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Profile: Davius Sebastian, Red Right Hand of The Rift

  • August 4, 2018








    Have you clicked and read the introduction yet? No? I'll wait...

    Seriously, this profile will read better if you do. Go ahead, the blog's not long. And reading it keeps me from explaining the same thing twice - for the profile and the short story. It's all about the inspiration for the character, and my sort of weird love for a super-violent TV show. And there are links to two songs, one of which I took a few liberties with, Skyrim-izing it a bit for the character. 

    You must have read the intro by now, right? Great! So, with no further ado...







    Stableboy, soldier, scout. Thief, gangster, murderer. Hero. Savior.

    Bad, bad man.

     I’m Davius Sebastian. Pleased to make your acquaintance. What’s that? Heard of me, have you? What name will you call me, then, once you’ve heard the whole story?

     Be wary, all of you, of thinking too ill of me. Or too well. The skin of the best man often hides the soul of the worst. And you can’t know which is which until you get close…

     But by then, of course, it’s far too late.


    Age: early 30s

    Appearance: dark brown hair. Eyes like a winter stream – clear blue and icy cold. 6’2,” with a wiry, lanky frame. Strong and lean, not bulky. A rough and scarred face befitting a former soldier and scout.

    Race and Early Life: Imperial. His grandfather on his father’s side was a Nord from Riften, and his father met his mother running scams with a caravan in northern Cyrodiil. The Khajiit were honest, but Livia was not, and if Torsten hadn’t come along when he did, Livia might not have lived to see the next sunrise. Torsten brought Livia back to Riften, where her natural gifts flourished.

    But their son wanted nothing of the Thieves Guild, nothing of Riften. He loved the outdoors, loved horses, and dreamed of moving to Whiterun and raising horses of his own. Training them to be the pride of Skyrim.

    Good enough for the jarl, the emperor, even,” Davius would boast, earning eye-rolls and sometimes even cuffs about the head from his grandfather.

    Honest money? You want to work yourself to the bone for a pittance like a servant? Or some…bloody mark? You’re smarter than that, my boy.”

    Davius knew his parents would let him go, though, when the time came. And he knew his girl, the stablehand’s daughter, would go with him. And together, they’d make their dreams come true.

    Stone: Warrior, first. After he accepts his dominion over the shadowy places of the world, he makes a pilgrimage to the Shadow Stone, and comes home.

    Class: Warrior. Then Thief. Then Assassin. Note: Davius isn’t Dragonborn.

    Weapons: Davius fought battles with a sword and shield. He wasn’t one for sneaking or archery, and preferred a good shield bash to a spell in his left hand. After he left the Legion, he found daggers and a fast bow more to his taste.

    Apparel: The heavy armor of a Legionnaire fit Davius well. After his service, he kept it with him as he toured the country, hoping to see Holds come to life in the years after the war, yearning to know that his sacrifice meant something. But ordinary people were poorer and more oppressed than ever, and jarls did nothing but line their own purses. He threw his armor in the White River, south of Valtheim Towers, along with his medals and prizes. Valor had nothing to do with any of it, he realized, and resigned himself to wearing Guild leathers, after all.


    The night is mine, a dark cloak of cover.

    Winter rushes downriver in soft spirals of snow.

    And I am alone.

    As I was in the tunnels, the prisons, and at my enemy’s back.

    Alone, with the scratch of claws on stone.

    Alone, with the flicker of a tell-tale torch.

    Alone with my blade, ripping flesh from bone.


    These twin towers stand with their arms to the sky.

    I follow, stars grazing my fingertips,

    And I am free.

    Free to sleep with lamps burning and skooma by my bed.

    Free to dream of the scratch, the flicker, and the iron stench of blood.

    Free to scream into lashing winds – adrift, and alive.


    A bell rings in the distance, and its peal stops my heart.

    But no matter -

    I have knells to sound as well, their brazen clanging sharper, and deeper still.


    Playthough Notes: It was excruciating, playthrough-wise, to switch from heavy to light armor, and to pick up a bow more than halfway through the game. On the other hand, I loved that quick leveling bump, leveling new skills.

    And on the other other hand, this is also the first time I’ve ever played completely without magic or crafting, and it felt…strange. I’ve read lots of builds and roleplays where people mention crafting being boring, and I’ll give them that with enchanting, but ugh, I missed smithing and alchemy so much. And fire. And lightning.



