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Bjorg Folkvar

A Nord warrior and denizen of Skyrim. He is a mighty Dovahkiin that wanders the land in search of fame, fortune, and wisdom as he grows his skill.

1,126 views · located in Exalted Mountains

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by TheNoremac42

Description

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Bjorg Folkvar
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The Dragonborn
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Personal Information
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Full Name
Bjorg Folkvar

Description
Bjorg is an adventurer, swordsman, master arcane blacksmith, and sellsword. He is also Dovahkiin, a man born with the soul of a dragon, and a user of the Thu'um.

Age:
26

Gender:
Male

Race/Main:
Human

Race/Sub:
Nord

Honorifics|Titles|Nicknames
The Dragonborn
Harbinger
Ysmir, Dragon of the North

Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual

Birthplace:
Helgen, Skyrim, Tamriel
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Date of Birth:
3rd of Last Seed, 4E 175

Marking|Tattoos|Piercings:
Claw scars on the side of his face.

Height:
6' 1"

Weight
250 lbs. (without armor)

Physical Condition:
Fit, athletic, burly.

Current Residence
Whiterun, Skyrim, Tamriel

Former Residence
Helgen, Skyrim, Tambriel

Family/Relatives:
None

Friends/Comrades:
Various people in Skyrim
Violet

Enemies
Various people in Skyrim

Rivals
Various people in Skyrim

Organizations/Tribes/Clans:
The Companions
The Stormcloaks
The Greybeards
The Blades

Former Affiliations:

Disabilities:

Personality:
Bjorg is generally kind and friendly at heart. He always tries to do what is right, and is also willing to help those in need. However, in combat, he is ruthless and without mercy.

Likes:
Good ale and mead, blacksmithing, and honorable combat

Dislikes:
Dishonorable people, thieves, and assassins

Psychological Condition:
Stable

Alignment:
Lawful Good with Neutral tendencies.



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Equipment
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:Attire:
Cloth and wool clothing

:Protection:

Dragonbone Ebonsteel Armor

:Weapon(s):

The Oblivion Blade

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Ebony Bow

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Fiery Soul Trap: When struck by an arrow, the wound bursts into flames, causing fire damage. In addition, if the target is killed within seconds of being struck with an arrow, their soul is harvested and placed in an empty soul gem.

Wuuthrad

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Elf Bane When battling against elves, Wuuthrad becomes more powerful and deadly.

:Accessories/Misc:

Amulet of Talos

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Ring of Stamina

Silver Amethyst Ring

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|Abilities|Traits|Racial|
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Thu'um

Animal Allegiance
"A Shout for help from the beasts of the wild, who come to fight in your defense."

Aura Whisper
"Your Voice is not a Shout, but a whisper, revealing the life forces of any and all."

Become Ethereal
"The Thu'um reaches out to the Void, changing your form to one that cannot harm, or be harmed."

Clear Skies
"The world itself yields before the Thu'um, as you clear away fog and inclement weather."

Disarm
"Shout defies steel, as you rip the weapon from an opponent's grasp."

Elemental Fury
"The Thu'um imbues your arms with the speed of wind, allowing for faster weapon strikes."

Fire Breath
"Inhale air, exhale flame, and behold the Thu'um as inferno."

Frost Breath
"Your breath is winter, your Thu'um a blizzard."

Ice Form
"Your Thu'um freezes an opponent solid."

Kyne's Peace
"The Voice soothes wild beasts, who lose their desire to fight or flee."

Marked for Death
"Speak, and let your Voice herald doom, as an opponent's armor and lifeforce are weakened."

Slow Time
"Shout at time, and command it to obey, as the world around you stands still."

Storm Call
"A Shout to the skies, a cry to the clouds, that awakens the destructive force of the world's lightning."

Summon Dilonbienaus
"Dilonbienaus! I summon you from the Realm of Death! Come forth in my time of need!"

Throw Voice
"The Thu'um is heard, but its source unknown, fooling those into seeking it out."

Unrelenting Force
"Your Voice is raw power, pushing aside anything - or anyone - who stands in your path."

Whirlwind Sprint
"The Thu'um rushes forward, carrying you in its wake with the speed of a tempest."

Blasmithing

He can craft a large variety of armor and weapons, including iron, steel, dwarven, orcish, and ebony. There is rumor that he also knows the secrets to forging daedric and dragon arms. Bjorg is a master blacksmith, and his work is very sought after.

Enchanting
Bjorg is an artisan enchanter, enabling him to endow many kinds of enchantments on weapons, armor, and trinkets.



©2011 Wolven[OC] (BBC Coding/Design) - Roleplay Gateway. All Rights Reserved

So begins...

