| Welcome to Brotherhood of Sithis. We hope you enjoy your visit. You're currently viewing our forum as a guest. This means you are limited to certain aspects of the board and there are some features you cannot use. If you would like to join our Elder Scrolls based community, you must create a character within the lore of the Elder Scrolls and write them a back story. Our story began approximately a year after the Oblivion Crisis, and it ranges all over Tamriel. Each Province is represented and usable. Please take the time to read the back stories of those who are already here before you write yours, so we do not have repeats of ideas. (Great minds, after all, do think alike!) We now have a section that takes place during and after the events in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. This section does not in any way interact with the old one. Again, you are most welcome here! Once your story is complete, join up and post it! A Speaker will contact you, and you will be able to join a Sanctuary. Or, if you would rather not be a member of the Brotherhood, you can request to play another faction. It is rather flexible and good. If you have any questions, feel free to email Shivani at anonymous_celt@yahoo.com. Please note that The Elder Scrolls, The Dark Brotherhood, Sithis, and several of the NPCs are all owned by Bethesda Softworks. Join our community! If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| First Contracts; A character's first taste of murder... | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 7 2012, 08:18 PM (410 Views) | |
| Raqel | Mar 7 2012, 08:18 PM Post #1 |
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Angry Ghost! BOO!
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| Raqel | Mar 7 2012, 08:21 PM Post #2 |
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Angry Ghost! BOO!
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I guess I'll get the ball rolling, despite being dead XD Murder was not new to me, but I only committed in dire situations, or when it was truly asked for. Agronak was my first actual murder, but he begged for his death, and I gave it to him. The kill that gave me recognition occurred when I was a Shadowfoot in the Thieves Guild, on my way to the Imperial City to prepare Lex's new orders. Having been the Grand Champion for about five years, Ysabel had asked me to stop in once and a while to keep my training up. I had figured that, since I was passing through, I might as well go visit. Upon entering the Bloodworks, the overly cheery Dunmer Gladiator I despised so much stopped me. "Agronak gro-Malog was my friend. You... you killed him," he murmured. "That was over five years ago," I told him. I tried to walk past him, wanting to have nothing more to do with his sorry soul, but he held his arm out. "What do you want?" He didn't say anything, but he glared at me. Catching me off guard, he grabbed my shoulders and shoved me against the wall. The blow knocked most of the air from my lungs. "What in Akato-" Before I could finish, he covered my mouth with his hand. "Shhh," he said, slowly grinning. "It will all be over soon." My eyes widened, not from fear, but from surprise that this lowly bastard would have the gal to do such a thing to me. He was either going to rape me or kill me. Neither were desirable, but I prayed that it was the latter. He spun me around, pressing my face against the wall. The details still cause me pain, so I will save you the trouble. "Get it over with, cur," I hissed, slowly plotting his death in my mind. I couldn't help but shudder as he kissed the side of my neck. "I've been waiting a long time for this." "As have I." I elbowed him as hard as I could in the gut and he fell backward. Eyes wide, he scurried away from me as I picked up the dagger he had attempted to use. "Oh, please, no! I'm sorry!" I glared at him, dagger in hand. He was not getting away with this. Before he could beg anymore, I slit his throat. Suddenly I felt as though someone was watching me. Someone, or something, I was not sure. Some presence I hadn't felt before. Looking around, I saw nothing, nor heard, nor smelled. Netierh Ysabel, nor Owyn, had noticed what had happened. I didn't bother stopping by to see Ysabel. Someone saw that I had killed the Gladiator, and at the time I didn't want to know who. Quickly I left, heading for the Tiber Septim where I could rest until the time came for me to sneak into the Legion Commander's office. I payed for a room and dropped my things off by the bed. I attempted to get some rest, but was awoken by a figure in black. "You seem to rest easily for one who's hands are stained with blood," were the first words spoken to me by any member of the Dark Brotherhood, and I will never forget them. Since then, Shivani has remained a close friend of mine, and probably will always be. May Sithis Guide her, and the rest of you, in your journeys ahead. |
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| Brayden | Mar 7 2012, 08:23 PM Post #3 |
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Murderer
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The story of Nevyn (originally pronounced similar to "No One") is not a particularly happy one. (I have full permission to use any characters mentioned that are property of other RPers) I never knew my father, nor my mother. I was raised as a slave below the man who was married to the woman who bore me. When I was young, my dead mother's Khajiiti handmaiden told me a little about what put me into the life I have. Her name was Maelasi Thelas, daughter to a rather wealthy Dunmer business man. When she came of age, her father forced her to wed a fellow business man of House Hlaalu in order to make a deal with him. He was a brutal man, often beating and raping my mother. Maelasi could control a little magic, just enough to put her brutal husband to sleep after a drunken banter, so she could slip out of the house and have a little freedom. On one of these trips, she found herself in the company of a merchant who called himself Alain. I don't know the whole story beyond that point, but I do know that I was conceived sometime in the months following that first meeting. Before my mother knew she was pregnant, Alain took his leave of her. The day he left, he gave her a ring with a dragon signent, and told her to find him in Cheydinhal as soon as she could. Then he was gone, and she never saw him again. Just months before I was born, my mother gave that same ring and message to her handmaiden, making her promise to keep me safe were I not of