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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.

0 · 3,770 views · located in The Skyfall Crypts

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
.
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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Bjorg sheathed the strange blade, and the phantasmal purple flames dissipated. He looked over at at Irma and nodded at her. "Apologies, and aye... 'Tis always random too, and never in the same locations. It's happened probably about... four times so far." he shrugged before sitting in an empty table. The wood creaked beneath his weight. His ebony helmet rested on the surface.

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"Please, sit!" the man smiled while gesturing to the seat in front of him. "This thing? I made it myself... Strong and sharp. It has slain more than just bandits... Draugr, trolls, giants, falmer, daedra, bandits, and a few dragons as well. You could call me a sellsword, among other things, but an honorable one. I am very well known where I come from. Oh, I forget my manners. What is your name, and may I buy you a drink?"

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"Bjorg. Thane Bjorg Folkvar, sellsword, arcane blacksmith, wielder of the Thu'um, and Nord of Skyrim!" he beamed, quite proud of his heritage. "I made the armor too... Enchanted ebony plate. The blade is crafted from dragon bones. Of course, I only kill dragons that are terrorizing my people. Across my travels, I have met a few good-hearted dragons. Paarthumax, for example. Very old and very wise."

He reached into his pack and withdrew a few gold coins. "Oye! Barkeep! An Earl-Grey tea for the miss here!" Bjorg called out to the counter before returning his attention to Irma. "It is good to meet you, Irma, and may I ask what you mean by your Kin?"

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"Aye, a Thane of several Holds to be exact... All for miscellaneous things, like maybe killing a lich, vampire lord, or flushing out a gang of thieves. The Thu'um is the ancient and powerful language of the Dov - dragons - of my world. Whenever they exhale fire, ice, thunder, or perform some other spell, they are speaking this language. You say that you are part dragon, well that is very interesting..." he slid the black gauntlets off of his hands. They were large, burly, and riddled with small scars and burns. "I am what is called a dovahkiin, or Dragonborn, in Skyrim. A Dragonborn is a mortal that is born with the soul of a dragon, and possesses the ability to speak the dragon tongue. Now, any one can learn the Thu'um, but it takes many years of study, meditation, and practice in order to properly utter a single Shout, but a Dragonborn is able to do it almost... effortlessly. Paarthumax is a dragon that dwells at the Roof of the World, the highest peak in Skyrim. It is there he meditates on the Thu'um, and teaches the Greybeards in its mastery."

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Bjorg chuckled. "Aye, I travel a lot, and I get bored easily. So I spend my time helping out the town folk. You could also consider me an adventurer of some sort. I have been down in crypts, caves, abandoned forts, and other ruins... Sometimes I find draugr, bandits, or rogue mages down in those places. They don't last long though." the Nord laughed again.

"I find you interesting, because where I come from you would be considered a Dovahkiin. A Dragonborn only occurs once in a great while. My predecessor was roughly two hundred years ago. Martin Septim I believe his name was... Last heir to the Septim Dynasty. He was assassinated during the Oblivion Crisis."

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"Well..." he cleared his throat. "It is said that the Dovahkiin emerges after a series of events that leads to the coming of Aldiun, the World-Eater. Legend says that he is the most powerful creation of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. Many eons ago, Aldiun was worshiped as a god, and the dragons that served beneath him ruled the mortals with an iron fist. However, the mortals rebelled and eventually banished the World-Eater far into the future. In the prophecy, it is said that Alduin will destroy the world on day, but the Last Dragonborn will defeat him. Oh, that reminds me! The Jarl mentioned a dragon that was attacking some farmers a few days ago. He said it was hiding up in the mountains. I better get to that." Bjorg rose from his seat, grabbed his gear, and started for the door. "It's been a pleasure speaking to you." he nodded.

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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... Not again!"

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"Well, might as well have a drink and play a song while I am here..." the man sighed before sheathing his blade. He reached up and removed his helmet, revealing the face of a Scandinavian man in his mid-twenties, complete with a thin layer of facial hair across his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Sky blue eyes scanned the room before he wandered over to a booth. The seat groaned beneath his weight.

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"Oye! Can someone bring this tired Nord eh mead?" he called out to whatever server was present as he removed his gauntlets. His hands were large, burly, and riddled with scars of various sizes and shapes. Bjorg set his very large pack on the table and began to rummage through it.

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It was then that the armored Nord pulled out his lute. He strummed it gently as the other man finished his song. A slow tune began to form.

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Bjorg, seeing that the other musician was done for the moment, began to strum his lute again. The tune was soft, solemn, and his hands played skilfully. As his tune took shape, he began to sing a song of legends and a future of hope.