Bjorg Folkvar's Story

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Suddenly, the guttural roar of a man's battle cry could be heard outside the bar. It mixed with the sharp clang and clunk of steel against steel, followed by blood-curdled cries of agony that were sharply muted.

"Fall back! We've been routed! I yield! I yei-" cried out several voices voices before a thunderous shock wave hit the bar door, causing it to quake and dust to flee from it. Finally, the door was thrust open, and a man clad in armor black as night charged into the room. A matching shield was raised and held forward, revealing only two sky blue eyes that peeked out from under the shadow of a black metallic helmet. The man grasped a long sword in his other gauntlet that appeared to be crafted from the bone of some large animal. Across the blade was a phantasmal purple aura. Like an enraged banshee, he screamed at the top of his lungs in a fierce battle cry.

Then, just as suddenly as he broke the silence, his screaming stopped. He slid to a halt, lowered his shield and sword, and looked around the bar.

"What the..." he said in a deep, intelligent, yet confused tone. "... Bloody... What in Oblivion?!"

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"What is this... A tavern!?" he replied while still darting his gaze about the room. "What is a bloody tavern doing out in the middle of no where? Did I just step into a damn Daedra realm?!" he continued to looked around the room in a confused state.

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"Alright... lemme get this straight, lad." he sighed before sheathing his blade. The man reached up and removed his helmet, revealing the face of a man in his mid-twenties. Brownish blonde hair fell to his shoulders, complete with a thin layer of facial hair across his chicks, chin, and upper lip. Sky blue eyes narrowed on Zekil. "I am in a tavern... but not in a Daedra realm... What hold are we in?" he asked before pulling a map out of the pack that was swung over his shoulder next to a quiver and bow.

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"Alright Zekil..." he said while still looking over his map. "Just a moment ago I was in The Reach, clearin' out some bandits and Forsworn for Jarl Igmund... I chased them into the abandon fort in the mountains, but when I went in... I came in here!" he looked up at him. "Did yah happen to see a bunch of savages in loin clothes that wore goat heads run through here?"

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"Bloody..." he winced as he ran his guantleted fingers through his hair. "Lydia's gonna throw a fit when I get back!" he suddenly looked at Zekil with wide eyes. "I can get back right?!"

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The man shook his head. "Never had any interest in magic..." he lumbered wearily over to a table. His black metal boots hit the floor bots with a thud. "Do yah have any ale... or mead?"

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"Thank yeh." he nodded at Zekil. "I'll figure it out... but might as well have a drink while I'm here, eh?" he chuckled before turning to the woman. "Good old fashion human right here! Nord to be exact!" he lifted his flagon and took a gulp of the drink.

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"As far as I can tell lass... It's a tavern." he gestured with his flagon. "I just got here myself through some peculiar circumstances, but before I try to figure out how to get back... I figured 'hey, why not have a drink while I'm here?' Hahaha!" he took another gulp of his mead. "So Zekil, do yah ever get any bards in here?"

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The man clad in the black armor glanced at the woman who asked for wine. "Grr... Imperials..." he grumbled under his breath before he stood from his seat. He set his flagon on the table before pulling out a wooden lute from his pack.

"How 'bout an old tavern tune? This is a favorite of mine..." he stood in the center of the room before pulling off the gauntlets from his hands. The man strummed the instrument lightly.

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The man began to strum an upbeat tune on his lute and sang in majestic and deep voice.

"Oooohhhh there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,
who came riding to Whiterun from ole Roriksteeeaadd!
And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
as he told of bold battles and gold he had maaaaade!
But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,
when he met the shiel-dmaiden Matilda who saaaaid...
Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our meeeead!
Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleeeed!
And so then came the clashing and slashing of steeeel,
as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeeeeal!
And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree...
when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

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Bjor glared angrily at Livia before putting down his lute and lifting his fists in a boxing fashion. "Where I come from, those are fightin' words, lasseh!" he growled. "Now how 'bout we settle this the old fashion way... No weapons or magic... Just ole fashion fists!"

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Bjor clenched his large burly fists, cracking his knuckles, and went into a crouch. Impressive considering the full suit of plate armor he was wearing. He kept his fists at shoulder height. His breaths came out slow, steady, and deep.

"Well. What are you waiting for?" he let out a hearty laugh. The Nord was clearly amused.

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"Aye..." he began to circle the woman, allowing her the courtesy of throwing the first strike. His dark plate boots skid across the ground slightly. Even in heavy armor, this Nord was light on his feet. "Don't worry, I've been in my share of bar brawls!" he chuckled at Zekil.