her husband's loins. Alain appeared Dunmer, but it was clear that he was not, and if I were his child, she had no doubts that it would be plainly obvious that my heritage was not full Dunmer either. Her fears came to pass on the day of my birth, with my pale blue skin, nearly black burgundy hair, and mismatched eyes. Her husband tied her to a line off the back of his horse's saddle, and rode until she fell, then kept riding. He returned to find my would-be wet nurse doing her job, and beat her half to death. He then handed me to my mother's handmaiden and ordered her to kill me. She didn't, but instead hid me away and raised me to be another slave boy to her master. The ploy worked, as he never pays much attention to his slaves. She only made me promise to never look my master in the eye, for he would know instantly who I was. When I passed out of my early childhood years, the handmaiden gave me the ring that Alain had given my mother, as well as the message. Since that day, I have worn his ring around my neck. My life continued as a slave until one day I tripped, and found myself looking up into the eyes of my master. He beat both me and the woman who raised me until she was dead. I held on for my life, even though it was slipping. The last thing I remember of that day was him asking me, “Will you be my slave, boy? Say no, and you will die like the others. Say yes, and you may live, if you survive your injuries. ” I nodded, and that was the end of it. From that day on he referred to me as "No one," and I grew up thinking that was my name. When I hit my teens, I grew rebellious and tried things that my master never let me do. I found an old discarded journal and stole a quill, deciding then and there to teach myself to read and write. Not knowing anything about it, I wrote my name as "Nevyn" thinking that was how to spell "No one." On one of those days, my master caught me with his old book and the stolen quill. The beating that followed tore off the tip of my left ear, and left me swollen and sore for days. That was the end of my willpower, I had broken. My life as a slave continued like this for over 200 years. I remember many guests coming and going, and was often ordered to wait on them hand and foot. One of them... Oh, I will never forget her, but she is a story for another time. In my lifetime, I saw many slaves bought, sold, some killed by my master, others killed by disease or starvation. One young Khajiit that my master had purchased will forever be the catalyst in my life. She spilled our masters soup in his lap at dinner on accident, and so he beat her viciously. Her cries reminded me of the day the handmaiden died, and something in my mind snapped. I grabbed a knife from the table, and stabbed my master repeatedly until he stopped moving. I had tried to save the poor Khajiiti slave, but was too late. Before anyone found the body, I fled. I stole what I needed, and sold what I didn't. Keeping to the sewers by day, I fled the city of my master and headed for the only place I had left: Cheydinhal. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:07 AM Post #4 |
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Voice
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I'm copying from the other site for people who may have misplaced theirs... or haven't been told we're moving yet due to an inability to get ahold of them. :p And I'll start with... Alani! It is a story well known by most now, but as the Listener, I must lead by example. I will keep it fairly short, as most already know it, as I say. This is my story of my initiation into what has been my life for the past three hundred years. I was a very young , newly fertile Dunmer and had come from my home in Anvil, to seek for my Uncle in Mournhold. I had very little gold, but I was carrying the title to my parents' estate. My uncle wanted the estate for himself, and the only way to achieve that was to make me wed him. I refused him, so he tried to take by force what was refused him. I would then have been his wife, and the ceremony would have been simply a formality. I ran from him and collided with the man who would become my husband. we grew to love each other deeply and he and I eventually wed in the Ashlands of Vvardenfell, and a few months later, after a member of the group was brutally murdered, I was escorted towards the border, and safety. On the last night of my sojourn in Morrowind, I woke to a strange noise. Beside the campfire, I could see my two escorts, both good and loyal friends, lying still, their eyes open. An arrow was through the neck of one, and the chest of the other. I went to move to them, but I found myself being pinned to the ground. My uncle, seeing this as his last chance, had killed my two friends and had determined to take by force what was my husband's right through love. He pinned me down, and saw the marriage brand on my shoulder. He was furious, but resolved to follow hisplan, and say that the brand was between him and me. He said that nobody would believe me or an outsider, and he was forcing himself on to me, when I remembered my husband's parting gift of a sharp blade. I jabbed it firmly up into my uncle's stomach, tearing it to one side, and almost disembowelling him. He fell to the ground at my side, and I left him there for the animals. I couldn't bury my two friends, so I readied them for their journey to their rest. I had yet to hear of Sithis. I travelled over the border to Cyrodiil before I rested for the night. A voice woke me, and I sat up to see a black robed man standing close by. I started to whimper as I was terrified, and he hushed me. "Have no fear" , he said. "I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. Your skillful murder has been noticed by the Night Mother. You now have the honour to be offered a place in your new family. Report to the Abandoned house in Cheydinhal for your instructions. He left, and I travelled on to Cheydinhal on foot. I arrived, tired and very weary , picking the lock to gain access to the Abandoned House.. Once inside, I didn't know what to do. I went upstairs, and lay down on the floor to rest. Once again, a voice woke me from my sleep. A tall Dunmer woman, clad in black robes, stood next to me, and I scrambled back, holding my husband's dagger in front of me, and trying to look fierce. Obviously I was not convincing. She stopped her formal speech and knelt quickly beside me, saying, "What has happened to you, dear child?" She reminded me of my Mother, and so I told her everything. She welcomed me to my new Family. I have been a member of this Family ever since. All hail, our Dread Father. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:07 AM Post #5 |
