Sybilla Marlkfarth

Character Name: Sybilla Marlkfarth.

Nickname(s): The Signpost Bandit, Signpost, Sig.

Race: Nord.

Sex: Female.

Age: Nineteen.

Birthplace: Bowman's Hollow, Falkreath Hold.





Height: 6'1".

Weight: 158 lbs.

Eye Color: Amber.

Hair Color: Dark Brunette.

Hair Style: Tied back into a loose and low ponytail, fits well into almost any helmet.

Facial Hair: None.

Skin Color: Slightly darker than the Nordic White, hinting at long hours outside in summers and a spot of Nibenese blood.

Build: Most of her strength lies in her upper arms, which are well muscled from repetitive archery. Clearly not built for prolonged melee combat, her wide hips and thick calves lend themselves better for long distance running. While her well toned stomach points towards agility in her combat styles.

Distinguishing Features: Living life as a bandit has given her a low appreciation for the finer parts of life, like caring for her appearance. Her hands are rough, her body no longer the fair, soft, thing it was in early youth. This gives her an overall travel-worn appearance.

Although the Dawnguard have recently introduced her to a good scrubbing, for hygiene reasons.



Profession: Dawnguard Prisoner, Ex-Bandit.

Skills: Banditry! Sig knows what it's like to survive a Skyrim winter by living in a cave, and all the survivalist skills that required. Hunting, skinning, foraging. How to make and pack up camp quickly and efficiently, where to sleep and where to hide. What to eat, too - far too many plants look tasty and will give you a quick case of the deaths before you can ask Stendarr for mercy. Even knows how to fletch her own arrows, given the right materials. This translates well to bolts, too.

Magic: Sig's not a good Nord girl. But she's stubborn like one, she doesn't like Magic. So she doesn't know Magic. Yet, for the Dawnguard are trying to teach her how to utilise Restoration.

Training: Sig was trained by her friends in Banditry, spending years under the crew's other Archer, Illgfred learning how to properly utilise ranged weapons. As is befitting a bandit she also learnt how to deliver blows with an axe quickly and efficiently. Recently, she's been learning how to fight with a shield alongside her axe - in true Dawnguard style.

A very, very long time ago, she was educated. She didn't quite enjoy it, so she didn't listen well - but she can read and write, do magical things with numbers. It was a rare trait amongst bandits, apparantly. Mostly useless one, too.

Other Abilities: Knows how to cook 'bandit-style' as she calls it: with what meat they've got and what herbs she can find around the campfire, usually comes in the form of a broth. She's also got quite the voice, would make a fine bard if she'd taken to that side of life. Or a trobairitz, because she's quite good at acting and is charming when she wishes to be, it's a real shame she wasn't born a Breton. Rarely actually uses this skill of late, still too bitter about her current lot in life.

Apparel: Has been thrown into the light padded leathers of the Dawnguard Light Armours. Wears the full gambit: cuirass, gauntlets, boots, pants and even carries the helm around, attached to her chain belt. She often wears a cloak, made of the warm brown fur of a wolf. Under her armours she wears a leather brassiere (pictured above) and canvas pants, usually she's seen wearing these clothes without the armour. The Dawnguard don't quite trust her to wear anything that might improve her escape attempts just yet.

Weaponry: Sig keeps her bow in the Fort, next to her bunk. She's not allowed to keep the arrows with it unless there are other Dawnguard nearby, although she knows where they're kept - where the rest of the ammunition is. Recently, though, she's been given a Crossbow of Dawnguard make. The Dawnguard have also replaced her old, rusted, Iron Axe with a new Steel and Silver War Axe - runed with the power of Sun Fire.

The Crossbow is strung across her back, the bolts kept on her left hip. The War Axe is held in a ring attached to her belt on the right-hand side. She'll sometimes carry a shield, although only in the Fort - she hasn't yet figured out how to carry a shield and a crossbow at the same time.