    Driven by notions of honor and glory, Davius enlisted early. The brutality and razor’s edge of the soldier’s life slowly changed the idealistic boy into a wary and cynical man. Not because of hardships, or even danger. Although constantly living on the cusp of death can’t help but change a person…for better or worse. 

    No, what really changed Davius wasn’t danger or fear, but finding out what he was truly capable of. At the beginning of the war, his superiors sent him on suicide missions – the more dangerous, the better – and laughed and joked when he made it back alive. Davius resented it, hated it. And swore if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t do the same.

    But he did – he sent boys to their deaths just as he was sent, because he couldn’t see another way. And he hated himself for breaking that promise. He couldn’t go home, couldn’t see his sweetheart again, couldn’t look her in the eye. So he didn’t – he travelled Skyrim like a vagabond, hitching rides in caravans just like his mother did so long ago.

    What did he find? Greed, lust for power, and a heel that threatened to crush the people of Skyrim beneath its weight. To protect himself and his family, he had to gain power of his own, and he knew if he had to become like the nobles and jarls – callous and cruel and gold-hungry – he’d do it. He had the aptitude, after all. But he’d do it on his own terms.

    Roleplay Notes: yes, this is lots of imagination at work, but you know, to believe that a no-name nobody soldier could advance through the ranks of the Imperial Legion without commanding his own troops takes a bit of imagination as well, yeah? So for me, the war took years and years, maybe a decade and a half. Davius advanced, yes, but only after grueling work and sacrifice and doing lots of things he swore he wouldn't. And honestly, it was easier than it sounds to imagine the scenario. Hadvar makes several jokes about how surprised he is that you make it out alive from a couple of missions. And there's the one mission where you have to tunnel under a prison to free other soldiers, and send them out to fight the Stormcloaks after being imprisoned for who knows how long. It doesn't take much for the idea to take hold that doing the things you're asked to do for the Legion would come with nightmares attached. 


    *A lie travels faster than the truth,* I know that now. Heard the lie all my life, tumbling from mouths like sweet, candied words. I used to like candy, hm? We all did, I suppose. What did I have to do to finally hear the truth? Watch men and women die, send them to their deaths. And as the war went on, children. They were small, those boys. Small enough to fit through tunnels. I remember one Legate…

    Rotten, he was. Those sweet lies rotted him from the inside out, but he did what had to be done. 

    As did I. 

    Honor and glory, though? There’s no honor and glory in war, just death, and the luck that keeps you alive. But lies…they’re fast and they’re beautiful. And they’ll kill you, too. You think my daggers are deadly? My arrows? At least they’re fucking honest.







    Political Affiliation: One of the core concepts of this roleplay is the in-game quirk that, even if you complete the Civil War Questline and kill Ulfric and restore stability to Skyrim, nothing really changes. Jarls switch places, of course, but Imperials and Stormcloaks still fight each other in the wild. Veterans and children orphaned by the war are cast out on the streets. Whiterun is never rebuilt, and merchants still can’t transport their goods because of all the soldiers and fighting on the roads.

    So, for Davius, it seems he fought for nothing. Endured nightmares for nothing. Has to use drugs to get to sleep at night…all for nothing. He made Sergeant in the Legion, but privately disavowed the Empire after the war was over and he saw them for what they were.

    Roleplay Note: I know in game we make it to Legate. But someone like Davius, even honored for bravery and merit, wouldn't make the rank of Legate. I doubt he'd rank an officer of any kind, honestly. For storytelling purposes, I wanted Davius's service to feel more realistic, which is why I went with Sergeant, instead. 

    Religion: “*All religion is a foolish answer to a foolish question.*” He plays along because belief in the divines is expected and respected, but cares nothing for Aedra or Daedra, save what power they might grant.



    When Davius met Brynjolf and Mercer Frey again upon his return to Riften, he wasn’t sure what to think or who to trust – Brynjolf had been green and untested when Davius left for the war, and Davius didn’t remember Mercer at all. But Brynjolf earned Davius’s trust early – his shock and surprise at Mercer’s assignment of the Goldenglow job wasn’t faked; after his time in the Legion, Davius recognized a suicide job when he saw one – Mercer wanted nothing more than to shove Davius out of the way. 

