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So... Hey SoFurry people! I've been a watch for a long, long time mostly because I can't draw and I don't really consider my writing that great either. However, I recently joined an online forum (adult ;3 )roleplaying game and I was really kind of proud of the character I created so I wanted to share.

The premise of game is that it takes place in a future Skyrim. By future I mean far enough along that the exploits of the Last Dragonborn and his battle against Alduin are subjects of legend. In the game someone or something is resurrecting the dragons once more, and Alduin, having realized the threat posed by Dragonborn, want to eliminate anyone displaying Dragonborn characteristics. To combat this, Fate has assured that the number of potential Dragonborn is quite huge. The characters playing will eventually come to realized their shared destiny to once more quell the threat of Alduin, his dragons, and the mysterious force that brought them back again.

Anyways, without further delay here's my character.

Name: Xanamir Winterthorn

Gender: Male

Race: Nord/Altmer Half-breed

Appearance : Xanamir is the perfect specimen to display the concept of hybrid vigor. Nord and Altmer blood mingling to produce an offspring far larger than average for either of his parents' races; he rises to an imposing ten foot height. His silky, golden hair is most often kept short on the back and sides but just long enough on top to form a noticeable fauxhawk. His facial hair is maintained in a handsome goatee. "Hulking" would be an appropriate term to describe his heavily-muscled physique. His flesh has just enough of the High Elven golden pigment to give him a perpetually sun-kissed appearance. His ears were the most telling of his mixed heritage; long and pointed as any elf's might be. His eyes come from his father, and they are the intense blue of a cloudless Skyrim sky. As the result of a misadventure with the Daedric Prince Sanguine, his body now displays certain inhuman characteristics. His head is crowned with the wooden antlers of a spriggan; the bark of his antlers is silvery in color. Soft, sapphire blue fur coats his lower body from waist to silvery, wood grained, cloven hooves. Amethyst streaks flow across the blue canvas of his fur in a fashion which suggests the pattern of tiger stripes. He has a long, leonine tail that is similarly striped and terminates in a lengthy tuft of golden fur. His nails have grown into sharp claws that share the appearance of his antlers and hooves. The tops of his hard muscled forearms were coated in a swath of blond fur. Not even were his loins spared, the Daedra Lord left him with a thick, bestial sheath and heavy, furred bollocks. Seemingly mundane by comparison with the other changes, black tattooing like tribal filigree crawls from his hands up and around his arms, torso and down his legs underneath the fur The markings continue up the back of his neck and scalp where they terminate by spiraling up his antlers. Below, the lines even adorn his hooves. When using magicka, his tattoos glow with a purple light that increases in intensity with the amount of magicka consumed; this also allows the full extent of his tattooing to be visible through his hair and fur.

Personality : Before Sanguine altered his form, Xanamir would initially appear to be a quiet, gentle giant, perhaps even a little on the dumb side to be honest. He was far from stupid, however. His father had taught him that Men and Mer often trust their eyes far more than they should. So, Xanamir's seemingly dulled wits were often an attempt to seem much less threatening than his appearance would indicate. With these new alterations in physiology by Sanguine, it is unclear how he might cope presently.

Bio : Xanamir was born on the 16th of Sun's Dawn to Nord father, Malorne, and Altmer mother, Siriaya. They lived on in a modest homestead on the outskirts of the city of Falkreath. From his father he learned how to hunt and track prey stealthily. His father also trained him in wielding one-handed weapons, wrestling, and brawling. Xanamir's preference leans toward swords and maces. Before settling down with his mother, his father was a wandering skald who encouraged his son's lyrical talents. His mother was knowledgeable in alchemy and spellcasting. She taught him alchemy and herb lore from a young age, but always replied "When you're older" with regards to magical training. In his fifteenth year, she deemed him of age to begin training responsibly. During his sixteenth year, his father went missing during a hunting trip and is presumed dead. In his seventeenth Spring, his mother passed from a broken heart. Left to fend for himself, he hunted to eat and sold potions in town to earn coin all the while teaching himself more spellcraft from his mother's library as best he could. His life would change forever on the evening of his eighteenth birthday when a trip to the town tavern led to a chance encounter with a Breton by the name of Sam Guevenne....