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Voice
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And mine... Sorry it's so long. >.< This one will also share now. Keep in mind that this one is now a vampire, and has been for a long time. This tale is old, and no one in it is alive anymore, save this one and Vicente. She stepped into the inn with a sense of purpose. Her golden eyes swept the room, her keen sense of smell giving her bits of information that many were not even aware of. The common room was filled with people; the place was busy. She walked around a drunken patron and made her way to the bar. “Dar’Nahsi?” she squinted at the pretty Khajiit who was working there. The girl looked at her with wide eyes. Her mottled grey and red fur was sleek, but lank and somewhat dirty. “Who’s asking?” she wanted to know, her tail flicking back and forth. It was obvious that she was annoyed at being interrupted in her work. “Shivani.” She grinned widely, watching her cousin’s face transform by a large smile. “Our Clan Mother sends her love.” Dar’Nahsi came out from behind the bar to hug her cousin closely. “It’s so good to finally meet you!” she whispered, her notched ear flicking toward the other end of the room. “Why don’t you go up the stairs and take the room that doesn’t stink of Imperials. Jaji will be up soon.” The older Khajiit nodded and turned to do just that, her own tail flicking. As she walked away, she underwent severe scrutiny from many of the patrons. Males watched her walk with appreciation, and she flattened her ears to her skull. She wanted nothing of any of them. One stood with a smile. “Hello, pretty one,” he said, his breath smelling of ale, and his entire body stinking of the need to bathe. She shook her head. “Jaji has not wish to speak with Jajo now. Leave me be.” “Whoo!” one of the other men at his table jeered. “That cat has spunk! I like her, Marus. Get her to have a drink with us!” Shivani snorted, her tail lashing once. “Leave Jaji alone,” she growled, skirting them and moving up the stairs with grace. She fought revulsion as she sniffed out her room. Some of the rooms not only smelled of Imperials, but mating Imperials. She found the room meant for her and set her pack on the bed, moving to the window to gaze out. The weather was turning dark and grim, storm clouds blanketing the sky in a dreary shade of grey. She smiled to herself, watching the first bolt of lightning leap from cloud to cloud. When the thunder rolled, she turned from the window and changed out of her leather Tribal Armor. Once comfortably in a tan skirt and a simple brocade top, she fixed her mane back into a braid and smiled. This was as presentable as she got. A knock preceded her cousin into the room. “Shivani, you look so nice!” she told her with a grin. “Did you get my letter, or did Clan Mother Aravi just tell you about them?” The golden maned female looked at her cousin with a smile. “Jaji was not the original Raider to be sent, so no. This one did not see any of the letters.” They took a few moments to look at each other. Each took the other’s hand and sniffed the inside of the other’s wrist. “Your scent is full of joy, Dar’Nahsi.” She nodded with another smile. “You’re a Raider. Jaji has been waiting for a Raider… and you’re my cousin as well. This, to this one, was a bonus. You’re very pretty,” she told her, and her voice changed to a warning tone. “You will have to watch yourself in this inn. Our patrons can be rather… well… pigs. They are off duty, or they just think they own us! It is infuriating.” “Who does own this inn?” Shivani wanted to know, her tail moving slowly. Her cousin was obviously not as ingrained by the Renrijra Krin as she was. Of course, the slightly older of the two had been training almost without ceasing for six years now. She was able, she was ready, and she was full of hate. Dar’Nahsi paused, realizing that her cousin might only have a year on her physically, but the other girl was far more grown up. “Her name is Ita. Ita Mico. Yes, she’s as Imperial as the rest of them, but… she’s not so bad. In fact, we’re only here because she’s a Krin sympathizer. Otherwise, she would be gone too.” “Alright.” She concealed a dagger on her lower leg and one between her breasts. “Where is she?” “She’s never here this late in the evening. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow to meet her. Until then, you could just… you know, relax a bit. Have a drink. Are you hungry?” She was now eyeing her cousin with something akin to amazement. Perhaps her lack of understanding attributed to the wide eyes and blinking she had done when the daggers were stashed. Shivani did not care. She was a Raider, and she was there to do a job. “No, Jaji will go and scope out the castle. Any, and all, Raids are going to be headed by Jaji from now on. This one would like to know where I am going.” “You didn’t hear then?” the girl asked, her hands vanishing into her pockets. “Hear what?” came the slightly gruff response. She shook her head sadly. “You will be the only Raider until more can be sent from Elsweyr. The count has captured or killed the rest. He was getting information from one of the Bretons that was supposed to be helping us. Ita killed him.” Shivani’s hackles began to rise. “One Raider? One?” It little mattered. She was not allowed to take out the count himself… though the target was more than deserving, and more than tempting. “Fine. Jaji can handle that. This one still wishes to explore.” “Don’t you want to stay here for a while?” Dar’Nahsi asked. “Get to know your cousin a little?” She looked at her and smiled slightly. “There will be plenty of time for that when Jaji comes back. This one isn’t going to be gone all night. An hour, maybe two, at the most. Why does Jajo worry?” “Why don’t you?” she countered. “You are one Raider against the entire City Guard! And he has guards over from Bravil just now, bolstering his ranks. Jaji recommends that you wait for Ita.” She turned back toward the window and grinned. “Jajo can wait on an Imperial if you want. This one will go and see things.” She opened the window on the night air. The wind blew across the way, moving the curtains. As more lightning flicked across the sky, the clouds threatened the citizens of the Empire with rain. “And this night could not get any more perfect.” ** Two hours later, Shivani walked back through the inn. She was drenched, but she did not mind. She had