    But Davius survived Goldenglow, and patiently worked his way up the ranks, winning over everyone in the Guild, save Mercer. But once Brynjolf and Delvin discovered Mercer was a traitor who’d been stealing from the Guild for years, that no longer mattered. Davius killed Mercer and took the Guild for his own, ushering in an unparalleled era of prosperity.

    On Crime and Killing: Davius tried to leave Riften and Falkreath alone. If a job forced his hand, he’d steal or kill with as little upheaval as possible. And he’d try to make up for it, if he could (gems and gold left in nightstands, favors done when needed). In the other holds? He felt little loyalty to anyone, killing and stealing with two goals in mind – do the job, and don’t get caught. So even if he’s not on a kill job, if anyone gets in his way, Davius feels no guilt in eliminating witnesses.

    Playthough Notes: my murder count in this game was the highest it’s ever been. When I began the Thieves Guild questline, Davius’s Sneak skill was pitiful. Just so, so low. So, the Goldenglow job was a bloodbath, although those mercenaries didn’t really count. Jobs for Delvin and Vex were nightmarish. No one made it out of Calcelmo’s lab and study alive, and most of the lower-level Dark Brotherhood jobs involved multiple kills as I worked to get Davius a little more efficient at sneaking and taking out his targets unseen. 

    And? Anyone non-essential who smarted off at me or spoke in a condescending way bit it pretty hard. Can't lie, it was fun taking out Nazeem, Ondolemar, and even a few guards. Way too many justiciars on the roadways thought it would be cool to get up in my face, so they're gone now, too. I tried to find a mod that would let me kill Maven Black-Briar, but there were so many warnings about it breaking the game I decided to leave it be. 

    Education: educated in the business, not classically educated until after the war, after he’s taken over the Guild. He has time, then, to study the Empire. Study what he nearly gave his life for and saw friends die for. Study what makes the Empire take its subjects for granted and treat them like objects to be used and thrown away like trash. Study its strengths…and its weaknesses.



    Yrsa approached the candlelit room on soft, padding feet. She’d seen the quiet man sitting at its lone table often, for the past few months. He seemed to haunt the library after hours, poring over dusty books with the fervor of a scholar.

    But a scholar he was not. When his mumbling and shuffling first roused her from her sleep earlier that Autumn, she’d not approached him at his table. Instead, she’d asked a guard what the master of Riften’s criminal underbelly was doing in her library so long after midnight.

    “Nobody tells that one visiting hours are up,” the guard whispered, shaking his head and sparing a glance for Jarl Black-Briar’s throne. “I suggest you follow suit.”

    Yrsa took the guard’s advice. But as the months passed, her curiosity grew, and she’d taken to skimming the books Davius left neatly stacked on his table. Treatises on Imperial policies. Biographies of emperors. Dossiers and profiles of foreign officials.


    Yrsa‘s heart slammed in her chest as she realized he was watching her, his clear blue eyes fixed on her own. She stammered a bit, but words simply wouldn’t come.

    “Yrsa,” he began, and her heart skipped again.

    He knows my name, she thought, and swept aside a wave of embarrassment. Of course he does. A man like that knows everything.

    “Yrsa,” he said again, and beckoned her to the table with a crook of his hand.

    “What is it, Master Sebastian?” She took a deep breath and walked over. This was her library, after all. “Do you have need of a book? What are you studying?”

    Davius stacked a few books at the edge of the table. “Politics.”

    “Politics. A lofty subject. And what have you discovered?”

    “A lofty subject,” he repeated, somehow throwing her words back without a hint of mockery. “I thought so at first. But it’s surprisingly simple, after you get at its heart.”

    “Yes?” Yrsa heard a cough, and looked up to see the guard shaking his head, and motioning for her to leave. But she couldn’t help it. She was a librarian, after all. Knowledge was her passion, her stock in trade. “How so?”

    “*It’s the art,” he said, leaning back in his char, “of making the world a better place for a select few, by deliberately fucking it up for everyone else.*”

    Yrsa stared. The man was powerful in his own right. Jarl Black-Briar lived in his pocket, and she suspected his web spread far beyond the Rift. If he had the Blue Palace in his sights, or even the Empire…

    The guard coughed again, and Yrsa nodded. “Can I…can I help with anything?” 

    Davius grinned, and the dark room seemed bathed in sunlight. He tapped a page of his book. “Can I rip this page out?”

    Yrsa tried to conceal her shock. He was Davius Sebastian, used to getting what he wanted. But…this was a library!