The Magical Mystery Tour : (so very NSFW~ Sanguine is the Prince of Debauchery, Hedonism and Sin after all)

After arriving at the tavern and enduring the brief, awkward moment of silence that often accompanied his entrance in a public venue, he was approached by a Breton stranger who introduced himself as Sam Guevenne and mentioned about having heard that it was the lad's birthday. Sam offered Xanamir a celebratory drink from his own special reserve, and, in his youthful naïveté, he accepted. The liquor was sweet and made him feel warm inside, soon after the Breton took him by the hand and led him out of the tavern and down an alley. No one noticed that the two vanished and appeared in a secluded forested area.

On a misty, grass-covered knoll, Sam Guevenne kneeled before the slightly unsteady, blushing birthday boy. He doesn't even give Xanamir a chance to unclasp and drop the sabercat hide kilt he had fashioned for himself. Instead, the Breton slipped beneath the kilt and caught the dangling, uncut cock with his lips. Xanamir shuddered in surprise as the suddenness of the sensation; undressing was briefly forgotten. By the time he dropped his gear, Sam had made several quick swallows that had pulled his member deeper into his maw, this allowed the Breton to root his nose into the golden fleece at the base of the Nord-Elf hybrid's penis. For perhaps longer than a mortal man ought to be able, Sam kept his lips locked about the root of the lad's tender flesh. The quick fluttering of his throat drew hearty blood into the lad's male part. The Breton relented only once he had coaxed forth a long spurt of preseed to splash down his gullet. Drawing back, the Breton unsheathed the impressive member he had tasted. Beneath the dual light of the moons Masser and Secunda, the lad's dick pointed skyward; the prepuce was long enough that even fully erect, the deep-purple crown only peeked slightly from hood. Sam produced his bottle of special reserve and took a deep draught without swallowing. As the Breton once again approached the throbbing shaft with his lips, involuntary spasms of excitement caused the shaft to give a few meaty smacks against the half-breed's sculpted abdomen. Slowly and carefully, Sam took the flesh back into his maw. The liquor bath quickly produced the desired effect; before claiming even half the length, Xanamir's muscles relaxed and his inebriated swaying became more pronounced. Xanamir stumbled back only to be caught by the Breton grabbing his hard muscled, blond-fuzzed buttocks and lower him to the ground and onto his back. This allowed the man to sink fully down the shaft and soak it entirely in the liquor. His fall was the last clear and focused memory Xanamir had for a fortnight.

He retains only brief glimpses of recollection from during that time:

Once satisfied, Sam pulls away once more to swallows down the mouthful of booze and the accumulated preseminal fluid while the wine-stained rod flops against its owner's belly. Xanamir writhes on the ground as the Breton reaches out to slide back the foreskin and exposes the bulbous glans. Positioning himself, Sam swallows down the shaft in one go and then, while keeping his lips firmly locked around the root and begins a powerful milking motion with his throat. Cupping that full, fuzzy scrotum, the Breton felt it soon grow taut and, with a moaning sigh from the lad on his back, begin throbbing rapidly as they unleashed their flow. Sanguine feasts then, on the seed and the energy within and a small portion of innocence. Pulling away, the sober man watched the wine-stained length begin to soften. The crown fully hidden by the extra flesh, the penis droops down over the natural pillows of panting half-breed's now relaxing testicles. That wouldn't do at all... Before the tip could touch the ground, gentle breezes from Sam's lips made Xanamir tense and give a grunt. Like some ferocious hooded serpent, the sprawling lad's cock lurches upwards and thuds against his belly; throbbing and ready for use once more as it reclines on the bed of hair formed by the path trailing downward from navel to bush. Sam Guevenne smiles with a fanged grin as he rises, his brown robes dissolve away. He stands astride the barely lucid hybrid's hips and lowers himself downward. Making a quick adjustment, and he sinks upon that turgid flesh. Growling with pleasure, Xanamir's hips buck upward, and he hilts himself with a soft slap of flesh on flesh. Sam has made a man of him, but sometimes, through heavy-lidded eyes, the man rising and falling on his lap is ebony skinned with horns....