seen what she had needed to see. The castle was heavily fortified, and the guard was nearly flawless. “Cousin!” Dar’Nahsi gasped, seeing her soaked to the bone. “Why did you not take a cloak with you?” she asked, ushering the dripping female back up to her room. “What will I do with you?” Shivani stripped, twisting an ear back when her cousin turned around. “How many winters does Jajo have?” she asked, shaking the excess water from her gold and red pelt. Her white belly fur was clumping, showing her almost as white skin beneath it. That did not please her so much, so she shook off again. “Fourteen,” came the proud answer. “One less than you.” The Raider looked up sharply and started to lick herself dry. “When was the last time Jajo went home?” Dar’Nahsi paused, her tail drooping. “You think I’m silly.” “No, Jaji just noticed that your accent is like a few Khajiit this one encountered that had spent most of their days in Cyrodiil.” She shook off once more and kept licking. She nodded, still turned away. “I haven’t been to Elsweyr since I was a kitten. My mother raised Jaji here as a spy.” “Jajo is a spy.” Shivani pulled a blanket around herself and touched her cousin’s arm. “Not a Raider. We are different from others, Cousin. Tougher.” She grinned widely. “Our training is harder.” Another nod showed her understanding. “Did you want to be a Raider?” “Jaji never wanted anything else.” Shivani laid out her clothes to dry and found another similar outfit. “If this one were not here, I would be in Morrowind, cutting slavers apart and feeding them to vultures.” The younger girl gaped. “You’re just… full of hate, aren’t you?” She nodded, yawning. “Our enemies have cost this one both parents and a brother. This one learned to hate.” She was so matter-of-fact about it, and she could easily see that her cousin was greatly bothered by it. “Do not worry, Dear one. Jaji will never harm one of our own.” Dar’Nahsi shook her head, taking Shivani’s hand. “You must learn to love again.” She smiled, bemused. “Love and hate are not so different. Both hurt, but bring elation. No, they are not so different.” Giving the other girl’s hand a squeeze, she nodded. “Jaji loved my Rabi very much. He was handsome and strong, stern and capable. He trained this one, helped Jaji become like him. I am strong because of him.” ** A few weeks later, Shivani and Dar’Nahsi had become as close as sisters. They created a system for working together in the inn, and both laughed often. It was really the perfect cover. They were supposedly servants for the elderly woman who owned the place, but she considered them both to be her daughters. The night she told them that she planned to leave the inn to Dar’Nahsi when she died, the two girls drank to her health. Shivani was once visited by her brother, Jo’Rok, but he did not really like the place. “It’s too big,” he complained, looking around. His sister smiled indulgently. She loved her brother more than anyone alive. “It’s the perfect cover.” She took his hand and led him through the throng of drunkards to the quiet room where there was almost peace. “Here, have a wait.” “Shivani, the Captain is… hello!” Dar’Nahsi blinked at the younger male and smiled. “Who’s this?” “Cousin, this is Jo’Rok. He is Jaji’s younger brother.” She tousled his mane, which he immediately protested. “By a few winters.” “But not many!” he grunted, fixing his precious mane. “In a year, Jaji will be twice the Raider that Jajo is!” “I doubt that,” their cousin told him with a nod. “Your sister is doing very well for herself.” And that was true. Shivani had completed more successful raids in the months that she had been there than the last leader had done in over a year; and she was on her own. Reinforcements were due any time, and she wondered what they would be like. Her life was one carefully staged moment after the next. One night, that would change. It was a clear night in mid-summer. The weather was hot and sticky enough to rumple her fur, and she and her cousin were waiting tables. An Imperial, clearly from another city, was in their inn’s common room for the first, and last, time. He was getting rowdy, and he was very drunk. As the grey and red Khajiit passed by him, he grabbed her tail, making Dar’Nahsi yelp and drop her tray. He tugged her into his lap and kissed her neck, while she wiggled and struggled against his superior grip. “Let go, you!” she hissed, pushing his face away. The man was insulted. “How dare you!” he howled, slapping her face. The other patrons, obviously aware that the man was nobility, did nothing. “You cat girls here in Leyawiin are all whores! You have no right to turn one of my station away!” His arm raised to strike again, but his wrist would not move. As his eyes traveled up his arm, he saw that a hand was wrapped firmly around his wrist. Shivani held him fast, waiting for his eyes to make it up her arm, past her neck, to her face. “Hello there,” she said silkily. “This one’s cousin is new here,” she lied. The other patrons all blinked, but no one argued. The regulars all liked the two girls immensely, and they wanted to see what the wittier of the two did in this situation. “New?” the Imperial slurred, his eyes falling from her face to her full bosom. “You’re not?” Shivani motioned with her head for her cousin to leave. “Aye, new.” She slipped into his lap in her cousin’s place, willing herself to not gag at the stench of him. “Too young, actually. This one is training her.” She touched his cheek tenderly and smiled. “If Jajo would come with this one… I will show you the true meaning of Paradise.” He nodded eagerly. “I’ve never been with a cat,” he blurted, stealing a squeeze of one of her breasts. She had a fine, fine body under that dress, and he was practically drooling to see more of it. She rose, her hips moving deliberately to keep his attention focused on her. “Don’t worry. Jaji is the best in Leyawiin.” He paused, looking for the one who had escaped him. “Don’ ya wanna brin yer cous’n? His speech began to slur again, now that he was no longer trying to articulate. “Why don’t you try Jaji first? This one guarantees your satisfaction.” Some of the Imperials in the inn exchanged glances. They all knew she was not like that, and they were all very confused. Not a single one of them would have thought her capable of acting until this point. Shivani led the man out of the inn, neatly avoiding any trouble with him concerning her lovely cousin. Turning down an alley, she kept just ahead of his hands. “Not much further,” she purred before turning around. With a step, she moved