Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-26446054-20151011004211/@comment-5614539-20151017144334

Name: Marc Sauveterre

Gender: Male

Race: Breton/Nord

Age: Unknown, but old

Allegiance (Traditional, Gunpowder, Neutral): Traditionalist, but not stupid enough not to use a gun

Class:

Appearance: as in equipment

Equipment: the sword over his back is magnetised and kept in there via magnets. It's a hand-and-a-half sword. jacket is lightly and unobtrusively plated. Also, a set of throwing knives strapped to the outside of his calf, a short dagger in his left boot, and two inside his jacket.

Powers: Biological Immortality (explained in bio), Pinpoint (occasionally, in moments of great stress, concentration, or emotion, Marc will make ranged attacks with unerring accuracy.), Burning Light (Sun Damage sears both the living and the undead equally, affecting them in equal magnitude)

Skills(1 Master 2 Expert 3 Adept): Blade; Marksmanship, Restoration; Acrobatics, Athletics, Light Armour

Spells(7 max): Sun Fire, Stendarr's Aura, Vampire's Bane, Circle of Protection

Other: n/a

Bio: When Marc was born, an old woman gave a prophecy that Marc would die from a crippling disease at a young age, along with… other things. Being the superstitious people of Skyrim as they were, the parents, frantic, travelled all the way to the Isles of Arateum in order for the Psijic Monks there to weave a spell around him that would prevent him from ever catching diseases. This had the dual-effect of granting him ever-lasting youth. However, as payment, the father was also granted immortality, and forced into slavitude for the Psijjics forever. (serving tea and biscuits for old people eternally. *shudders*) As an effect of this, and being a pretty but uneducated person, the mother and son returned to Riften, where she was forced to become a prostitute in order for she and Marc to stay alive. Marc took after his father, scaling houses all across the city barefoot and cheerful, even when his mother yelled at him, even when he fell off, which was rarely. He also loved playing stick-fights with the other children in the town, but as they all got older and the other children realised what Marc's family life was, they started to shun him. He retreated into himself somewhat, and honed his skills with the stick and the wall alone. This was... barely a life, until one night, many years later, the mother, by this point a middle-aged woman, refused to take a job from a massive, bear-like bandit and his group of buddies. Angered, her patron, the proprietor of the inn which she lived, ordered her to do the job, then brought out her son and made him watch as his mother was brutally gang-raped and then executed by the bandits, her throat running red with crimson blood. The boy sat there, shocked in horror, but eventually fled to the room that was his and had been his mother's, locked the door, packed up his meagre belongings, and fled out the window and across the rooftops, barefoot, terrified, and grieving. He ran for what felt like days, but had really only been one, before he collapsed under a log. When he finally came to, he was in a warm house, heated by a crackling fire, lying on a bed, with two kindly old people at the table next to him. When they noticed him being awake, the old man called out, "Radlof? He's awake."

Who stepped in the door next but the man who killed his mother, smiling patronisingly. He started to say, "Hello, boy. I see you've got over your mot-" but at mention of Marc's mother, Marc lost it, and with terrifying, unnerving accuracy, picked up the eating knife off the old people' st able and threw it at the bandit. It twanged through his throat, and the man gurgled away as he died. Marc rose out of bed and the two old people cowered. He stepped back outside, skirted around the group of bandits, and departed with his pack back across his shoulders.