Matthias paused to catch his breath and make sure he hadn't lost the trail. Nope, there it was, the broken branches, even a little footprint in the snow. Looking to the sky, he knew had to decide quickly if he was going to follow, or admit defeat and turn back towards Bruma.
It had sounded so simple. A small bounty, placed on the heads of a bandit pack that had been hitting a certain trade route a couple times a month for the last season. He'd taken similar jobs a dozen times before over the years and never had much trouble. He wasn't counting on the weather this time, though. Already, the sky was darkening and the first fat flakes were making their descent. If he continued to follow the bandits, who already had a sizable head start and seemed to know the mountains well, he might get stuck out in a potential blizzard. No bounty was worth dying over.
If he turned around, it wasn't likely he'd actually make it all the way back to Bruma, though. His decision made, he pressed on. His furs were barely adequate protection, and the chill really started to get to him by the time the wind picked up speed, kicking snow into his face. Hours later, when he could see no further than four feet ahead and was shivering so badly his sword was rattling in its scabbard, he had to confess to himself.
He'd gotten lost.
He was in trouble if he didn't find shelter soon. He should have turned back, tried to make it back to Bruma. Even if he hadn't, there were still plenty of caves...
As though conjured by his desperate self-criticism, Matthias saw a depression in the snow banks ahead and to his right- a slight decline that, when he got close enough to see through the flurry, led right on down into a cave. He made sure his pack was still slung over his shoulders, and took a few cautious steps towards it. There was no telling if something else had already decided to make it their home or not.
He cast a few tentative bursts of flame down into the cave to light it up, the sudden warmth painfully waking his cold-numbed nerves. When he determined it was clear, at least as far back as he could see, he ducked down in. He didn't have any wood to burn, but there were a few things in his pack he could sacrifice if he had to to survive.
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Matthias Corvin
Breton, born in the City of Wayrest on the 16th day of Mid Year in the 178th year of the 4th Era
Father: Unknown
Mother: Simone, an alleged witch
Raised in the Horley Orphanage, under the oversight of the Dunmer, Evesa Omalas
Faith: Eight Divines, non-devout
Profession: Adventurer
Level of Education: Literate, some magical training with a focus on practical applications
Martial talents: Familiar with how to use a bow, informal training in basic and advanced (Mephalan sword-dancing) swordsmanship
Personality (in 5 words): Loyal, vindictive, proud, ambitious, inquisitive
Virtue: Prudence
Vice: Pride
Born on the outskirts of Wayrest to a dying witch-in-exile, Matthias Corvin's earliest memories are of the Horley Orphanage, where he was raised until the sacking of Wayrest by corsairs when he was ten years of age. The orphanage always held at least one dozen children, often more, who formed a revolving family around him. He formed close bonds with the headmistress, a young wood elf girl he saw as a little sister, and a pair of Nord twins he looked up to as brothers. His entire world changed with the sacking of Wayrest.
The orphans that managed to escape the city all stayed with Evesa, Matthias included. They traveled around High Rock, staying for a month or two in various cities and towns, but never longer. Over time, many of the children found new homes. After a few years, only Matthias, Kirstiel, Evesa, and one of the Nord twins, Benno, remained of the group. They continued their travels, living in the wild, Evesa teaching them all basic survival skills as well as other, less orthodox means of staying alive. When he was sixteen, Matthias fell asleep when he was supposed to be standing watch over the little group. A necromancer who had been hiding out in the area attempted to take advantage of this. When all was said and done, Matthias was left with nothing: no family, no belongings, and nowhere to call home.
He spent a few months in the village of Evermor, running petty errands for a blacksmith in exchange for a place to sleep. When a caravan passed through, on their way to Rihad in southern Hammerfell by way of Dragonstar and Elinhir. Matthias managed to sign on, and stayed with the caravan all the way to Rihad. During his travels, he learned a little about the Thalmor, none of it positive. He grew in strength, and had no difficulties signing onto another caravan leaving Rihad after spending all of his coin there. From there, he traveled to the Colovian Highlands, finishing his contract with the caravan when they reached Skingrad. Over the next five years, he moved around western Cyrodiil, staying in the wilderness, taking up bounties from the nobility. He managed to make a decent living off of tracking down bandits, and took a special joy when he managed to get his hands on a contract to hunt down rogue necromancers. He usually worked alone, but got along well enough with others when he needed to, often becoming the leader of whatever small group formed around completing a bounty.
Matthias is thoughtful and methodical, always saving judgement and preferring to delay action until every possible angle has been approached. He follows the law, if only because not doing so tends to make life overly difficult. He finds magic fascinating, loves stories, and has gotten better with the sword over time. He doesn't favor any one armor class, though the fact he tends to travel a lot often means he likes the speed and mobility offered by a good set of light armor. He doesn't think much further than a month or two in the future; he's spent the last decade of his life living hand-to-mouth, and has yet to feel comfortable enough in one place to consider turning it into a permanent home. He dreams of wealth, but doesn't know what he would do with it. He dreams of fame, but isn't sure how he'd handle it. He fantasizes about being a leader, but doesn't know that he'd make a good one. So, he travels.
When he was twenty one (4E 199), he relocated to Chorrol county for most of a year, before heading even further east towards Bruma.
It was in a tavern in Bruma, in 4E 201, that he took the contract that would change his life, forever.
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Matthias emerged from the cave, his gout of fire melting a path through the snow before him. When he was clear, he re-secured his pack over his shoulders, and tried to find his bearings.
The blizzard had wiped out any chance of finding the bandits. He had enough food for another day or so, and then he would have to hunt. First, he needed to figure out where to go. The sun was still hidden behind clouds, so it was difficult to find which direction he was going in, but if he was right, there would be a path a little further north that would loop up and around, and eventually take him down into a valley, which he could follow all the way back to Bruma.
Setting off in what he hoped was the right direction, he hummed to himself to pass the time.
An hour later, he still hadn't found the trail. Maybe it had been buried under the snow? He paused for a moment, looking once more to the sky, which still refused to surrender its secrets up to him. Resigned, he decided to keep going just a little further, before he came up with another plan. He had most of the day left to find shelter again, but if he didn't before nightfall, he would be in even worse shape than he had been before the blizzard.
"Now!" came the call that broke his reverie. Suddenly, what had looked like an empty clearing ahead was a blur of snow and bipedal shadows pushing back and forth. The distinct sounds of combat reached him a second later, and he dropped his pack to the ground, drawing his sword.
"I think I've got one over here!"
Matthias was in the process of spinning around to find the source of the nearby voice when he felt an intense pressure between his shoulder blades. The next thing he knew, he was half-buried under the snow on the ground, coughing for breath.
His last conscious thought, before he saw stars and everything went black, was, "Ow. That hurt."