    “No,” she said, and picked up the stack of books he’d discarded at the table’s edge. “But if you’re going to stay for a bit, I’d be happy to copy it for you.”

    Davius‘s brow furrowed and his eyes danced beneath. He grinned again and passed her the book. “Thank you. That would be a favor, indeed. And I won’t forget it.”

    Yrsa nodded and turned to go, struck by a strange disquiet she couldn’t name. And then she knew – an image of the first dragon she’d seen over Riften flickered through her mind, and her stomach turned over, the dread and terror she’d felt over a year ago new and fresh, once more.

    It’s only a book. A page in a book, she reassured herself, and looked over her shoulder. Davius wasn’t smiling anymore, and the room had dimmed. Yrsa shivered and walked to her desk, her pace quickening as she rounded the corner.   





    Hobbies:  Accumulating wealth is his main hobby, and he has a house in Riften and a country estate in Falkreath, where he’s coddled the naïve jarl and become a thane. But his love for horses never wavered, and he owns horses in every city. Davius‘s favorite horse is Shadowmere, who never wanders too far away, much to the dismay of Riften’s stablehands.

    Thane of Riften and Falkreath: Helping the people of his home Hold is important to Davius, and he does everything he can – every favor quest in the Rift and Falkreath – to make sure southern Skyrim is as stable and prosperous as it can be.

    He’s powerful as Guildmaster, yes, but he still needs people on his side. Favors he can cash in, guards who’ll look the other way at just the right time.

    "*You’re bad men, but you’re our bad men.*”

    And that’s true – Guild thieves leave Riften alone, and more…entrepreneurial thieves who think to make Riften their new place of business are quickly dispatched, sending a bloody message to the rest of Skyrim.

    Even though the Jarl of Falkreath is annoying, and little more than a boy, his favor is power, and power is valuable. “*And when fortune drops something valuable in your lap, you don’t just dump it on the bank of the Treva.*”

    Personality: Davius walks into a room and all eyes turn his way. Not because he’s particularly handsome or physically imposing, but his presence dominates. And it should. Before he shows up, he already knows everything about his surroundings – every person, every weapon, every plot. Every method of escape. He’s prepared, and aggressive. So he’s immeasurably confident – an attractive and magnetic quality.

    And when he’s speaking to you, you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters. That’s his way – make you like him, make you yearn for his regard. And then, you don’t notice when he does something to hurt you. Or if you do, you forgive, and quickly.

    Flaws: Davius is vicious when he feels he’s been wronged, and doesn’t always stop to verify before he lashes out. He cannot stay still. Can’t take a break, and can’t rest until he’s ready to drop. And then, he gives in to things he saw during the war – screams, broken bodies, explosions, smells – things he’s not yet begun to process and may never be able to. PTSD is only a flaw in this case because he refuses to deal with it. He simply keeps going, and runs himself ragged. So he’s never rested, and never fully in control.  

    Favorite Food and Drink: Davius leans on recreational drugs when he must: he keeps Talen-Jei’s Cliff Racer on hand for times when he has to be loose and alert. And skooma at his bedside, when he feels like he’s back in the tunnels. He favors expensive whisky, rum, and brandy for everyday use, and sips a glass of it while doing business, but doesn’t binge. As for food, he likes whatever he can eat while walking and talking. Bread and cheese. Apples. Bits of roast chicken stuffed into pieces of bread and eaten on the move. The occasional sweetroll won’t be turned down.  



    When Davius returns to Riften, he’s shaken down at the gates and accosted by Maul in the usual short spread of time. His parents died during the war, so he has no idea who's in charge of the Guild. But people like Maul and the Black-Briar family dipping their toes in Riften's fouler waters? He’d never expected that. If things in town were so different, how would he fare once he reached the Cistern?

    And then, he meets Mjoll the Lioness, a woman open in her disdain for the Thieves Guild and everything it stands for. She considers herself Riften’s protector, and her passion and ferocity enchants and amuses Davius even as his, let’s say, allergy to the truth and disrespect for the law enrages her. But in spite of their differences (and maybe even because of them), they fall in love and eventually marry. I intended to include their story as a snippet in this profile, but it ran long, so I posted it as a blog. If you want to see a different side of Davius and read about their unlikely love story (and more information about how Davius turned the Thieves Guild around), click one of the links at the top or bottom of the page. 