Sam, the horned man, Sam, the horned man, back and forth he appears to change. The man, whoever he was, rides him hard and steadily until Xanamir reaches his peak. With a guttural groan, his member thickens and pulses rhythmically with his scrotum, filling the horned man with final virginal vintage his testicles would ever brew. Sanguine feeds again; he draws away a much larger portion of innocence this time. The Daedra Lord slides himself from the dazed man's softening member. A slight change in position and it was now Sam that has Xanamir's legs wrapping around his waist while his manhood sinks inward. Perhaps slightly too quickly as the hiss of pain and the slight slickness of blood could attest, but he was Sanguine and blood was just as exciting as corruption of the innocent. Sam penetrates further; his shaft happily drooling soothing lubrication. Sanguine sets himself into a speedy pace after hilting himself. Xanamir groans deliriously as he is ravished, his own manhood throbbing quickly and spurting gouts of slick, musky fluid in sync with Sam's thrust. Soon, Sanguine buries himself to the root and grinds against Xanamir's muscled rear. The Nord-Elf recalls the sensation of soft pubic hair tickling at his scrotum while the heavy testes pressing against his rump clenches in a primal rhythm and heat floods his gut, but it is the horned man that filled him. Just as his dick seizes, the horned man flexes his torso and captures the uncut tip in his maw and nurses upon it gently as it issues forth another meal. The golden-haired hybrid passes completely out. Sanguine still feeds, devouring yet another portion of innocence from the elven-eared Nord by divesting him of one more type of virginity.

_Animal smells assault his nose as he comes back to waking. With bottle at his parched lips, he eagerly draws back a healthy gulp. The sweet taste of Sam's special brew soothed him and made his head tingle and vision swim. He finds himself looking forward at the ground; his body hanging in some form of harness. He idly wonders where he is and from where had the black tattooing covering his arms and bulging pectorals had come. As he looks down along his body and tries to focus on his crotch, he could make out the same black filigree swirling about his stiff, drooling shaft, even with the dark wine stain. Beyond that his heavy balls dangled in view and bore the same markings. All this while, Sam adjusts his positioning in the harness. A noise from ahead draws his attention as nanny goat rounds the far off corner and walks a straight path toward him. He hangs high enough from the ground that the beast has clearance beneath him. As she approaches, he tries to squirm away much to Sam's amusement. With no deterrence the she-goat was able to sniff his musky thatch before lashing his shaft with her tongue. Slipping lower towards his hooded crown, the taste of his freely flowing natural lubrication briefly caused the she-goat to quickly flick her tongue against his flesh to collect as much as she could. Soon, her licking strong enough to peel back his foreskin only to have it slide swiftly into place again. He writhes in his restraints as the goat continues lathering his shaft. Sam locks the position his body and steps toward the bound man's head. His bottle of brew is brought to Xanamir's lips, and without thinking his thirst urges him to drink of it deeply. Quickly, the potent booze overwhelms him and he slumps in the harness His head hangs forward limply, and the only motion he could make was the occasional thrusting of his pelvis in response to the she-goats slurping at his dick. She soon ceases her oral activities and steps away; her body turns and she presents herself. This being what he was planning, Sam quickly unlocks and readjusts the position in which Xanamir was hanging, leaving him stuck in a hunched position. With a toothy smile, Sam strokes his golden-fuzzed rump briefly before pushing forward. Xanamir shivers as his thick, lengthy manhood is forced into the willing doe goat. Sam pushes his captive deeper and deeper until he knows for certain that Xanamir's glans was rubbing against the goat's cervix, then he pulls Xanamir back slightly before sinking him in again. Sam sets the Nord-Elf's body into a quick, shallow rutting pace, keeping the lad's crown persistently butting against that inner barrier; spurting precum all the while. As his balls began to tense, that hand guiding his thrusting shoves him with forcefully to hilt his cock. The goat bleats out as her cervix is breached, and the inner ridges catch behind the invader's corona. Locked in as he is Xanamir clenches his eyes shut while his seed fills the goat's womb directly. Blissful unconsciousness claims him again. _

