The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A wiry, weathered Breton in his early seventies with thinning gray hair swept back in a defiant attempt at tidiness. His face is deeply lined, with sunken eyes that flicker between wry amusement and tired regret. A crooked nose and a perpetual shadow of stubble give him a slightly disheveled charm. He dresses in well-worn noble garb that is faded and frayed at the cuffs, insisting they’ve “still got some dignity left.” His gait is a little stiff from age and too many barstool landings, but he walks with a defiant posture, rarely without his walking stick, flask, or a reason to grumble.

Octieve is sharp-tongued, cynical, and perpetually half-soused. He’s the kind of man who insults you as a form of affection and complains about everything—even things he enjoys. He’s got an opinion on everything, from politics to how they ruin a good mead these days, and he’s rarely shy about sharing it. Beneath the cantankerous exterior, however, is a deeply sentimental soul: fiercely protective of Evette, quietly ashamed of his failures, and still clinging to fragments of the pride he once wore like armor. He masks vulnerability with sarcasm, and though he’d scoff at the idea, he still tries to offer advice and wisdom when he thinks no one’s paying attention. He is, in short, a broken man who refuses to break—just a little bent, a little bitter, and still fighting not to be forgotten.

Octieve once served as a minor courtier in Solitude’s political circles, back when his name carried some weight and his debts were still manageable. A lifetime ago, he was known for sharp wit, decent fencing skills, and a penchant for charming conversation. But the years—and the bottle—haven’t been kind. After his wife passed and his standing faded, he took to gambling and drinking with reckless frequency, leaning heavily on the kindness of his daughter, Evette San, who now supports him and houses him despite his protests. He’s well known at the Winking Skeever, where his bar tab is as long as his list of half-true stories from the good old days. Though he’d never admit it, Octieve carries a deep well of guilt—about his lost status, about being a burden, and about how little he has to show for the legacy he once hoped to leave behind.