    Davius doesn’t want to bring children of his own into the world. There are too many children orphaned by the war, and although he’s not strictly paternal, he feels drawn to provide care. He might have broken ties with the Legion, but bonds between veterans remain strong.

    And speaking of those children, he’s heard interesting things about the woman who runs Honorhall. Perhaps it’s time to pay her a visit…

    He does, and is less than pleased by Grelod the Kind. So he kills her. Constance is a good replacement, and the children are happier with Grelod gone. But the Dark Brotherhood had their own plans for Grelod, and their leader, Astrid, kidnaps Davius, forcing him to repay the kill.

    Davius is furious that Astrid ventured so close to his home and his family, but thinks on his feet – he agrees to join them, and infiltrates their ranks. He rises quickly, his natural charm and efficiency a perfect match for the Brotherhood – he kills who he must; it’s business, after all. But Astrid is jealous, and crafts a trap to, once again, get him out of the way. It doesn’t fool Davius. He springs his own trap, using the Penitus Oculatus to annihilate the Sanctuary. And steals their last and most illustrious kill – the Emperor of Tamriel – for himself. 





    Davius kicked a smashed table out of Astrid’s doorway and sauntered into the room, his eyes resting on the blackened figure splayed out on the floor. That mummified monstrosity in the coffin said he needed to talk to Astrid, so he supposed she was alive, but for the life of him, Davius had no idea how. He cleared his throat and nudged her foot with his own, swallowing bile as a bit of char flaked from her heel. 

    Astrid’s eyes flew open, blood-shot and tight with pain. “Well, this is quite…something,” Davius said, and sheathed his sword at his hip. He’d seen the Black Sacrament used before, used by sniveling cowards who wanted someone dead, but couldn’t bring themselves to do the job. A smile touched his lips – an apt end for Astrid, then.

    “You have to kn-know,” Astrid choked on her words and coughed before continuing, her voice weedy and dry. “I was th-the one who betr-“

    “Yes,” Davius interrupted, “and I suppose all this drama is part of that?” He leaned against the stone wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Or, let me guess…your penance? But no, let me stop you right there. I know all about your deal with the Emperor’s goons. Not my first dance, sweetheart. I knew you’d betrayed me as soon as you gave me the contract.”


    “ your breath. Your husband’s dead,” he said, squatting down by the circle of sooty candles surrounding Astrid, “your little hideout in ruins. I’m going to kill the emperor, have no fear on that score. But I wanted you to know before you died – I know.” He pulled a wrinkled piece of parchment out of his pocket and held it out so Astrid could see the candlelight dancing on her own black handprint. “I knew all along.”

    “You d-don’t know-“

    Davius watched anger flash in Astrid’s eyes, and the tenuous thread holding back his temper snapped. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up, and listen for once in your life, you sanctimonious shit. Who the fuck do you think you are, eh?” He stood and kicked over a candle, his hand clenched around the hilt of his dagger. “Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me who I can and cannot kill? I grew up in Riften. I fought in the war. I killed the godsdamned bitch terrorizing children of veterans – something you and your troupe of simpering, nattering posers apparently couldn’t do – and you think I owe you something for that?”

    Astrid remained silent. Davius prodded her foot again and shivered as it crumbled to dust. “Now’s your turn to speak. I’d advise you to get to it.”

    “Not me…Sithis…“

    “Sithis? Well, then, that’s different.” Davius squatted next to Astrid once more. “Fuck Sithis. And that mummified fucking atrocity in that coffin, fuck that too. You know, I wanted to save this until last, savor it a bit, but it seems your time’s just about gone. So, here’s the joyous part, Astrid.”

    “Well, it gives me joy, at least,” he said, and grinned into her wide, astonished eyes. “The Dark Brotherhood? It dies with you. This sanctuary you love so much, all the skulls and pretentious moody assassin bullshit? I will burn it down, burn it all down, and salt the earth. Anyone in Skyrim who even whispers Sithis’s name, or the fucking Night Mother will die, and die horribly.”

    “But you’d know a little something about that, right?” Davius’s grin widened at another flash of anger across her face, and he picked up one of the candles and blew it out before tossing it over his shoulder. “So how does it feel, knowing it’s all your fault? I mean, I suppose if this…ritual helps you die thinking you went down nobly, so be it. But you have to know, this is all on you. This,” he said, crumpling Astrid’s note back into his pocket, “this shitty little note was your death warrant. You signed it the moment you invaded my home, fucked with my family. You could have lived a long, long life, such as it was, if you’d just left me alone. But you couldn’t do that, could you?”