Other Equipment: She keeps a hunting knife attached to her right outside thigh, although it's only really used for foraging and skinning. She'd been given some potion vials, kept in a bandolier that hangs over the top of her armour: cure disease, basic restoration potions, some potions to restore stamina. Carries a hip flask attached to the belt at her back, and a small pouch next to it with some basic survival essentials.

Companions: Deceased, the lot of them.



Affiliation: Reluctantly, Dawnguard.

Religious Belief: Believes Daedra are bad and that the Aedra do fuck all about it.

Sexual Preference: Bisexual, although has more experience with males than females.

Relationship Status: Single.

Personality: To say she's bitter is an understatement.

Before the Dawnguard came, Sig was as happy as Bandits can be. She was chatty, she laughed, she joked. She was happy with her friends, doing anything for them. She'd sing around the campfire, songs she'd heard from bards, all while cooking something 'delicious'. She wasn't 'kind', or 'good', by any stretch of the words, after all she killed and robbed travelers for a living. She didn't exactly enjoy the killing, but it was a living (ironically) and she had good company. Her Crew often used the young girl as bait, leaving her in the middle of the road - oft near a broken cart or such - and she'd... Well she'd act, very well. She could produce tears on command, decieve travelers into dismounting from horses to aid her. To reach down close to give her a hand - and get a knife to the neck for their troubles.

After the Dawnguard, she's become bitter. Angry. She hates, but she doesn't know who she hates more. The Vampires that killed her Crew or the Dawnguard that brought them into that situation. She's yet to make a friend in the Fort, nobody has succeeding to break her sour spell - or her near constant glare.



Born of a traveling merchant, Bjorn Marlkfarth and a shipping magnate's daughter, Myrld Stormdrifter. Her mother had ran from her household to live a 'happy' life on the road with the merchant. They'd done so for two years, when Sybilla graced their lives. They decided to settle down, working as local merchants in a sleepy town known as Bowman's Hollow, deep in the forests of Falkreath. The townsfolk were log cutters, hunters, herbalists, a couple of farmers. They'd come together to benefit from safety in numbers and guards from the Jarl, for Falkreath was rife with all manner of evil: beasts, monsters and bandits. But Sig wasn't to experience that, no Sig was to learn the family business: Trade and Charm. Her parents gave her toys, although they were books and an abacus. She had friends, although they hit her and stole her Septims. In all honesty, she had a shit life growing up. She didn't lack for food, or for funds, but this sleepy little town never took well to her family. They'd worked for their stay, but the locals didn't see them as "the kind family that brings foreign goods to our town", but rather "the family that charges extortionate amounts for food and tools".

She was nine when the war started. Falkreath broke into chaos, brother fought against brother. People ran away from home to join this rebellion, these "Stormcloaks". Sig would've considered doing that, too, if she gave a damn about whoever this Talos fellow was. Oh and she were a good decade older. That didn't stop her from grabbing a dagger from the stockroom and running around town pretending to fight "The Evil Empire". To her misfortune, it seemed the Hold had sided against the Stormcloaks - and one of the Jarl's men gave her a good crack over the face with his metal gauntlet. They ransacked her father's shop, looking for anything to connect them to the rebellious movement. The town hated them even more, thinkin them rebels. Syb, learnt two things: The Stormcloaks were not something to support (from her parents), and people are all mean (from everyone around them).

She saw a Dragon, too. A big black thing, that flew over from the east and traveled to the mountains in the west. She'll never forget that sight, black wings unfurled it nigh almost blocked out the sky above. Certainly if it didn't, the smoke rising in the horizon certainly did. That was the one day where the villagers didn't pick on them. Instead they bought, a lot of objects that could be used as weapons. She got a new toy, too. A teddy. To keep her safe from Dragons. It worked, a Dragon never did come near the village after that day. But then the war ended, and things returned back to normal. Only this time, the locals were jumped up about winning the war and the only enemy in sight was the Marlkfarths. For a few years they continued their existence, Sig started to get a wandering itch. Being tied down to the same village for so long, she'd accompany her mother to Falkreath for goods - but it just wasn't the same as going out on your own. But it was better than being in the village, now she was a little older she'd learnt a few things from her parents. They were scared of the village, they'd been saving up enough Septims to leave for quite awhile, but didn't quite have enough to leave...

