T̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶r̶o̶l̶e̶p̶l̶a̶y̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶b̶l̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶B̶r̶e̶t̶o̶n̶,̶ ̶a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶d̶o̶w̶n̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶q̶u̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶s̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶-̶s̶e̶t̶.̶ ̶Y̶e̶a̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶ ̶w̶h̶i̶p̶ ̶u̶p̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶u̶s̶t̶o̶m̶,̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶i̶n̶c̶l̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶i̶t̶.̶ ̶I̶s̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶f̶u̶n̶?̶ ̶H̶o̶w̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶,̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶w̶i̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶j̶u̶s̶t̶i̶f̶y̶ ̶l̶e̶a̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶n̶e̶a̶k̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶i̶l̶l̶u̶s̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶b̶l̶a̶d̶e̶ ̶w̶h̶e̶n̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶s̶i̶d̶e̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶i̶n̶o̶r̶ ̶s̶k̶i̶l̶l̶?̶
Got the class down, but I'd really like some advice on RPing here. I'll just do a very brief backstory here so it'd be easier to understand his motivations. Please bare in mind, I'm not the best RPer out there, please do shoot me some advice. Feel free to skip to the bottom if it's boring/TL;DR, because I am inexperienced. First time I've EVER posted my backstory publicly for others to see.
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His name is Ranlin Montvale, a Breton Nightblade in his early 20s. He was born and raised in a particularly prejudiced part of Leyawiin, and was raised by his Breton parents, whom consisted of humble traders. His parents taught him a large portion of the blade skills he now possesses. The racism existing in his parts of town was easy to pick up on, and baffled him to no end. As he saw it, all sentient beings are equal. He considers inequalities to be a grave injustice. As an extension of this, in his younger years, he had a hard time complying with most authoritative figures. He thought of their authority as without merit. "Who is one person to tell another how to live their lives?" he always thought. More on his morals, he joined the Mage's Guild in support, not only for their teachings, but because of their stance on necromancy, as he considers it akin to slavery. Morals held significant importance to him, and he contemplated them at great length. For these reasons, he initially had aspirations of becoming a philosopher, and still does write down his thoughts into journals in his free time, although he makes no attempt to publish them.
Plans tend to change, however. A couple years ago, he and his parents were travelling on the Green Road. Aside from the shopping list he had been given, he was told he was allowed to purchase some things for himself. He was very excited, and couldn't wait to pick something out from the general store when he got there. When he was a mere stone throw away from Bravil, however, his journey took a turn. He was still walking along the white stone path, sun in the sky and a gentle breeze gently brushing through the grassy path, when a Khajiit robber in fur armoring brandishing a war axe and an Bosmer in leather armor with a hand on his blade approached from behind a bush just off the trail. In a mere second, combat ensued. He joined the fray, and contributed as best he could. He nearly killed one while they were distracted, when he made a startling realization. As much pain as it brought him, his parents had already lost. Neither one of his parents would survive the fight that day. So much bloodshed for what, cheap goods? He was then taken captive by the two, as horrified as he already was.
He was hauled off. To Bravil. Past the area where the Green and Gold roads meet. He distinctly remembers the smell of Lake Rumare when passing by, paying particular heed to all his senses, as it may be his last. It was his first stroke of luck that day, because he wouldn't die. Instead, he met a daunting fate. He was brought into the Imperial City, and swiftly was placed into the prison, in a cell adjacent to Valen Dreth's. The Khajiit and Wood Elf were no muggers, they were hired for their capture. He learned that his parents weren't merchants, they were involved in fencing and the skooma trade. Their extensive knowledge of manipulation and blade play finally made sense. He had almost killed an innocent man who was enforcing justice. Justice against his family, and himself; appropriately so. Nowhere in his philosophical journals had he written about a predicament like this. He had felt betrayed, and above all, saddened. So much had transpired. But, that isn't where his story ends. Rumor has it, his cell was supposed to be off limits,....
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My predicament is this. I'm at a "What would my character do?" moment and I can't put my finger on it. (The spoiler pertains to early campaign content)
Spoiler:
