"There once was a maiden so fair and full of bliss, and that maiden is the girl reading this."
Aliases/Nicknames. Mick, Mickey, Demlar Ovingian (pseudonym in Thalmor territory)
Race/Ethnicity. Cyrodiilian Nord
Class Man-at-arms disguised as bard
Alignment. Chaotic Good
"A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he's kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and right but has little use for laws and regulations. He hates it when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. He follows his own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society."
Birthsign. The Shadow
Skin Tone. Fair, slightly tanned
Weight. 76 kg
Build. Astoundingly muscular, toned
Eyes. Blue, small and hooded
Hair. Auburn hair, short, undercut and slicked back with a small ponytail
Voice. Rumbling baritone, accented
Apparel. An enchanted crown inlaid with emeralds. A traditional tartan kilt, green and blue checkered with gold, over comfortably padded gambeson armor. Stashes his belongings in a large fur backpack or Lydia. A greatsword is strapped to his back and an ancient mask of power clings comfortably against his left asscheek.
In-game Equipment. Circlet of Brutality, Thu’um Fandon (Flawless Nordic Greatsword of the Voice), Exquisite Gordon Kilt (Cloth), Fur Backpack, Bard’s Lute, Superior Silvered Crossbow
Tattoos, Piercings, Marks, Scars, etc.. N/A
Religion. Rarely pays tribute to any one Divine, puts his faith on Lady Luck
Education. From a noble upbringing, he has been educated well by well-paid scholars and experts. Exhibits savant-like knowledge on music.
Occupation. Instructor at the Bards’ College, wandering mercenary
Favorite Food / Drink. Filet mignon au poivre (buttered mashed potatoes a close second) / Honningbrew mead
Hobbies/Interests. Playing the lute, playing the flute, dungeon-delving apparently
Likes. Ladies with nice heavy breasts, well-made food, personal hygiene
Dislikes. Nordic catacombs and the filthy draugr in them, people telling him he can’t do things, cold breeze running through his hair
Abilities/Combat Prowess. Mikke is a champion fighter, and he means this literally. An experienced swordsman, he is just as at home holding a greatsword as he is holding a lute. If anything, the motor dexterity helps him cut off heads and blow ladies’ heads off even more. He is also far faster and more agile than might be expected of a man his size.
Magic. He has never had in-depth magical training, but simple healing spells and enchantments to mire the mind are still within his capabilities.
Family. Mikke belongs to the great clan Black-Heart, a valorous Nord family and a respected noble house in his home of Cyrodiil. This family claims the lineage of Ysgramor, but frankly, every Nord family does. He is the fifth and youngest son of the matriarch of the clan, Airi Black-Heart. He has three older brothers: Minke, Vigge, and Janne, and an older sister: Karine. He is the nephew of Robina Black-Heart, who has forsaken the clan name to go out adventuring. In his admiration of her, Mikke does the same.
Relationships. Many bridges have been built and burnt by the hands of Mikke Black-Heart. In Skyrim, his companions include Lydia, a valiant Nord housecarl, and Cerwiden, a charming Altmer healer and fellow bard.
Personality. Brave and bold sum up Mikke Black-Heart quite well. This snappy man is confident in his own abilities, and there’s scarce many things that can cause him to back down. A dragon last came close to doing that. He has an air of comfort about him; after spending so long in the midst of crowds as a bard, Mikke possesses a clear understanding of psychology and how to make people comfortable. At the very least, he knows how to make people tolerate his presence.
Mikke’s confidence in himself can slip towards overconfidence even in the best of times. The air of arrogance about him can sometimes dispel that air of comfort I was talking about altogether. He has a rather wicked sense of humor, preferring to poke holes at not only others but also himself. Mikke most often makes people wonder if that wide grin of his was an act or not. Everything about him points towards him being haunted, and yet he isn’t. How much is Mikke Black-Heart keeping in his black heart?
It was a lunar eclipse the night Mikke Black-Heart was born. All the Black-Heart elders thought it meant this boy was cursed, but new leadership under his mother perished the thought of such superstition. As the youngest son, the family tended to ignore him at every turn. After all, why mind the son who was the least likely to be patriarch? Best to spend energy caring for the true heirs, Minke and Karine. Youngbloods craving attention are dangerous people, they care not about their own safety. Only attention. This was proven when Mikke was 14, he delved into the Bruma woods to find and kill an ogre, with only the help of his wits and a rusty greatsword. It sure got his clan’s attention.
He also received several broken ribs and a permanent dimming of eyesight from multiple concussive strikes.
Needless to say, Mikke got what he asked for, though not in the way he expected. It was his aunt, Robina, that gave him the attention he was killing himself for. An adventurer who herself was a neglected heiress in childhood, she knew what he was going through and offered to take him up as an apprentice. Well, how could he say no?
From that day forth, Mikke delved into every cave and ruined fort Robina delved into, a dutiful and enthusiastic foil to the often demotivated and bored senior adventurer. Even to her, he was willing and ready to prove himself. This desire led him to a selfish realization that maybe, just maybe, his aunt was using her. As a young firebrand, Mikke didn’t want to play second fiddle, he wanted the stage to be his and his alone! He left her Aunt Robina without warning, a decision he would come to regret as that night would be the last he saw of her.
Now alone, Mikke wandered the land, even past the borders of Cyrodiil. Everywhere he went, he made it feel like home, because that was truly the rub. In abandoning his clan, he abandoned the only comfortable home he had left. Spending his days playing at taverns, dismembering monsters for coin, and whoring all night, Mikke eventually fell in with a group of like-minded adventurers. Soon enough guild was established, the Hammerfell Harpers, with him at the helm. Despite the name, none of its members were Redguards, nor were they operating specifically in Hammerfell. They just thought the name looked cool.
With the Harpers, Mikke truly made a name for himself, Guildmaster of the most cost-efficient mercenary band this side of the Niben. His clan, watching the name Black-Heart be flown with such reckless abandon, could do nothing but say ‘it could be worse’.
And all this time, no word from Aunt Robina. If Mikke was being brutally honest, the entire point of him doing this was so that she could notice him and approve from afar. Now, he didn’t even have that. His worries were temporarily stifled, and then horrendously rekindled, when he received a letter seemingly from his aunt herself. It was an inheritance letter, bequeathing a sum of land and a veritable property in the tundra of Skyrim to Mikke.
That letter had ‘trouble’ written all over it. Worse still, when Mikke corresponded with his clan about this matter, they knew not of this property in Skyrim. It all seemed suspicious, but if it meant Aunt Robina was in dire straits, he had a duty to help her. She taught him everything he knew, he couldn’t let her die unknown in some cold piece of land on top of Tamriel.
Mikke Black-Heart boarded the first ship sailing for Skyrim. A Skyrim torn with war, disease, and dragons. A Skyrim that had no idea where Aunt Robina was. If this turned out to be nothing, his next sword swing would be for Aunt Robina.