_He awakens once more to find himself sheathed balls deep in a he-goat. Pleasant tingling in his groin confirms a recent orgasm. The goat bleats almost happily as he starts to trot forward, pulling himself off the length filling him. Xanamir grunts as the buck's anus catches against the swollen corona of his cock head briefly before releasing it with an audible pop. Still slightly woozy, his gaze follows the goat as he turns and trots beneath his body. A caprine tongue wraps about his member briefly. Xanamir finds his manhood has lost the wine-colored stain, allowing him to see full extent of the black tribal markings. Looking especially swollen (perhaps from overuse), Xanamir notes the way his foreskin bunches behind the ridge of his knob instead of covering it. He sees the goat trot out between his cloven hooves and over to a waiting Sam, who opens the door to an outdoor paddock where it sounds like some kind of goat orgy is occurring. Xanamir blinks blearily before he realizes the alteration to his form. Sapphire fur with amethyst tiger stripes coats him from waist to cloven hooves with a long leonine tail flicks back and forth in agitation, and, as he struggles in his bindings, a chuckling Sam Guevenne approaches him while praising his prowess and virility. The praise brings a blush to his cheeks and he slows his struggling enough for Breton to surprise him and force him to take another deep quaff of that enchanted brew. As the liquor works it magic, Sam loosens all the ropes and bindings to let the lad rest on the ground briefly. He's too inebriated to have any hope of adjusting to his altered ungulate stance, so Sam helps him to his unsteady hooves. Speaking of a special reward for the fine job of playing stud for that goat herd, the pair vanishes, leaving the farmer to deal with the eventual glut of kids with yellow-tinged fur. _

They appeared elsewhere, in the dark of the night, a horse stable from sound that greets Xanamir's pointed ears. Sam settles the yawning, drunken youth on a bale of hay to rest while he enters the stable alone. The half-breed dozes off for some time, stirring only to find a wolf bitch perched on his hay bale, lapping up the copious precum drooling onto his belly and crotch from his ever rigid mast. Sam exits the barn and simply shoots the wolf a glare causing her to pause for a long moment mid-lick across Xanamir's bollocks, then she draws away whining softly in fear. The Breton mage hauls him to his hooves and leads him into the stables. Down the line of stalls Sam leads him until they arrive at a stall with a fine black stallion. Sam guides the half-breed into the stall and maneuvers him to stretch his torso out over the back of the stallion. His leonine tail sways back and forth as his throbbing length thuds against his abdominal; precum freely flowing from the tip. His Breton friend reaches for his cock and guides it to the horse's entrance. Sam whispers words of encouragement as the lad sinks his dick inward by his own volition. Xanamir grunts with bestial vigor while he hilts himself and spurts several jets of lubrication into the stallion's passage. Below, the stallion's own lengthy mast drops from his sheath and quickly rises to complete firmness. As the Xanamir settles his pelvis into steady rhythm against the unusually passive equine, the horse's cock begins rhythmically slapping his underbelly to the beat of the man's testicles against his own. He's lost for a while in the hot tightness around his cock before he notices the slapping sound from below him slipping out of sync with his thrusting; the stallion masturbating himself at a quicker pace. Xanamir speeds his rutting up to keep up with his bestial lover. Soon, the horse snorts softly as the splattering of seed against the wall of the stall becomes audible. The channel about his member ripples and sucks at him, with a shuddering sigh, he buries himself to the root and paints the horse's innards with his seed. He sprawls over horse's broad back, grunting softly as he continues gently grinding his hips against the horse's rear even as exhaustion claimed him. Sanguine reached between the lad's thighs and stroked his scrotum as the desired change washed over it. His balls grew in heft, as the same blue and purple fur that coated his lower body spread across the skin's surface. A streak of thick, golden fur crawled down and around the cleft between each testicle.

