over two years before they found one another again, both greatly changed by the devastation wreaked upon their people. Ravani said she would be leaving for Hammerfell by the end of the week, and that he was welcome to drag his sorry arse along. He went with her. Though it pained him to leave his people behind, he went with her, if only to rid himself of the memories that made him wake shaking in the night.

They wed in Hammerfell, though it would take more than a decade for him to drum up the nerve to even consider it. Though they're relationship began in hate, they loved each other as deeply as any two people are capable of doing. They still fought like people possessed, but they weren't quite so intent on drawing blood as before, plus, making up was bloody well fantastic.

Within a few years, they brought a bouncing baby boy into the world. Given the name Temujin for her people, and Rilos for his, he was the single joy they prized above all others. Unfortunately, Ravani was not the doting type, and more often than not he was left caring for the child, while she gallivanted off doing whatever she pleased.

They returned to Morrowind when the boy was fifteen to greet Romlyn's newly born sister. Softened by age, the lord offered to foster Temujin and teach him the finer arts of the warrior he'd always wanted to be. It was a difficult choice for them, but they relented in time.

With nothing to do, and with war stirring to the west, Romlyn decided it was time to do his time with the Imperial Legion. Ravani hardly approved, but she agreed, so long as he could stand having her fighting at his side. Currently, they're both serving in Skyrim, though their assignments often leave miles between them.

[dany]

[ Approved ]