into his guard and stabbed him in the ribs. “Oops,” she gasped, grinning. “Maybe Jajo shouldn’t have been so stupid.” She kicked the corpse, spitting. “Jekosiit!” As she passed through the alley on her way back to the inn, a scent caught her nose that did not belong. It was the scent of a male, a Breton. It passed with the wind, and she shrugged it off, going back inside. “Shivani!” Turning, she regarded her cousin with a smile. She was so innocent, especially for one of the Krin, and Shivani had decided that she would do anything to protect that. “What did you do with him?” the girl hissed. The Raider took her cousin by the hand and dragged her up the stairs. “Jaji killed him,” she whispered to her in the privacy of their room. Dar’Nahsi’s usually purple nose paled to a lavender. “You… killed… Shivani! He’s a noble! His body will be found, and you’ll get in trouble! You could have endangered our cover!” “This one knows!” she snarled, grabbing her cousin by the shoulders. “You did not want an odious jekosiit like that for your first male, did you?” “Well, no but… I could have endured it for the Krin…” she mumbled, her eyes widening as she realized what she was saying. Shivani let go of her with a tiny shove, moving away. “No! Some things will not be endured! Not by my cousin!” Her tail lashed so hard, it was stirring the air, disturbing her skirt. Insight was granted to the younger girl, and she took her cousin’s shoulders. “Your first has happened already, hasn’t it?” The Raider tensed and nodded. “Jaji was forced.” “You?” she gaped. “You’re so strong…” She turned and looked at her cousin, her friend, with hate-filled eyes. “Jaji had nine winters, Dar’Nahsi. What kind of monster forces someone so small?” Her nose paled again. “Nine?” she breathed. “Does Aravi know?” “No one knows.” Shivani nodded, letting that sink in. “You will keep Jaji’s secret, yes?” “Of course!” the spy gasped out, pulling her best friend to her chest in what was supposed to be a soothing hug. “Shivani, I’m so sorry. Does the fetcher live?” She rested her head on the supportive shoulder and sighed. “Not a chance. He was this one’s first kill.” “I understand now.” Dar’Nahsi pulled back and looked into the cold gleaming eyes that she had always thought so strange in the face of someone so sweet. The Raider nodded, pulling away completely. “Now is not the time. We have a common room full of guests, and they will want their drinks.” “What about the man you killed?” Shivani smiled darkly. “His body will not be found until tomorrow. Maybe later. Jaji will think of something. This one will say that he tried to kill me first. The patrons we have here will likely vouch for my character. They don’t think this one is a killer.” Later that night, Shivani was woken from her sleep by a scent. She sat bolt upright in bed, her keen eyes searching the darkness as though it were day. They settled on a figure who was approaching her bed. Her ears laid back as she recognized the scent of this male from the alley she had killed in earlier. “What do you want?” she hissed, wondering whether she should alert her sleeping cousin or not. The figure stood tall at the end of her bed, shrouded in shadows and swathed in black robes. When he finally spoke, a gentle voice with an edge of steel fell on her ears. “I saw your… handiwork in the alley. What was his crime?” His voice was as accented as his scent: the man was definitely a Breton. She blinked, peeling her lips back from her fangs delicately to show that she was not intimidated by him, though there was something else about his scent that bothered her. Or maybe it was the two handed Greatsword that sat upon his back. “Being an Imperial noble.” He chuckled, a warm sound. “Oh, somehow I doubt that is the extent of it.” Shivani glanced at her cousin. “Who are you?” she demanded softly. He, too, looked at the sleeping Khajiit. “Don’t worry, we will not wake her. I am something of a Mage.” His voice told her plainly that he was smiling. Finally, her eyes finished adjusting, and she saw through the shadows hiding his face. She brought her legs up to her chest and hissed at him. “Jajo is a vampire!” Fear penetrated her defense and she growled. “Here to feed from this one and kill me!” He blinked, removing his hood, as it was obviously no longer serving its purpose. “Be still, I am not here to harm you.” But she had been told too much about these creature to believe him. “Do you think this one is stupid? Jaji was educated. Vampires are not to be trusted. Monsters with kind faces, using everything they can to entice the living to death.” He winced, his red eyes full of pain. The scent of deep hurt emanated from him. “Please do not call me a monster,” he whispered. Something about his scent and the look in his eyes made her wish she had not said that. “If Jajo is not here to harm this one, then what do you want?” He produced a sheathed dagger from his sleeve. “Shall we start again?” When she nodded, her ears twitching, he set the dagger on the end of the bed. “My name is Vicente. I am a Speaker for the Black Hand. I have come to invite you into the Dark Brotherhood.” Her ears both flicked forward, and her tail freed itself from the blanket to twitch intermittently. “Dark Brotherhood? Why?” He smiled, revealing fangs that were as sharp as hers. “For your clever and discreet execution of someone who’s only crime seems to have been his race, though he could hardly help that, now could he? Honestly, you cannot tell me that his only crime was being an Imperial.” She shook her head, somewhat dazed. This vampire was so polite and well spoken! And the Dark Brotherhood? She had heard that name only in passing. “He called my cousin a whore and tried to take her to bed.” She looked fondly at the sleeping Dar’Nahsi. “She is this one’s only real friend, and no one treats her like that.” “He was drunk and unarmed,” Vicente reminded her. “The Night Mother is pleased. Now, I have instructions for you, so listen closely.” He paused to be certain that he had her full attention. “Across the city is another inn. Checked in there is a Bosmer called Findulain. Kill him in any manner you see fit. The blade is called the Blade of Woe. It is a virgin blade, given to our newest members. Whether you decide to kill Findulain or not, it is yours.” She nodded, watching him with suspicion in her face. As he was leaving, she kept her eyes trained on him. When he was gone, she sniffed at the blade before picking it up. It was enchanted, but the magic was locked away. Unsheathing it gave her an instant appreciation for its make. It