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Bjorg frowned in distaste as the woman injected herself. It was likely a potion of some sort. Interest... He had never soon a potion brought directly into the body - only ingested. When the woman threw the kick, he brought his adjacent forearm up at an angle to meet the blow. It would likely deflect upwards, causing the woman to become unbalanced. He noted the limb's speed. However, like the kick, Bjorg was no ordinary man... For he was Dovahkiin... Dragonborn!

Upon deflecting the blow, he would skid his leg in a strafe towards the woman - closing the distance between them - and attempted to deliver a nasty left hook to the jaw.

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Bjorg winced as his fist was caught and he flew over the woman's leg. He could have slapped himself for falling for such an overused trick. However, as the ground filled his vision, a soldier's instinct took over. He tucked his chin into his neck, and brought his free arm in front of his face - bending it at the elbow. Consequently, his hand attempted to roll and twisted out of her grip. If successful, the Nord would land in a roll, into a crouch, and pivot on his heel to face his opponent.

"That all you got?" he smiled and chuckled teasingly.

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Bjorg grunted in discomfort as the woman nearly completed the arm bar. When she tossed him, the Nord rolled into his shoulder and into a crouch. He kept his center of gravity low to the ground to avoid being thrown again.

"How about you get rid of that... what ever that thing is." he eyed the strange alien contraption. It reminded him of a dragon, except metal and small. "and we can get back to our fight. Or perhaps a truce and we can get back to our business?" he gave a smile - charming for such a burly man. He found the woman attractive - for an Imperial.

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Bjorg nodded at the woman. "Interesting... I prefer a bow myself." he chuckled before cracking his knuckles and heading over to his table. The Nord picked up his lute again and strummed it once. "How about something a little more mellow?" he smiled.

The then began to play a slow, gentle, and calming tune.

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When he finished the song, Bjorg cleared his throat. "Here is a song telling a piece of my people's history... Ages ago, when dragons ruled man with an iron fist... When Aldiun the World-Eater soared the skies... and the great Thu'um was bestowed upon my people!"

With that, he took a long slow breath, and gently strummed the lute and sang another soft tune.

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"You like it?" he gestured to the armor. "I crafted it myself... Enchanted ebony plate. My name is Bjorg Folkvar, Nord of glorious Skyrim!" he beamed, clearly proud of his heritage. "I have honestly never heard of this 'Taiyou' that you speak of... Your dress is similar to that of the Imperials, the puppets of the Thalmar, but your weapons are like nothing I have ever seen in Tamriel."

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Bjorg blinked at the woman. Simple familiar words to her, such as "starship", "robots", and "bombs" were alien and meaningless to him. One word he understood was "elves", and he grimaced at it.

"Damn elves..." he growled. "No, the Thalmar are tall, yellow, aristocratic, and magically fluent beings that believe that all other races are below themselves. Tamriel - our Empire - fought them during the Great War, but we lost. The Emperor surrendered and bowed to the elven scum! Part of the treaty was the outlawing of the worship of Talos, which was an affront to my people and our way of life. We Nords, who founded the Empire, seceded and rebelled from the Thalmar puppets."

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Bjorg shook his head slowly. "No, it is the blood of our ancestors that has stained Skyrim for generations. We will defend our own land and traditions. With Ulfric's leadership, and the blessing of Talos..." he looked at the amulet that was draped over his neck. "We will drive out the Imperials and their elven masters... Even if I have to slaughter each and every one of them myself!" he nodded. "Many have already fallen by my blade..." The Nord said as he casually unsheathed his sword. A phantasmal purple fire burned across the blade, which appeared to be crafted from the bone of a large animal. Bjorg held it loosely in his grip as he inspected the blade.

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Bjorg smiled down at the woman. "Tempting offer, as I am always up for an adventure, but I really should be getting back. Lydia is going to throw a fit if I am not back by Turdas! Though... I suppose I could stay for another mead." he looked toward the counter at the strange metallic tenders. "I didn't even bother to ask if they took septims as payment..." he frowned in uncertainty.

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"How about this..." he gave a charming grin for a burly Nordic warrior and looked down at the woman with his sky blue eyes. "I fancy myself a fine blacksmith... Perhaps I can make you a shiny ring or necklace, and you can join me for dinner sometime, and then you could bring me for a visit? Unfortunately, I do not have the time to join you today, but perhaps if our paths cross again!" he gave a two-fingered salute.

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Bjorg nodded at the woman before lumbering over to the bar. His ebony plate boots hit the floor boards with a series of clunks. The Nord sat at a stool and ordered another mead. As he drank, he thought about the woman. She was very attractive for an Imperial. Hopefully they would meet again...

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Bjorg finishes his mead and drops a few gold septims on the counter before rising from his stool. He lumbers over towards the door and exits into a scene of mountains and snow.