So they burnt them out. Mother, Father, Sybilla and her recently born young brother - Eryk - were pushed from all forced from all their wealth and into the night. They were to head north, back to the coast. With any luck, Myrld's father would have them back after so long. Syb was... Oh... Around fifteen? Well, old enough, she thought. She'd grown out into a woman, that meant she was old enough to live her own life! So, while her family camped by the roadside on their way north - she ran.

Hasn't seen 'em since.

It was a stupid decision, she knows that now. But it was the right decision. She spent four days wandering about the wilderness. Luckily, it was summer. Even better, she'd actually learnt how to make a fire and knew which berries were good for eating. She had this survival stuff sorted. Until she didn't. A bear sprung upon her, roaring its angry cries. There seemed to be an arrow or a javelin sticking from its rear. She screamed, cried and ran - the bear quick upon her heels. So terrified was the young girl, so obsessed with escaping the animal was she, that she didn't notice the pair of boots before her scrambling form nor the bare chest she collided with. The bear succumb to its hunters, and they carried the scared young girl away with them.

They didn't eat her. Which was a big surprise, because they lived in a cave like some type of monsters. They were Bandits, that much was clear: they wore rags and furs, used old rusty weapons and were scarred more than any of the Guards the Hold had sent to the village. But they seemed to treat her nicely. She was young, she was hungry, she was afraid. So they talked to her nicely, gave her some food, didn't wear their weapons around her. They told her their names, their stories. Their leader, Noura Manirsdottir, seemed to want to help her find her family. But Syb didn't want to go back. They offered to leave her outside the town she had grown up in. Yet again, Syb refused that offer. One of them suggested leaving her at Falkreath. Syb wasn't having that either. No, she wanted to stay here: with the only strangers that had shown her kindness in a long time. Even if they were bandits, they weren't so bad.

There was an arguement, there was a fight, but Syb was allowed to stay. She kept the cave warm, when they left. They taught her how to cover their hideout when they'd go out, and she'd do so - lest somebody find and steal their things... Or her. Guards, Adventurers, even rival Bandits. Nobody could be trusted, they said. Nobody but them. So she'd sit there, day in day out. She'd count the things they'd brought in and organise it into a little book. She made notes of what went out, too, although she didn't know where. Fences, the Bandits said: but what business do Fences have with goods? Fences guard things, that's their job. They taught her how to cook, too. From boar meat to deer, and more deer. With some mushrooms. It wasn't great cuisine but it tasted better than all of the ingrediants did raw - or seperate. For her first year, she kept their cave nice and tidy - and they'd bring back some trinkets for her to keep, or pass on for Septims, from their 'excursions'. Towards the start of her second year with the Bandits, they started teaching her to fight. Particularly, they put a short bow in her hands, "Too dangerous to fight up front," they'd said, "so here's a bow, first you'll learn to pull its string."

A Daedra's Ass that was a lot harder than it sounded. It took her practically months until she had the string pulling down, then came how to aim the blasted thing. All the while, she was being taught where to hit someone if they did get close. With an axe, of course. They said all this was so she could protect herself in the cave, she believed their story - although she knew from the bloodstained items that had been coming in for the last year that they often used these skills outside of 'protection'. So she kept up the practice, they made her some new clothes too - her old ones were all but rags from age. Now she looked like them, she ate like them, she smelt like them and she fought like them.

