CalomelJun 28, 2014Jun 28, 2014 at 08:26 AM
#1
@Calomel
image no longer hosted — http://i717.photobucket.com/albums/ww177/Towim/marcus_zps5c1385a7.png[/img]
Marcus stood easily on the wooden deck of the merchant vessel, one hand lightly on the rail and the salty sea-spray in his face. The wind carried them South toward warmer climate and wilder ocean and the paladin's heart rejoiced.
"One might think you already in Heaven, the way you stare at the water like that." The voice over his shoulder came from a hunched old priest, his yellow robes stained at the sleeves with old blotches of ink. He tottered across the deck and lurched to a stop at the rail, his spotted hands clutching at the wood like talons. The silver pendant of his faith hung over the yellow of his robes and glinted in the sunlight; the very same that adorned Marcus' own cloak.
The paladin smiled, easily rolling with the deck and requiring little handhold while his companion gripped tight to the rail. "If heaven is a smooth sea and a steady wind, I should like to stay in heaven a while longer," he answered, his brown eyes showing the humor in his smile.
Name: Marcus Michael Denton
Gender: Male
Age: Too damned old.
Appearance:
Upon casual inspection, Marcus is a short and stocky Imperial soldier; barrel chested with a good, solid center. His skin where it can be seen is weathered and showing the signs of age. Especially around the eyes, which like his hair, are brown. He does have a beard, but keeps it trimmed close to his face. His nose is crooked and hooks sharply downward, possibly from being broken. A thin scar, one of many, slices down through his left eyebrow and down across his cheek. He has a tendency to squint, which pulls down at the corners of his mouth and gives the old soldier a stern, no-nonsense expression.
His attire is usually armor; heavy plate and chainmail. Though the armor may be dated and a little rough around the edges, it is always clean and repaired. He carries an exceptionally well crafted one-handed sword and a shield. Marcus wears a small badge affixed to his cuirass; a heraldic symbol depicting a red flame on a circular yellow field. His horse is a particularly large palomino mare he calls "Dawnchaser".
Rumors:
Those familiar with the Imperial Empire's heraldry might recognize his badge as belonging to one of the Knights of the Circle, which is a military arm of the Order of Arkay.
He seems to enjoy the sea.
He carries with him a necklace; a silver rose on a delicate chain.
He wears a band on the ring finger of his left hand.
Marcus isn't much of a drinker.
He's lawful. Too lawful.
Harming or disrespecting a woman is one of the few things that will make the man lose his temper.
Backstory:
Marcus Michael Denton is a man well past the age when most would consider a man in his prime, yet he refuses to quit. Born in a seaside village, the son of a fisherman, he loved the sea. He learned to fish, to sail, and to respect the ocean. As a young man, he decided that he wanted more out of life than fishing, and signed on as a deckhand for a merchant vessel. It was hard work but he learned quickly and loved everything about his life. The ships, the sea, the port towns with the pretty girls...
It was in one of the little port towns where Marcus's life changed. The crew had shore leave, and spent a large portion of their coin getting roaring drunk. The booze was cheap and the girl who worked the bar looked better with every swallow. Rumors circled about her; she could be bought, half the crew had already had her, she liked playing hard to get. Young, drunk and stupid, Marcus believed them. He followed her when she left the bar, cornered her on her way home, and left her with a little coin for her trouble before staggering back to the ship.
He didn't find out until the next day, after they had set sail, that his crew mates had lied to him. They had spent the night at the bar spinning yarns fueled by too much liquor, trying to tempt the greenhorn into doing something stupid. Well, he had. Marcus vomited over the rail, sick with himself. All he could do was watch helplessly as the tiny port town vanished in the distance. He was a monster. He didn't speak for more than a week and cashed out at the next port, leaving both ship and crew behind. He wanted nothing more to do with them. Buying a cheap hack, he began the long trek overland to get back to their last stop and make things right.
For Marcus, however, nothing could be made right. Upon reaching the village, he made inquiries about the girl and discovered that she had been pregnant. His shock and elation spiraled into despair when he was then told she had had the child removed. The child, his child...gone. Stumbling out of the village, he came upon a shrine to Arkay and wept. His soul stained and heart broken, the young man begged Arkay for death; he didn't even have the courage to kill himself.
The priest, an ancient, wizened cleric of Arkay named Abner Celegg refused. Instead, he offered Marcus a sword and commanded he cleanse the local catacombs of undead. Seeking his own death and wishing to atone for the death he had caused, the young man readily accepted the task. And the next, and the next. After each mission, returning to the temple of Arkay to beg Abner for death. As the years passed and the rawness of his sin faded, he ceased asking the old man to kill him. Instead, asking for the next assignment.
Those assignments eventually led to the Order, and Knighthood in Cyrodiil. In Cyrodiil, he married and for a time he was happy.
That peaceful existence shattered with the daedric invasion. Wholly dedicated to the Order and the god Arkay, Marcus fought tooth and nail as a seasoned veteran soldier to hold the Imperial city against the daedric forces. He failed. A small group of priests and accompanying knights, Marcus included, managed to battle their way out of the city and into the rolling hills of Cyrodiil. They made their way into the fledgling Aldmeri Dominion, seeking sanctuary. Though distrustful of men, the Dominion seemed happy enough to accept news and updates from Cyrodilic refugees. They allowed the priests and their escorts into Dominion territory, where they settled.
