<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/05/Sultry.jpeg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Ilya Evermore<br/><br/><strong>Race:</strong>Argonian<br/><br/><strong>Age:</strong><br/><em>Physically:</em>Mid-thirties "You would be surprised what sort of concotions the wee little elves turned up once they passed a few hundred years..."<br/><em>Chronologically:</em>78 "It sounds so old when you say it like that. Try to pronounce it like<em>twentyfive</em>instead..."<br/><br/><strong>Physical Details/Short history:</strong>Ilya has always been an eccentric Argonian with his head a fair bit above the clouds. Which was a tad bit ironic, seeing as he loved to explore caves as a child. And not any caves either. Specifically the caves surrounding the great Dwemer ruin that lay outside his home town. He brought home scrap metal to sell to the town smith and sometimes even found a gyro or other mechanical piece that he could fetch a good pouch of gold for when travelling mages visited town. His father, the village drunk, beat him senseless anytime he was caught sneaking off to the ruins, but his mother very much encouraged his antics, as long as he didn't dwelved deeper into the murky halls.<br/><br/>As his father died when he still was a child, falling on a knife the foolish old sod,  he was further encouraged by his mother to travel to the Bard's College in Solitude, far from his home in the cold lands of Skyrim. He made the trek on foot and it took several years, mostly since he stopped by any Dwemer ruin he could find on the way. Once there he showed a natural talent for all things a bard should be, something he attributed to his mother's nursery rhymes. It only took a few years before he graduated, having mastered the way of the swashbuckling bard. In the true nature of a boisterous vagabond he fought only with his fists and wits which won him more friends among the suspicious and brawny Nords of Skyrim.<br/><br/>Feeling the pull of the subterranean once more he made a small fortune guiding adventurers and scholars through the dangerous ruins of the Dwemer. He learned many a thing from the people he guided over the years, but one particular incident brought him secrets that he thought unimaginable. It happened when he was hired by a mage to take him deep into a particular ruin, deeper indeed than he had ever gone before. They had to sneak their way past great automatons, dangerous traps and the ever vigilant blinded Falmers and their disgusting chaurus pets. During their way down the mage told him of the mechanical wonders and defying arrogance of the ancient Dwemers, who had apparently built great machines to house and decipher the legendary Elder Scrolls of the Aedra. Once in the inner sanctum of the ruin he revelad a cube he called a Lexicon and placed it in the controls of a large sphere called the Oculary. Once unlocked, thanks to Ilya's skills with tunes and whistles, the strange scroll was revealed. The mage knew not of its effects however and perished as he tried to read it. Such was the immense power of the scroll that Ilya was knocked unconcious, even though he didn't even lay eyes on it.<br/><br/>When he woke up, jarred by the incident, he realized that he looked upon the ancient machines, texts and contraptions of the Dwemer with wholly new eyes. Even the Falmer and their sad history seemed suddenly unravelled before him. Had the Elder Scroll granted him some fraction of its knowledge? It sounded like a fairy tale to him, but as soon as he returned to the surface he felt compelled to tinker and build with the scraps he had instinctively brought back. He marvelled at his own genius as he read the ancient books he had plundered and smithed fine parts of bronze like no smith had ever done before. After many more expeditions into the depths of the ancient civilization he had built himself a silent companion, a chest walking on spidery legs  that could carry great burdens. He called it Luggage, which seemed like as good a name as any and started to bring it with him on his journeys into the ruins. He began selling the music boxes he built to the courts around Tamriel, he built a machine that could can food (sadly the food was ruined by the crude bronze sheets) and even reproduced a Centurion in his workshop that unfortunately tore that same workshop down and rampaged through town (which is consequently why he is banished from Markarth for all eternity). He now travels the lands with his trusty Luggage, selling his contraptions and services to the highest bidder. That the new civil war brewing in the land might land him a few fortunes if he could refine his machines into something that he could control is of course something on his mind. But for now, to each his own...<br/><br/><strong>Core Combat Skills*:</strong>Please list 3 - 4<br/><ul class="bbc_list"><li type="disc">Unarmed</li><li type="disc">Light Armor</li><li type="disc">Block</li></ul><br/><strong>Core Supplementary Skills:</strong>Please list 3 - 4<br/><ul class="bbc_list"><li type="disc">Speech</li><li type="disc">Smithing</li><li type="disc">Alchemy</li><li type="disc">Enchantment</li></ul><br/><strong>Secondary Skills:</strong>Please list 3 - 4<br/><ul class="bbc_list"><li type="disc">Sneak</li><li type="disc">Lockpicking</li><li type="disc">Pickpocket</li></ul><br/><strong>Starting Equipment:</strong><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/1/10/021_1359744182.jpg)</div><ul class="bbc_list"><li type="disc">1 exceptionally old but well kept lute</li><li type="disc">1 set of white elven light armor of unknown origin (Falmer)</li><li type="disc">1 set of fine tools for mechanical smithing</li><li type="disc">1 light alchemy set</li><li type="disc">2 grand soul gems in desperate need of filling</li><li type="disc">2 rings made out of small dwemer cogs</li><li type="disc">2 Potions of Healing</li><li type="disc">3 Potions of Cure Desease</li><li type="disc">1 well read folio of The Lusty Argonian Maid</li><li type="disc">1 waterskin filled with Alto Wine</li><li type="disc">1 set of travellers clothes, including hooded cloak and fur coat</li><li type="disc">300 lbs of dwemer scrap metal of differing size</li><li type="disc">1 Dwemer Luggage</li></ul><br/><br/><strong>Faction Affiliations:</strong>"To each his own my mother said when she slid her dagger in father's throat. Who am I to argue the wisdom in that?"