_Now, a bee-like buzzing urges him to awaken. He's lying against a soft, moss-covered altar in the midst of what was once a large cavern. Time had opened the ceiling up, and allowed the grove of trees circling the altar to grow. Pleasure from his groin draws his attention to the entity presently engaged in riding his manhood. It was a being seemingly formed of wood with antler-looking branches curling from its brow and it glowed with an emerald aura. He could feel that he was deep within it; deeper than he'd been in anything before. He bucks against it; his eyes rolling back as he moans and experiences the most intense orgasm thus far in his young life. He feels such a pleasantly strange sensation, like the head of his cock swelling dramatically while many tiny tongues flick rhythmically across his cock. His seed pulses into the thing for so much longer than he could ever recall; the sheer amount more than he had produced before and the experience overwhelms him as his mind slips into the darkness once more. _

_He stirs again, the wooden thing (spriggans, he recalls from a long ago learning session with his mother) was still writhing on his crotch. Was it the same one? He wasn't sure. This one's aura was golden. The horned man was beside the altar now, caressing his smooth chest and sliding his hand lower. He asked if he was enjoying himself. In his impaired state, the pointed-eared Nord-Elf could only give a drunken, dopey grin and nod. The horned man looks pleased as a single finger swirls around the ring of golden fur encircling Xanamir's navel and follows the trail leading southward into the soft thicket that frames his member. Well, it would have been soft if not for the sap-like secretions in which his spriggan lovers had been bathing his loins. The horned man's fingers slide lower still to tease at the animalistic sheath at the base of his maleness. A single finger breaches the taut ring of flesh and swirls directly against the root of his length; already close, the novel stimulation causes him to stiffen for a moment. Then, with a shuddering sigh he releases his essence into his wooden lover. _

The spriggans seemed to blend together over his short periods of hazy consciousness; a green one, a golden one, a green one, a golden one...

The last he could remember was a larger one with a violet aura. It works at coaxing out his seed just as the others before had done. Suddenly the horned man appears, gloriously naked, standing with a foot on either side of his torso. The horned man smiles a broad, fanged smile. He sinks to his knees and fills the lad's vision with his magnificent ebony dick and full midnight-fleeced sac. The horned man's musk is potent, and the hybrid's mast jerks as it releases thick gouts of precum into the spriggan. The horned man reaches above the lad's own head to grab at something... Xanamir could feel the vibration travel down whatever the horned man had grabbed toward his temples. When the ebony man pulls his arms back, the half-breed's head moves along with the motion letting him know that the things being pulled are attached to his head. The horned man angles his hips back to press the crown of his cock against his captive's lips. A dribble of preseed rolls across his lips and, without thinking, he swipes his tongue to collect it. The horned man seizes the opportunity and pulls Xanamir's head forward, sinking his length into that waiting mouth. The lad gets the idea and start suckling at the flesh he's offered. Gradually, the ebony man pulls Xanamir further and further up his shaft. The inexperienced youth coughs and chokes at first, but inevitably he finds himself nosing into the thick, curly hair at the base of that black mast. His kidnapper whispers soothing, encouraging words as he speeds up both his thrusting into and pulling up of Xanamir's throat on his member. He begins occasionally sheathing himself to the bush and letting the youth's throat and tongue flutter all about his flesh. Xanamir finds himself thoroughly enjoying having something riding on his dick while he services another. He takes to nibbling the black flesh, pulling back against the horned man's grip to try and catch his foreskin playfully with his teeth. The ebony man growls with pleasure at the little bits of pain mixed with pleasure. One particularly rough bite catches the cock in his maw just right to draw forth some blood. The horned man stiffens and shoves his member as deeply as he can. Daedra blood and seed rockets down Xanamir's throat and he swallows gratefully. As the potent combination hits his gut, a sensation like lightning his nuts signaled a final minor blessing as his hefty sac pulses and his cock pours forth thick ropes of semen into the waiting spriggan. With his enhancements sealed on the Nord-Elf, Sanguine feeds once more, leaving behind the barest scraps of innocence after thoroughly claiming the dual-blooded lad. Once again the youth slips into a blissful slumber, still nursing gently on the flesh in his mouth.