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The door of the infamous bar opened with a noticeable creak. Beyond the doorway was the scene of a wide rocky plain dotted with shrubbery and gnarled trees. Tall snow-capped mountains outlined the horizon. A tall Scandinavian-descended man stepped through the door. He appeared to have came from a Renaissance Festival with his suit of plate armor that protected his torso and limbs without hindering his joints, wide circular metallic shield, and sheathed sword. Beneath the armor was furred animal-skin clothing. The man's arms were thick and well muscled. Golden brown hair lined his jawline as sky blue eyes scanned the tavern. He stepped further into the room, and a soft series of clunks echoed from his metallic boots hitting the wooden floor.

Behind him emerged a similar figure. She stood a bit shorter than him and wore similar plate armor. Strapped to her back was a large war hammer. Long raven black hair poked out from beneath her helmet. Dark brown eyes scanned the room cautiously as she followed the first figure.

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The pair made their way to an empty booth where the man pulled out several pieces of parchment from his pack and thumbed through them. Meanwhile the woman continued to observe the tavern.

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The door of the infamous bar opened with a noticeable creak. Beyond the doorway was the scene of a wide rocky plain dotted with shrubbery and gnarled trees. Tall snow-capped mountains outlined the horizon. A tall man of Scandinavian descent stepped through the door. He appeared to have came from a Renaissance Festival with his suit of plate armor that protected his torso and limbs without hindering his joints, wide circular metallic shield, and sheathed sword. Beneath the armor was furred animal-skin clothing. The man's arms were thick and well muscled. Golden brown hair lined his jawline as sky blue eyes scanned the tavern. He stepped further into the room, and a soft series of clunks echoed from his metallic boots hitting the wooden floor.

Behind him emerged a similar figure. She stood a bit shorter than him and wore similar plate armor. Strapped to her back was a large war hammer. Long raven black hair poked out from beneath her helmet. Dark brown eyes scanned the room cautiously as she followed the first figure.

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The pair made their way to an empty booth where the man pulled out several pieces of parchment from his pack and thumbed through them. Meanwhile the woman continued to observe the tavern. Bjorg casually looked up at the Khajiit and gave her a friendly nod before returning his attention to the parchment.

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As Bjorg continued to go through the parchments, the black haired woman leaned a little closer to him and began to whisper in his ear.

"My Thane..?" she said.

"Hmm?" Bjorg mumbled as he glanced up at the woman. "Yes, Lydia?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you from your work, but I just noticed that the Khajiit across the room was looking at you in a most curious manner."

Bjorg glanced up at Faerjss and gave her a friendly smile. He turned back to the woman and chuckled. "Relax Lydia. We're in public, and besides... Not all Khajiit are murderous thieves. How about you go get us a couple of ales?"

Lydia sighed. "Yes, my thane." she said before getting up and walking over to the counter. "Oi! Two ales at the back!"

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The dark haired woman returned to the booth with two tankards. She set one in front of Bjorg, who took a deep long swig. Again he skimmed over the parchments. "Lydia... Did you remember to talk to Calcelmo while we were in Markarth?" he said. In response, the woman pulled out a folded up paper and set it in front of him. "Yes, my Thane. With a little prodding, I managed to get a map of the locations of all of the dwarven ruins in Skyrim. He asked that we could also do some research while we were down there." Bjorg nodded. "Aye. We could bring back some trinkets for him. I'm sure there will be more than enough for us to smelt."

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"We should be careful down there, though." the woman said. "I've been hearing rumors of strange gangle creatures living down in the ruins. Oh, by the way! Farkas wanted to see you about a job when we return to Whiterun."

Bjorg nodded. "Aye. I've heard the talk among the guards. The dwarven ruins make good shelters for all manner of people and creatures that want to hide themselves from the world. For now though, we should take these rumors for what they are - rumors." he chuckled. "I'll make sure to stop by Jorrvaskr when we get back to Breezehome."

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"Lydia, would you mind getting us something to eat?" he said while pulling out a few gold coins from one of his pouches. "Venison will be fine."

"Yes, my Thane." the woman said. She then rose from her seat and walked over to the counter - just a couple of stools away from Sacha and Hollie. "Oi! I'll take two venisons!"

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Bjorg glanced up as Vierghan entered the room. "Hmph... Stinkin' elves..." he grumbled. The Nord didn't have much good to say about elves. They had virtually enslaved his country, outlawed his god, and were all around snobbish and concesious.

The nordic woman blinked at the strange creature that appeared out of the kitchen. "Umm... Yeah... I-I guess some potatoes would be good."