was a beautiful ebony dagger with gold wrought into the hilt and blade. “Pretty,” she breathed, testing its sharpness. The edge shaved a tiny patch of fur from the inside of her elbow, and she grinned, greatly impressed. Keen curiosity pulled her from her bed. She dressed quickly, casting her Chameleon spell and dropping from the window. Hurrying silently through Leyawiin brought a wide grin to her feline face. The city slept, for the most part, and no one was aware of her passing. Even the guards did not notice her as she slipped by them. The other inn was much smaller than the one she worked at. She slipped through the door and began her search for her target. She opened the door and paused. Sitting with his back to her was the Bosmeri male. He was eating industriously, and the sound of lips smacking together made her smirk. Shivani unsheathed her new dagger and moved up behind the man, her breathing steady. This was her moment. She flipped the blade over and sliced his throat easily. “Fusozay var dar,” she said quietly. Kill without qualm. Turning, she vanished from the inn and went back to her own. Shivani wondered when the polite vampire would reappear to her. He did not come again that night, and she wondered at that as she slept. Her dreams were somewhat troubled, and she was worried about whether or not she should have gone ahead and killed the Bosmer. Obviously, she did not mind that she had done the deed as she was a Raider and a good one, however… she had reservations about joining with the Dark Brotherhood. She knew nothing about the children of Sithis, except their name. Guards came through the inn, looking for the noble who had been through the night before. “There was another killing,” one told Ita. “Over across the city. A Bosmer.” Shivani held her tray against her chest. “A Bosmer? Why would anyone kill a Bosmer?” Dar’Nahsi shuddered, standing beside her. “Wood Elves? In Leyawiin? That’s so far from Valenwood though…” The guard removed his helmet and turned to look at the two serving girls. His blue eyes were piercing, his long black hair bound back in a tail. “You two know nothing of this?” Both shook their heads. Ita leaned on the bar. “My servants are not killers, Sir. Neither of them.” “So you say,” he said gruffly. “But I have garnered that Lord Valius was here last night, and that he left with one of these two girls. His body was found in an alley.” He set his helmet on the bar and crossed his arms. Shivani stepped forward. “Jaji did it.” He raised both brows, blinking. “Why did you give yourself up so easily?” The Raider growled in her chest, her tail flicking with her anger. “That stupid jekosiit attacked this one in the alley. Jaji took him from the inn to drug him as he was insisting that all Khajiiti females were his toys to do with as he chose. This one wanted no trouble, and wanted to keep my cousin safe. There is no crime in that, this one is certain.” The guard looked dubious. “You killed him?” She nodded gravely. “He attacked Jaji. Tried to choke me.” He raised an eyebrow before cracking a grin. “You have a very thick accent, don’t you?” Her left ear laid flat. “This one is of Elsweyr. Why?” “I am arresting you for the murder of Lord Ley Valius.” He uncrossed his arms and put his helmet back on. “Renrijra Krin,” he accused, pointing at her. “You killed him in cold blood, didn’t you?” “Wait just a moment!” Ita howled. “You cannot just come into my inn and make accusations at my girls!” Shivani ducked his grab, dropping her tray. “Stay away!” she grunted, backing away. “This one acted only in self-defense!” “Your raiding days are over,” the man ground out, drawing his blade. “If you resist arrest, I will have to bring you in with force.” Ita looked at her charge with fear in her face. “Shivani is only small! Look at her! She doesn’t even have sixteen summers! She cannot be a raider for anything!” “Shivani,” he purred, smiling coldly. “It would seem that your employer knows nothing of you Renrijra Krin. Should we educate her and destroy her faith in all cats?” She hissed at him, backing into a table. “This one spits on your kind! Ignorant jekosiits who do not know anything about Khajiit! You make assumptions! Jajo knows nothing!” He nodded. “Thought you’d say that. I made you Krin types my obsession when my brother was killed in one of your raids.” Advancing on her, he made to catch her again. “You are adults at fifteen summers. Full grown, and very promiscuous.” She dodged him, throwing a glass of milk in his face. “Jajo is wrong. This one keeps to myself!” He howled in outrage. “Stop resisting!” She locked eyes with Dar’Nahsi before turning and running from the inn at top speed. She was faster than the Imperial who pursued her, as she was in light clothing, and he was in heavy armor. Other officers got in on the chase, though they had no idea who was being chased or why. She doubled back, catching a low roof and swinging up into the inn quickly. She changed from her skirt and shirt to her leather armor quickly. Stuffing her things into her pack, she spun as the door opened. “Shivani?” Dar’Nahsi stood and stared at her. “How…?” “Stay safe,” she instructed, putting her pack on her belt and adding her Blade of Woe to her array of hidden weapons. “There is no way those idiots are going to catch this one. Jaji told you that my training is different.” Turning, she wrapped her cousin in a tight hug. “Jaji vaba hezgege, Dar’Nahsi.” The younger girl began to cry, holding on tight. “Hezgege, Shivani.” The Raider never saw her cousin again. She pulled from the hug, kissed her cheek, and leapt back out the window. As she landed, she took off at top speed, casting her Chameleon spell. She made it out of the closing city gate just as it shut. “Escaped,” she mumbled, running up the road. She did not stop until she made it to Bravil. There she booked a room in the first inn she came to and settled for a cat nap before heading North again. Her plan was to go to the Imperial City, get lost in the crowd, and then head for Skingrad City. From there, she would go back to Riverhold. That was the procedure. If she went right back to Elsweyr from Leyawiin, she might be followed, and leading the enemy to the camps was unacceptable for anyone. For Shivani, it would have been a death of shame. She was woken by the scent of Vicente. “You’re on the run now,” he noted, standing at the end of her bed with a concerned look on his face. “They’ll never catch Jaji,” she said, getting up. She was still in her armor, and she was ready to run again if the imposing vampire attacked her. “No one can.” He nodded. “Why don’t you come to Cheyhindhal?” A smile took his face. “The Brotherhood will hide you until this passes.” “Cheydinhal?” She was not even certain where that was. “Yes, Cheydinhal. You killed the Bosmer, after all. You are now one of us.” He quoted the Tenets to her and noticed that she tilted her head slightly to the side, listening intently. When she agreed to them, he led her from the inn and took her with him to the Sanctuary in Cheydinhal. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:08 AM Post #6 |