When he awoke again, he was sober for the first time he could recall, and sore all over. He sat himself up and clutched at his aching head only to feel something hard jutting from his temples. Fingers following up made out the many prongs of his newly bestowed antlers. Looking around in confusion, he found himself on the mossy altar surrounded by trees that were obscenely heavy with fruit. A glowing portal opened nearby and the horned man stepped forth and offered a bow. He explained the truth of his identity and that he had chosen Xanamir to take on a grand birthday adventure because the date coincided with the Daedric Prince's day of summoning. Xanamir had been sleeping off the after effects for the last several days. The Daedra Lord quipped that he certainly didn't allow the youth to go hungry during that time though, he gave a knock on armored codpiece he wore for emphasis while giving a wink. Xanamir blushed furiously at that. Looking over his changed body he demanded to know why he was changed so dramatically. Sanguine stroked his chick and informed the lad that he changed him just because he could, and it gave him permanent reminder of all their fun together. He remarks that he didn't know where the feline features originated from though; he sensed the hand of Hircine in that bit of oddity. Something the golden haired one should check into later. With that said, Sanguine approached and placed a kiss on Xanamir's brow before vanishing back to his Oblivion Realm. His voice on the wind stating they'd cross paths again.

Xanamir rose unsteadily on his hooves, almost having to relearn how to walk. He left the Moss Mother Cavern unmolested by the spriggans hiding in their trees. With the number of potential offspring they harvested from him, they may just consider him to be a Sky Father ((as a counter-part to their Earth Mothers ;3 )). It took him a moment to realize that Sanguine had left him naked out in the wilderness. He let out a resounding, "Ysmir's balls!" and stomped out into the waters of Lake Ilinalta to wash off two weeks of filth, especially the spriggan sap crystallized from across his loins. He had no idea what he was going to do. He didn't think he could return home, at least, not looking the way he does now. The next closest settlement was Helgen. Perhaps he could find a way to disguise his transformation on the way and get some more in-depth assistance...

The Big Family Secret :

During the time of the Dragonborn's battle against Alduin and his resurrected dragons, members of the Winterthorn clan left Skyrim behind and traveled south to Cyrodiil. They had made the trip and discovered some fertile land to claim as their own, but a peaceful life away from the dragon conflict was not in their destiny. On a dark night, a solitary male werelion attacked and systematically killed nearly all the immigrant Nords. One boy of sixteen summers survived purely by chance. The beast had clawed his chest before he scrambled away. Reaching for anything that might save his life, he found only a fork. Determined to reach Sovengarde honorable, he was going to at least hurt the monster before it killed him. The werelion leapt upon the boy to finish him, only to have his heart pierced by the fork, a silver fork. The beast heaved and died, but spilled his blood across the gashes in the boy's chest. As the creature's form diminished back into its normal khajiit shape, he boy was able to throw off the corpse and seek safety. Fever quickly overcame him and he slipped into a deep dreaming state, there the Daedric Prince Hircine appeared to him and claimed ownership of him. He was tasked with returning to Skyrim and to spread the werelion lycanthrope. He awoke from his fever dreams to find his wound healed and made the journey back to Skyrim alone.

