Jngvrd Bio (WIP)

Jngvrd White-pelt, once known as a mighty adventurer and hero of Skyrim, has fallen a long way.

	He still remembers the days before he lost everything. The days when he was respected and loved by all who knew his legend. He was a hero who slew all manner of beast and bandit alike, none able to stand before his mighty axe or pierce his steel armor. He bore his last name with pride (His earliest ancestor, Jeornan White-Pelt, gained the title for his slaying of a mighty albino sabrecat) and accepted the adoration of his fans with open arms. For many years, he knew happiness. Until the dragons returned, anyway.

	He still remembers the disbelief he felt as the first great beast came towards him, as he walked out of the tavern of a now forgotten hamlet. The monstrous reptile set roof after roof ablaze and burnt men, women, and children alike to ash. It was as though the whole world had been set on fire. The creature landed a scant few times, giving Jngvrd few opportunities to strike at it with his axe. And for all his strength, he was still only human. So long as the beast remained in the sky, he could do little to harm it. And so it was that the hamlet and all its denizens were immolated, leaving only an exhausted and winded Jngvrd standing just outside its cooling remains as the dragon flew off. He still does not know why it didn't kill him. Sometimes he thinks it simply didn't care enough.

	Word quickly spread from town to town after that. A whole village destroyed, with no survivors. But was not the great hero Jngvrd White-Pelt with them? How could any creature possibly defeat such a legend? The villager's adoration turned as quickly as the dragon had flown away. Perhaps he was getting long in the tooth, they said. Perhaps he was no longer the great hero we thought he was. Perhaps he never was. Of course, Jngvrd insisted it was not the case. He was simply caught off guard, of course. The next dragon that came his way would be slain.

	But it wasn't. And neither was the one after that. Or the next. All of his attempts were met with scorching flames and the deaths of his comrades. With every loss, his heart grew more cold and bitter. And his situation was not helped by the arrival of the Dragonborn, either. A young, virile nord chosen by the gods and wielding the power of the Thu'um, leaving trails of draconic corpses in his wake? How could one washed-up adventurer compare to that. As the Dragonborn's legend grew, Jngvrd's own faded, until he was but a forgotten memory in most of the holds.

	Oh, did he resent this upstart. Jngvrd hated the Dragonborn with every fiber of his being. He just couldn't understand. This young man had been a nobody slated for execution and saved by mere chance, and the gods chose HIM to be their champion? Why? Why was he so much worthier than the great Jngvrd White-Pelt? Why had the gods not chosen him, who had shown such courage, such skill at arms, as he defended Skyrim from all manner of threat? These were the thoughts racing ceaselessly through his mind as the Dragonborn claimed victory after victory. And then, half a year later, as he sat in a near-empty tavern in the worst part of town, his armor dull and rusted and his axe hanging uselessly at his belt, he came to a conclusion. If the gods would not recognize his worthiness, then he shall seek something that would.

	It was a cold and cloudy day when Jngvrd finally found what he had sought. A cave, some distance away from a village of no importance. He ventured in, axe at the ready. He was prepared for when it struck. Out of the darkness, a feral thing with glowing red eyes leaped out towards him, maw open in a gape that exposed his prominent fangs. Jngvrd deflected the vampire with the flat of his blade, causing it to tumble to the ground. He had chosen this one for a specific reason. It was a pathetic, feeble-minded thing, something of a local legend among the nearby peasants. A child who had been born deformed and slow-witted, attacked by a vampire and left in a cave by parents who were too cowardly to end its life and were simply glad to be rid of it. In other words, He believed it would be far weaker and stupider than the typical vampire. Knowing the typical strength of such beasts, Jngvrd would take no chances. With his prey finally located and mewling on the ground, he hefted his axe and deftly cut the monster's neck halfway in twain. The vampire was still alive, but only just. Perfect. Wasting no time, he lifted the diminutive creature's body above him and tilted the gaping wound toward his open mouth, letting the creature's tainted blood flow into his gullet until he could take no more. Satisfied, he threw the body aside and took out a scroll of fireball, incinerating the abomination and ending its wretched life. He then stalked deeper into the cave, where he dwelled for three days, living off of the rations in his pack, as the transformation took hold.

	No one put the pieces together, originally. The villagers noted with wariness in their voices that the local vampire had been more active than usual. A few more villagers here and there had vanished compared to last year. Of course, they didn't know for sure it was the vampire, but by that time he had grown into a local legend and most disappearances were blamed on him. But more and more people began to go missing. People started to lock their doors at night and ignore a stranger's request for shelter. The locals lived in fear for a month, when suddenly it all stopped. The villagers were cautious, afraid, but also hopeful. Perhaps the nightmare was over. And it was in this exact moment that he made his entrance. Hale and hearty, renewed, Jngvrd White-Pelt walked into the center of the village and claimed the beast had been slain by his hand, after a long and terrible battle. As the villagers cheered his name and his legend began anew, he smiled. Only he knew that it was not the original vampire that had caused the recent disappearances.