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This is Baadargo's! I am not one for long stories so I will keep this one short. It was a normal day in my life I was in the brig of the ship chained to the wall like all slaves were until the boat started to rock violently I could hear shouting as the young master threw open the door and ordered me free of the chains. As we made our way on deck we were in the middle of a storm and shore was just out of view. Before I knew it the ship crashed into some jagged rocks and I was ordered to swim for land and once to wait until I was retrieved. Being the slave I was I obeyed when I finally made it to shore I waited until the storm cleared and was later retrieved as the young master made it ashore farther up coast. As he discovered my survival relief showed on his face as he said, "Good if I lost you my father would have killed me himself." As he approached I don't know what came over me but I pulled out a long thin piece of metal that I had hidden under the skin in my arm a gift from the master so his tool could preserve itself in times of need when no weapon was available and I killed the young master and the remaining crew. Later that night I laid to rest and awoke suddenly and remembering my training I moved into the shadows just in time to see hooded person appear near the camp. As he approached I moved behind him and put a knife to his throat and awaited his explanation. His words to me were, "Skilled... I extend to you an invitation to join the family of the Dark Brotherhood if you wish to join report to the abandoned house at Cheydinhal and await further instruction." Before the stranger left and before I removed my blade from his throat I felt a sharp pain in my inner thigh and looked down to see a knife. That is the story of how I joined. From the backstory area: I am Baadargo born of two races and am a half breed and it shows in my features. Born being the wrong word I was stillborn and my parents grieved for yet another lost child. My mother being weak and frail caught sickness easily and it affected her child birth. As they grieved for me my father puzzled over the black hand print on the front of my throat. As they grieve someone knocked at the door. As my father answered he saw an old lady and all she did was hold out a flower to my father as he accepted the gift he knew that I would live what he didn't know was the price to be paid. As he returned he found me drawing breath as my mother lay dead. He never let me forget that it was a life for a life as he came to visit me. He gave me up to a noble to be a slave he always said it just felt the right thing to do he didn't sell me no he just ask to be able to visit and he did. The noble was sick of losing money by hiring assassins so he decided to train one. That one being me loyalty and obedience were beaten into me any time I spoke he beat me hard because an assassin is neither seen nor heard. As I grew up my father visited less and less my training becoming more brutal as I started to my masters bidding I quickly learned from my mistakes for to be caught would invoke more than the wrath of my captors but also the wrath of my master should we both live through the battle that would happen. After many years of hunting and being obedient he finally decided to move from morrowind to set down new roots and find new wealth. I was to be transferred by boat to his new estate by his son. After a chain reaction of events that is how I came to be who I am. Edited by Shivani, Mar 8 2012, 04:16 AM.
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:09 AM Post #7 |
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This tale belongs to Jhared. My name is Jhared...Jhared Valtieri. I have, as you will imagine, a lot to live up to. I was born in the Listener's Quarters in Cheydinhal Sanctuary. The Listener at that time lived in the Imperial City, and his abandoned Quarters were used for guests and special events. I guess being born was special enough to qualify. At the time, my Mother was Silencer, and Father Executioner. I was trained in my craft almost from the moment I could stand. By the age of twelve, I was given my first contract, and a Blade of Woe. I had no need to prove that I should be admitted to the Sanctuary, as it had been my home since birth. My parents were allowed to give me my first contract, and Speaker Alor watched as they did so. Mother gave me the contract. "Murderer Valtieri", she said, smiling proudly, "you must go to the city of Leyawiin. There, you must locate a man named Redras Verano. He may be found in the Five Claws or The Three Feathers Inn. Be wary. He is a noted swordsman. A stealth approach should be used here." My father then stepped forward. He held out the Blade of Woe to me. As I took it, I looked up at his face. He was not smiling, but I could see the pride in his eyes, and the twinkle in them which he always had, and still has, when he is immensely pleased about something. As I took the Blade from him, he said the formal words, "Accept this Blade of Woe as a token from your Family. It is a virgin blade. Wash it in blood and glory, in the name of Sithis." I took it, bowed, and left to ready myself for my task. I know how difficult it was for my parents to let me do it by myself, but I had to learn. I prepared my weapons as I had been taught. I oiled and polished my Blade of Woe, I checked my potions and made sure I had all that I required. I then put on my Shrouded Armour for the first time. Now I felt like a real assassin. It was not an unusual choice for me to become an assassin. I had spent my entire life seeing my parents coming and going on contracts; my father trained other Brothers and Sisters, and my Mother oversaw contracts, and assisted the Speaker,and my late older brother had held the rank of Assassin. Having prepared well, I left the Sanctuary by the Black Door. No one watched me leave, which is traditional. On your first contract, you leave like a shadow, and return as one. I left town by the Eastern gate, the