There he returned to the Winterthorn clansmen who had remained and informed him of the fate that had befallen those that had left (convieniently leaving out news of his infection). He systematically spread his blessing to every male member of the Winterthorn clan and formed a Hircine cult with himself as high priest called the Brothers of the Moon's Claw. Their rituals included inducting every male into the cult on his eighteenth birthday. Children born after the conversion all have minor traces of the disease in the blood. No potions or magicks short of intervention of the Divines or Hircine himself can wipe away these traces because the result from having a lycanthrope as a parent. The end result is the clan's children have a weak allergy to silver. While not life-threatening, prolonged contact causes itching welts to rise on the affected area.

Over time the Nordic werelion strain has drifted away from the original lion appearance of the disease's jungle homeland and has come to resemble what is best described as a tiger appearance of various pelt colors. While perfectly applicable to continue labeling the afflicted as "werelions," Cult members of the present day call themselves weretigers. Because his father went missing before his eighteenth birthday, Xanamir was never properly inducted into the cult and remains a latent weretiger

Skillset : Before his disappearance, Xanamir's father trained his son excel in one-handed and unarmed combat (including but not limited to brawling and wrestling). He is also skilled with moving in stealth through his hunts with his father. It was a point of paternal pride that his son hunted by stalking right up on his prey and then taking it down by sword or mace rather than sniping at it from a distance with archery (that is, he isn't skilled at archery but wouldn't turn down the opportunity to learn it, he just wouldn't use it for hunting). His father was a wandering skald before he settled down with his mother to have children and passed his golden tongue and speechcraft skill onto his son. Xanamir has a preference for light armor over heavy armor mainly because it's much more difficult and expensive to create heavy armor in his size. From his mother he has become quite knowledgeable about herbs and alchemy and had been learning magecraft from her before she died and he had to move to self-study. Since her death he has been learning some blacksmithing just to keep himself well clothed. He has no significant training in other skills, but his love of learning gained from his mother makes him eager to learn just about anything. With his great interest in magic, he is also interested in finding an enchanting trainer. His mixed blood affords him a resistance to frost damage, enhanced magicka, quicker magicka regeneration, and a battle roar to strike fear into his enemies Destruction: Apprentice (all spells) Conjuration: Novice (Bound Dagger, Bound Sword, Conjure Familiar) Illusion: Apprentice (all spells) Alteration: Novice (all spells) Restoration: Novice (all spells)

Equipment: Currently nothing at all. (Oh, Sanguine, why are you so mean? Sanguine: "I'm all of time old and I never ever had a moral code.")

Deities worshipped: Talos/Ysmir Kyne/Kynareth Sanguine (unknowingly, through the confluence of being born on his summoning day, losing his innocence to the Daedra Lord and bearing his "blessing" in the form of the alterations to his physiology. When Xanamir engages in behavior that fits under the Daedric Prince's purview, it functions just as direct worship)

Shouts: I assume we aren't starting with shouts, but I especially want Xanamir to learn Cyclone and Storm Call words as a priority.

Fun Plothook Ideas :

Having his father just be dead is boring. As an alternative I suggest that he either be a prisoner of the Silver Hand (if they ever recovered following the assault on them by the game's Dragonborn), or someone scholarly person obsessed with exotic strains of lycanthrope. Additionally, during his wandering skald days, Malorne was a proper tomcat, so Xanamir may have several half-siblings all around Skyrim. Something I really would like to do is have Xanamir become a Vampire Lord, but have it interact strangely with his slumbering beast blood and the changes Sanguine did on him (not to mention having swallowed some of Sanguine's blood) to make his Vampire Lord form a bat-winged tiger beastman with antlers and hooves that can actually fly, because dammit Vampire Lord form in the game should have been able to fly :3 Now, how you want to do this is up for grabs, whether this means having a remaining member of Harkon's brood bestow the pure-blood on him or having Molag-Bal show up and grant it to him. I kind of think the latter is pretty interesting given the way Daedra seem to have an influence on his life. Maybe Molag-Bal shows up because Xanamir gives him the unique opportunity to create a whole new strain of vampire that also has lycanthropic properties.