It was only a matter of time before somebody treated her like them. Syb was stood over a steaming pot of Bandit Broth, cooking this morning's deer haul. A rattling of bones alerted her, a tripwire had been triggered at the cavern's entrance. The Bandits had never done that before, ever. To trip your own wire was a stupid mistake, even Syb knew where all the wires were and she didn't go out day after day. No this was an intrustion. An invasion. She grabbed her bow, grabbed her axe, grabbed her quiver, and headed for the entrance. String held taut (far easier than pulling it back), she edged her way down the cavern's tunnel. The torches weren't lit down here, but she'd been living in a cave long enough to grow used to dim lighting. "Who's there?" she called out, nothing. No reply. Only searing heat, and a flame as bright as the sun launching towards her. She ducked behind her cover, the hairs atop her head charring at the heat. Her decision was clear, cower here like the fifteen year old she had been with the bear. Or fight like the sixteen year old bandit she was.

She rose from the cover, and loosened her bow.

The fight was quick, Syb used the light produced by the Adventurer's magic to find his spot, while disapearing into the darkness of her familiar cave. By the time the others had returned, burdened by yet another hoard, they found Syb sat quietly in a corner. Huddled close to her bow. They celebrated that night, for Syb had become a woman in their eyes. They forced drink down her, brought out sweet meats and yet more foul smelling drinks and they didn't wake up for a good half a day. But even now Sig looks back on that day fondly, for their response? Helped shape her, helped her forget about the act she had just commited. They made her feel better in the only way they knew how, and it hardened her somewhat.

They begun to take her out from that day, only rarely - but they would. Turns out they didn't at all need her to guard home that often, the Adventurer had been a freak incident that hadn't occured for a few years. They'd kept her around mostly out of pity, or perhaps as a long-term investment. Now it was time for her to pay off. They stripped her of her furs, leaving her in little but threads. She was cold, a little afraid, but she knew her job. She sat under a signpost, all scuffed and dirty. She huddled up, hiding her flesh as best she could. She would sit like this, for hours sometimes, until somebody came down the path. She'd start crying, shy away from the traveler a little. The best hits were caravan drivers, but the results were always the same. They'd come to the poor girl, asking what was wrong - she'd pull on their heart strings with a sob story until they moved to help her from the ground. At that point, ushering a small knife from her rags she would put it to their necks and threaten them with the many arrows pointed at them. Then with a whistle, the Bandits moved in and made off with their haul.

One day, it finally turned violent. The travelers had spotted her from a mile off, but they'd been prepared. It was a pair, a merchant and a well-armed guard. And Syb would be lying if she didn't have a whole heap of fear in her at the sight of that Orc. They approached her with weapons drawn, and quickly overpowered her - even as she scrambled for safety. The traveler lifted up a piece of paper, a wanted poster. It bore her image, with the name "The Signpost Bandit" upon it. She struggled, but they held her tight. "You're coming with us!" the Orc barked, and she whistled. The Orcs meaty fist knocked her out cold, but to her happiness she awoke in the arms of her friends and not a dirty jail cell. From that day, she'd never again act as bait. But she'd earned a new nickname amongst the group, Signpost. Or Sig. At least now she could wear her furs.

So at the ripe age of seventeen, she begun to true Banditry. She was as good a shot as any other Bandit, and getting better every week. She took part in assaults, even killed a few men in her time. They'd hit Traders, take back hauls and drink away the night until morning came. Then do it all over again. It was a great life, shared with great friends.

Until one hit went badly. She'd been doing this for a year, almost. As far as she could remember, she was Eighteen. Another winter had passed so she may as well have been. You don't really keep track of months and days in the wilderness. They were holding up a merchant, a caravan this time. A great big haul, the wood and stone were useless to them - but the weapons were fine and steel. The Merchants even had jewelry on them! Enchanted ones, by the fancy colours that swirled about them. They begged, "we need these weapons!" they shouted, "They're for a good cause", they pleaded. But Sig and her Crew were having none of it. They were preparing the haul for ... Hauling ... When a shout came out from the forests. "Nobody make a move!". Sig reached for her bow, and a searing hot flash of pain tore through her leg. She fell to the ground, screaming to all the Daedra and Aedra bloody murder. From her leg jutted a small wooden thing, like an arrow but half the size. Through tear filled, pain hazed eyes, she watched as men decked out in metal armour descended from the treeline like the Bandits had done before them. She saw two of her friends die putting up a fight, the rest dropped their weapons when they realised they were hopelessly outarmed.