    Davius reached down and pinched a small piece of char between his thumb and forefinger, and flicked it over the remains of Astrid’s body. He drew a dagger from his belt and turned it over in his hand. “*He who fights by the sword, he fucking dies by it, Astrid.* But that’s not what you did, is it? You let others do your dirty work. I’m not wasting my blade on you.”

    He stood and gazed down at her with flat, dispassionate eyes, his fire spent. A tiny spark of pity flickered as her anger turned to desperation, but it wasn’t enough. Davius turned and strode from the room, leaving Astrid gasping for breath, a pile of smoldering embers in a broken circle of fire and blood...


    Playthrough Notes: I fudged a little on the roleplay here. I really wanted to walk out of that room and leave Astrid to die on her own. AND I still wanted to kill the emperor. So to get that feeling, I did have Davius walk out on his own, and then someone else walked him back in and killed Astrid and talked to Nazir. So I could come back and find Motierre and kill the emperor just like I wanted.

    Alignment: I saved this for last, because it’s complicated. One of my issues with the whole alignment system is that I never feel it’s totally fair to the characters, especially ones with mental struggles. I get that it’s part of the archetype – who you are, and it leads the decisions you make.

    But here, just like Skyrim is at war with itself, so is Davius with himself. It’s almost as though he was born neutral good at heart, and is being eaten alive by chaotic evil. And still, he operates under his own moral code. But the forces at work upon him are all in his own mind. So, even though he’s been out of the Legion for years, he’s still living inside his own war zone, his own private hell. 

    …years, I spent. Years. Tunneling under crumbling forts and prisons, in the dark. Waiting for the world to come down on top of me. Waiting for the enemy on the other side to bust through with blades and fire and beasts the like I’d never seen. And then, I sent boys underground to do what I did, knowing most of them, I’d never see again.

    And I wondered, then, who the enemy really was.

    Years…so many fucking years. And it all came down to a minute. That’s all. *Just one minute. The soldier’s minute. In a battle, that’s all you get. One minute of everything at once. And anything before is nothing. Everything after, nothing. Nothing in comparison to that…one…minute.*

    Living life like you’re already dead takes a toll, yeah?



    Closing Notes


    Art Credits:  Tommy Shelby/Red Right Hand – Becca Otto/0tterp0p; Boy and girl with horse – gold-seven, DeviantArt; Legion in the rain – LordHayabusa357, DeviantArt; Man with book – caelicorn, DeviantArt; Man in black coat – merwild, DeviantArt. I ran this through a PORTRA filter, so it looks different from the original.

    *Any art I didn’t credit (broody archer guy, leather-clad thief, assassination, kneeling imperial soldier) is because I couldn’t find the artist’s name. If anyone knows the mystery artists, please let me know.

    *Any dialogue between asterisks is either a direct quote from the series or highly influenced by it, and I wanted to give credit where it was due.

    I hope all of you who watch Peaky Blinders can see the similarities here between Davius and Tommy – the war and PTSD, the drive for legitimacy warring with his violent streak, the love he feels for his “Grace,” the orphanage, and the devastating way he deals with his enemies. And woven through it all, his innate and inexplicable charm.  Tommy Shelby's a complicated character, and it was super fun playing Skyrim like he might have, if he lived in Tamriel. 

    For those of you who don’t watch, I don’t want to spoil it for you. But you should watch!


    Click here to navigate back to the Table of Contents. 


  • August 4, 2018

    Man that was a gripping profile! What a cool character you've made. He's very charismatic and charming but underneath it all there's this very melancholic and damaged individual. And boy you do you not want to get on his bad side. I like the way that you've made it feel like his very presence in a room shifts the entire vibe of everyone there, and all he's doing is reading. The guards too scared of Davius' and his reputation to stop Ysra from talking to him so all he can do is cough. That just shows how much presence this guy has.

    I really gotta watch Peaky Blinders now, after reading this you've definantly inspired me to give a try. :)

    Great Job Ilani can't wait to see what ya do next!!