	The reborn warrior grew to greatly appreciate his new powers as he once again hunted his reptilian quarry. With his newfound strength, he found he could go toe to toe with the winged terrors that had plagued him for so long. With a single leap he could strike a low-flying dragon with his axe and bring it to ground. With muscles of steel he could cut through dragonscale like leather. He became famous once again, his legend re-ignited. He claimed the divines had gifted him as they had the Dragonborn, albeit in a lesser manner, of course. Ever humble, Jngvrd was. Some had their doubts, but they could not argue with the results. After all, two dragonslayers were better than one. They did their best to ignore how people sometimes went missing where-ever Jngvrd went. The early years of the Dragon's return were fraught with desperation. People prayed for salvation, and were willing to turn a blind eye from where it came from, and what it cost them.

	At first, Jngvrd really did try to justify his actions. Those peasants he killed were noble sacrifices towards the creation of a demigod, a bulwark against the dragon menace. He viewed himself as the noble, tragic hero, cursed to feed upon the living but ultimately their beloved champion. Surely it was he who suffered the most. If anyone should be pitied, it would be one as cursed as Jngvrd. Not that he shouldn't be loved as well, for making such a sacrifice. Naturally. But there was one thing that gnawed at him. No matter what he did, or how many dragons he slew, he always remained a distant second compared to Skyrim's favorite, the Dragonborn himself. His penultimate dilemma remained unresolved throughout his revitalized career. Such foul thoughts caused his general appearance to take a darker turn as well. His once lustrous beard and hair became tangled and knotted, and instead of steel armor he took to wearing a terrifying ensemble carved from the bones of his slain foes. So too did the amount of vanishings increase. But this recklessness would prove to be his undoing.

	Everyone remembers the day the Dragonborn flew across Skyrim atop a mighty red steed, charging into Sovengarde itself to free the heavens from Alduin's tyranny. Everyone remembers the day he returned victorious. What people do not remember, do not want to remember, is the fall of a certain other beloved hero. Without a single personality to guide them, the dragons became scattered an attacks grew less frequent. In other words, dragonslayers were not nearly as vital as they were before. They were no longer protected due to their necessity. And so despite Jngvrd's best efforts, he came under scrutiny for the many disappearances linked to him. Due to his carelessness in the later period of his career, investigators found mounting evidence that his blessed strength was not what it seemed. Eventually, eyewitnesses previously too terrified to speak came forward. Once again, the population of Skyrim turned on Jngvrd. But he had already vanished, deep into the wilds of Skyrim. For while in the beginning he truly did wish to be a hero once more, his heart had been twisted by the influence of the great dominator. The desire to protect grew into a lust for ever greater power, and he began to see mortals as nothing but fuel for his glorious, perfect bonfire.

	For many months, Jngvrd traveled the forests and tundra's of the province's wildlands, feeding indescriminately on man and beast alike. He cut a bloody path through the shadows of the world, turning a great many vagabonds and brigands into creatures of the night and honing their violent tendencies to a cutting edge, creating a terrible host of vampires who fight with the skill and discipline of trained soldiers. With these loyal progeny at his side, he subjugated the neighboring vampiric dens and covens, adding further strength to his numbers. Eventually, he grew bold enough to raid for thralls, but not before securing his brood in a vast cavern far below the earth.

	And so he lives today, in the dark heart of Skyrim's wilderness. A great and terrible power ruling over a mighty clan of martial vampires, who in turn rule over a cowed mass of destitute thralls in a great cavern city that has no name and no mark on any map. Jngvrd himself has grown vain, arrogant, and oddly paternal. He will patronize and pontificate to other vampires about their inherent superiority (and his in particular) whenever he gets the chance, and while experienced hunters resent his overwhelming superiority complex, new blood would do well to travel to his lair and listen to his teachings, as he is a useful source of information on the vampiric community, such as which clans can be traded with and which are near feral, which ones are rivals and which are not, how to craft potions of blood, where the secret meeting places of the cities are, and other secret lore that ties these beings together. But all know not to speak to him of the Dragonborn, or a terrible rage will overcome him and the speaker will be lucky to escape the meeting alive. Jealousy still burns deeply within him on that matter. But regardless of such things, Jngvrd White-Pelt remains a dangerous threat to the civilized peoples of Skyrim, and many fear the day he grows strong enough to march his undead army out of the wilds and into the cities of the living.