They tied their hands together, and threw Sig onto one of the wagons - tied to its wooden frame. She passed out, more than once. She awoke more than a few days later - she could tell by how thirsty she was. She'd drink the sweat off a Giant's back if there was one around. They'd patched up her wound, at some point. It seemed to have almost healed completely over, magic had been at play here she recognised. But why? She tried to ask the men in metal, but only got told to stay quiet. Everybody was to be very, very quiet. It was nighttime, it was very dark. They were deep within the woods of Falkreath, so dense that Frostbites had even made some webs amongst the trees.

A shrill scream broke the silence, and the Horse pulling the carriage reared up in protest and alarm. It broke free of its restraints and bolted, right down the road. For behind the wagon came another scream, this one of an animals. A Horse lay dead, the Horse pulling the cart laiden with stone. Atop the beast was a man, or a woman - something shaped roughly Human. It fed from the beast, not pulling shreds of meat like an animal would but rather burying its face in the rich, warm, blood. There was shouting all around her, but she didn't know what was happening. She pulled on her restraints, and the thing feeding on the Horse noted her struggles. The shape was dark, but its eyes were a piercing red. The torches of her captors flickered light that danced over its shape as it leapt onto the carriage. A twisted face, a pale mockery of a Bosmer bared teeth and hissed at the girl. She cried out in fear, and lashed at it with her feet. It came closer, grabbed her legs and brought its mouth to bite down upon her inner thigh. A clean, metallic swish broke through her terrified screams. The beast's head fell onto her lap. Panicked, she thrashed about the wooden planks until the head rolled off from her. Her saviour raised his steel sword in her defense once more, and the night ended as quickly as it had begun.

She was the last bandit to survive, saved by the one man whom she didn't even know. They all wore full faced masks, and rarely talked - it could have been any of them. She lay in shock for most of the journey - witnessing the unceremonious dumping of her friends corpses at the side of the road shook her to her very foundations. They'd found a new horse for the stone cart, which now also carried the bodies of the soldiers who had captured her - two of them. They called themselves Dawnguard. What had attacked her, had been Vampires.

They arrived at a wooden Fort a few days later, it was truly a mess. Hardly up from the ground, built around some old mostly-collapsed tower that they seemed to be in the process of rebuilding. Fort Dawnwatch they called it. Her new home - or, prison as they called it. They seemed to let her off light, due to her age or her gender - she couldn't tell. There wasn't many other women here that was for sure. They put her to work, mostly in the kitchens preparing food for the masses. She'd hand it out, too. Essentially an enforced serving wench, who'd occasionally be roped into helping haul rocks or wood. Her life had taken a turn for the worse, partly because of these Dawnguard, partly because of some freaks that had eaten her friends. She didn't know how long they were going to keep her here, one had joked and said "Until the Sun rises and never sets." At least, she hoped it was a joke. It could've been worse, she reminded herself, she could've been in some stinking hole in the Jarl's Hold - or on the recieving end of the Axe.

They didn't pay her much attention for a good half a year, giving her jobs and giving her food. She barely looked at anybody, let alone talked to them. It was a great surprise when one of them dragged her out in the morning and instructed her to pick up an axe. They said it was for protection, in case those things came again. Well she showed him. Months of withheld anger released in a display of martial prowess she didn't know she even had. She even managed to get the metal-clad soldier on the defensive before he overwhelmed her. More practice, he'd instructed, seeming almost impressed. His name was Ingveld, and he was the only person she talked to on a regular basis - even if but once a week, he taught her some basic moves with the axe, and with a shield. She begun to trust him, not seeing him as one of the rest. These captors that had taken her away and gotten her friends killed. He was different. He was... Kind. He even tried to teach her some basic magic, although she was slow to take to it.

It's been a month since he disappeared. He didn't get to see her turn Nineteen.