  • August 4, 2018

    Thanks, Furrion! I’m glad that’s all coming across. It was super fun to write. We watched the show, all 4 seasons of it, this past spring, and I have to admit the whole time I was thinking this was a more realistic Thieves Guild, there was so much material to work from. I”m still working on a few of the chapters of the story that goes along with this, so we’ll see how that goes. But yes, thanks for reading and letting me know that you liked it. :)

  • Member
    August 5, 2018

    Now this is cool! A tall order to translate Tommy into Skyrim, or at least I'd find it hard, but I think you've managed to do that in excellent style and without losing any of the nuances of the character. I regret now only watching one or two shows but I think I like your Darius Sebastian better, especially the romantic element with Mjoll. Clever, that. Great to see more cool, creative cross-group content from you, Ilani :)

  • August 5, 2018
    Thanks, Paws! Hopefully I’ll do the romance justice, I’m working on fine-tuning the second chapter now, making sure I write Mjoll right. And you should totally watch. I started last winter when my husband was away, and before I knew it, I was on episode 6 and had to stop so we could rewatch it all together later.
  • Member
    August 6, 2018

    Sorry I can't respond yet, ilani! Don't wanna read this without reading the blog first, and I won't have time to do that until tomorrow. Until then, I've been looking forward to this ever since you mentioned it - Tommy Shelby in Skyrim, could I ask for anythin more?

  • August 6, 2018
    Well, hopefully it meets expectations! Tommy Shelby wears big shoes, though. And you have plenty of time. I’m still editing the last three chapters and with a chapter a day, it should be complete Wednesday or Thursday?
  • Member
    August 9, 2018

    A day late as always, but I've finally read the blog and this. Sorry again, keep getting caught up with stuff so not much time recently.

    Hoooooly shit, ilani, this profile is awesome. The detail, the writing, the imagery, everything comes together to craft a deep, personal account of a truly troubled character, one that provokes thought and empathy incredibly well.

    The writing, both in the blog and here, is astounding. Really wish I had some more time to read all your stuff (and everyone else's for that matter), but oh boy does this make me want to more. Showing another character's perspective of the character is an interesting choice that isn't seen often in profiles, but it's effectiveness when done right is obvious here. Mjoll's point of view shows Darius as he really is, while Yrsa's for example, shows why Mjoll's perspective is so important - it shows us how everyone else feels about him. Fear. Respect. Confusion. I really got a feeling for who he is from his own view and from a variety of other sources, which goes that much further in shaping a character.

    Sectioning his life into stages - Civil War, Thieves Guild etc. It shows the reader how experiences have shaped him. Each one differing slightly, showing his descent (or maybe just evolution) into who he is now. His dark side competing with the good inside of him. The humanitarian, paternal 'love' for Riften and Falkreath contrasting with the cold disregard for literally everywhere else. Awesome.

    The question regarding his alignment is difficult, and I think that makes this profile so much better. Ends justify the means behaviour, following his own code of behaviour that he himself sometimes breaks, ambiguity regarding if he really cares or is just manipulative with altruistic goals... I mean I think this the first case I've seen where basically every alignment could be argued to be him. Did I mention how awesome that is? Because that's awesome.

    Taking outside influences and trying to justify/integrate them into the often-limiting world of Skyrim is one of my favourite things to do with roleplaying, and this profile does that incredibly well, in a way that I don't think I'm capable of. Jealously and awe from me my dude.

    This profile is insanely good, ilani, I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and I'm now even more frustrated that I couldn't read it sooner.

  • August 9, 2018
    I honestly can’t thank you enough for what you said here. It’s absolutely everything I put into this and more, and there’s nothing more exhilarating for a writer than to see the readers pick up on it and love it, too. I’m just about finished with the last of the blog, and it should be posted maybe tonight. But i have to admit, i’m A little bummed to be done with this one. Like you said, it’s a roleplay, and we put so much of ourselves in it too, that it makes us a little sad to leave. But thank you. I’ll probably read this comment about a million more times today. :)
  • Member
    August 11, 2018

    ilanisilver said: I honestly can’t thank you enough for what you said here. It’s absolutely everything I put into this and more, and there’s nothing more exhilarating for a writer than to see the readers pick up on it and love it, too. I’m just about finished with the last of the blog, and it should be posted maybe tonight. But i have to admit, i’m A little bummed to be done with this one. Like you said, it’s a roleplay, and we put so much of ourselves in it too, that it makes us a little sad to leave. But thank you. I’ll probably read this comment about a million more times today. :)

    No worries ilani, only giving credit where credit is due! I'm glad to here that I picked up on those details, made it a very enjoyable read.