Marcus now patrols Dominion lands, assisting the Fighter's Guild in disrupting Anchors, banishing daedra back to Oblivion and exterminating the ubiquitous undead.
image no longer hosted — http://i717.photobucket.com/albums/ww177/Towim/marcus_zps5c1385a7.png[/img]Marcus stood easily on the wooden deck of the merchant vessel, one hand lightly on the rail and the salty sea-spray in his face. The wind carried them South toward warmer climate and wilder ocean and the paladin's heart rejoiced.
"One might think you already in Heaven, the way you stare at the water like that." The voice over his shoulder came from a hunched old priest, his yellow robes stained at the sleeves with old blotches of ink. He tottered across the deck and lurched to a stop at the rail, his spotted hands clutching at the wood like talons. The silver pendant of his faith hung over the yellow of his robes and glinted in the sunlight; the very same that adorned Marcus' own cloak.
The paladin smiled, easily rolling with the deck and requiring little handhold while his companion gripped tight to the rail. "If heaven is a smooth sea and a steady wind, I should like to stay in heaven a while longer," he answered, his brown eyes showing the humor in his smile.
Name: Marcus Michael Denton
Gender: Male
Age: Too damned old.
Appearance:
Upon casual inspection, Marcus is a short and stocky Imperial soldier; barrel chested with a good, solid center. His skin where it can be seen is weathered and showing the signs of age. Especially around the eyes, which like his hair, are brown. He does have a beard, but keeps it trimmed close to his face. His nose is crooked and hooks sharply downward, possibly from being broken. A thin scar, one of many, slices down through his left eyebrow and down across his cheek. He has a tendency to squint, which pulls down at the corners of his mouth and gives the old soldier a stern, no-nonsense expression.
His attire is usually armor; heavy plate and chainmail. Though the armor may be dated and a little rough around the edges, it is always clean and repaired. He carries an exceptionally well crafted one-handed sword and a shield. Marcus wears a small badge affixed to his cuirass; a heraldic symbol depicting a red flame on a circular yellow field. His horse is a particularly large palomino mare he calls "Dawnchaser".
Rumors:
Those familiar with the Imperial Empire's heraldry might recognize his badge as belonging to one of the Knights of the Circle, which is a military arm of the Order of Arkay.
He seems to enjoy the sea.
He carries with him a necklace; a silver rose on a delicate chain.
He wears a band on the ring finger of his left hand.
Marcus isn't much of a drinker.
He's lawful. Too lawful.
Harming or disrespecting a woman is one of the few things that will make the man lose his temper.
Backstory:
Marcus Michael Denton is a man well past the age when most would consider a man in his prime, yet he refuses to quit. Born in a seaside village, the son of a fisherman, he loved the sea. He learned to fish, to sail, and to respect the ocean. As a young man, he decided that he wanted more out of life than fishing, and signed on as a deckhand for a merchant vessel. It was hard work but he learned quickly and loved everything about his life. The ships, the sea, the port towns with the pretty girls...
It was in one of the little port towns where Marcus's life changed. The crew had shore leave, and spent a large portion of their coin getting roaring drunk. The booze was cheap and the girl who worked the bar looked better with every swallow. Rumors circled about her; she could be bought, half the crew had already had her, she liked playing hard to get. Young, drunk and stupid, Marcus believed them. He followed her when she left the bar, cornered her on her way home, and left her with a little coin for her trouble before staggering back to the ship.
He didn't find out until the next day, after they had set sail, that his crew mates had lied to him. They had spent the night at the bar spinning yarns fueled by too much liquor, trying to tempt the greenhorn into doing something stupid. Well, he had. Marcus vomited over the rail, sick with himself. All he could do was watch helplessly as the tiny port town vanished in the distance. He was a monster. He didn't speak for more than a week and cashed out at the next port, leaving both ship and crew behind. He wanted nothing more to do with them. Buying a cheap hack, he began the long trek overland to get back to their last stop and make things right.
For Marcus, however, nothing could be made right. Upon reaching the village, he made inquiries about the girl and discovered that she had been pregnant. His shock and elation spiraled into despair when he was then told she had had the child removed. The child, his child...gone. Stumbling out of the village, he came upon a shrine to Arkay and wept. His soul stained and heart broken, the young man begged Arkay for death; he didn't even have the courage to kill himself.
The priest, an ancient, wizened cleric of Arkay named Abner Celegg refused. Instead, he offered Marcus a sword and commanded he cleanse the local catacombs of undead. Seeking his own death and wishing to atone for the death he had caused, the young man readily accepted the task. And the next, and the next. After each mission, returning to the temple of Arkay to beg Abner for death. As the years passed and the rawness of his sin faded, he ceased asking the old man to kill him. Instead, asking for the next assignment.
Those assignments eventually led to the Order, and Knighthood in Cyrodiil. In Cyrodiil, he married and for a time he was happy.
That peaceful existence shattered with the daedric invasion. Wholly dedicated to the Order and the god Arkay, Marcus fought tooth and nail as a seasoned veteran soldier to hold the Imperial city against the daedric forces. He failed. A small group of priests and accompanying knights, Marcus included, managed to battle their way out of the city and into the rolling hills of Cyrodiil. They made their way into the fledgling Aldmeri Dominion, seeking sanctuary. Though distrustful of men, the Dominion seemed happy enough to accept news and updates from Cyrodilic refugees. They allowed the priests and their escorts into Dominion territory, where they settled.
Marcus now patrols Dominion lands, assisting the Fighter's Guild in disrupting Anchors, banishing daedra back to Oblivion and exterminating the ubiquitous undead.
Edited Jun 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM by 0