closest one to the Sanctuary. The Guard glanced at my armour and nodded as I passed. They know who we are, but none talk of it. The Count has seen to that....wise man! I made my way south by the walls of the city, rounding the little pond with its wayshrine, and heading out south west to pick up the bridge across the Niben, just at Fort Alessia. I was on foot, as I had to prove my worth. In turned south at after the bridge and was immediately assailed by two bandits.One was firing arrows at me , so I rolled, firing off a blast of fire at him, and feeling the satisfaction as he flew backwards into the long grass, lost to sight. I spun round to deal with the other, then realised that a passing Legion Guard was busy taking care of him for me.As I paused to thank him , he cast an eye over my armour. "Keep your blade sheathed, you murderous bastard!" he growled at me. I was taken aback. No one had ever said such a thing to me before! I shook my head, and turned away south again, regaining the road to Bravil. It was a quick, and uneventful journey from there. I trotted into Bravil, and decided to have my midday meal.I went into the first inn I saw, a place named Silverhome on the Water, and ordered some food and a jug of ale. It turned out to be more as things were at home, in Cheydinhal.People were quietly polite even though they seemed a bit wary at the same time. I ate and slaked my thirst, and then set off again. Mother had been very particular that I should visit the Lucky Old Lady Statue in the city square, so like the good son I tried to be, I asked directions, and headed to see this landmark. The statue was pretty, but I could not see the point in going there. However, my Father said I should go up on the platform round the statue and ask the lady for Luck. It struck me as very strange. Father has always said, "The only kind of Luck you should trust is a good blade and some shock spells!" I reached up to kiss the Old Lady's cheek, and I felt a strange sensation of strength, power and ....affection? It washed over me for a moment, and then it passed, leaving me with a warm sense of well being. A voice, in my head, I thought, said my name. "Jhared,"it said quietly,"Go in peace , child of Sithis." I shook my head. I had obviously drunk too much ale when I was not used to it! However, the good feeling remained with me as I left Bravil. The Gate Guard looked sidelong at me before saying quietly, "Mara, son! They don't half start you young, do they?" I grinned at him, feeling very grown up. Guards normally ignored children. It didn't take too long to cover the intervening ground between Bravil and Leyawiin. Only a couple of wolves had attempted to catch me, and they were easy.I did hear a commotion at one point, but when I backtracked, there were just two marauders, lying dead by the road. I guessed they had probably been arguing, so I checked them for anything valuable, and pocketted the few septims they carried. I began to wonder if my half Breton heritage was making itself felt, as I thought I could sense someone, or something watching me. Every time I glanced round, no matter how swiftly I did it, there was nothing to be seen. Anyway, I made good time and arrived at the gates to Leyawiin as night was falling. I hid to one side of the gates in the shelter of the stables and removed my hood, gloves and my shoulder pauldron with the Black Hand emblazoned on it.Stuffing these into my pack, I strolled up to the gates. The guard looked me up and down. "Well, son, " he said with a lop sided grin, "You'd better come in where it's safe. The land dreughs and will o' the wisps come out about now." He chortled to himself, and I realised he was trying to scare me, so I played along. I looked fearfully over my shoulder, and, whimpering, I pushed open the gate and rushed inside, grinning to myself. Now, he would have to close the door. I went immediately to the Five Claws, but after one glance, I knew the target was not there. Lounging around the bar were two Khajiit -Renijra Krin, I guessed, by the wary way they watched everyone- one Argonian, a small Bosmer and two drunken Imperials. Not a single Dunmer, apart from me, and I was only half of one! I asked the Bartender for directions to the Mages' Guild, as if that was why I had entered the place, and he gave them to me without comment. I was obviously not going to be a heavy drinker, so his interest waned quickly. I continued down the street to the Three Feathers Inn.It was a much more upmarket place, and I thanked Sithis for the coins from the marauders. I took a room and went there first, dumping all of my gear except my Blade, which I kept by my side.I went back down , ordering a meal and a drink. I had chosen to sit with my back to the corner, so I could watch everyone as I ate, and my vigilance was soon rewarded. A Dark Elf came in, looking round the room with a scowl. He saw me, the only other Dunmer there, and came straight over. "Mind if I sit with you?" he asked. I pulled out the chair beside me as an answer, and he sat down. We chatted for the rest of the evening. Early into the conversation, he told me his name, and I smirked to myself. My target was sitting chatting to me. Could this get any easier? We chatted on, and eventually, he said he had business he thought I would be interested in, but it had to be done away from others.I said I'd go to hear what he had to say. He nodded and we left to go ouside. He backed me up against the wall. In a quiet voice he told me he worked for the Camonna Tong. They were in the business of smuggling skooma into Cyrodiil. He wanted me to run the stuff across the Province, as my age and the fact I apparently had no parents would give me the ability to travel anywhere without comment. I was going along with it until he tried to pour some into me. It would be better, he said, if I knew what it was all about. I began to see why the contract had been requested. Obviously he had addicted others of my age.I closed my mouth tightly, and shook my head. I managed to knock the flask from his hand and it broke on the ground. He reacted angrily and drew his sword, grabbing me by my throat. "You're going to die, you little p'tah!" he growled. "No, "I said, fighting him, "You are. I'm Dark Brotherhood.I'm here for you." Just ast that moment, a roof tile crashed into the street behind him, and, as he turned, startled, I saw my chance. I kicked him, hard, in the groin. He gasped and doubled up, releasing me, but he also recovered fairly fast, swinging his sword as I ran past. I rolled inder his blade and stabbed upwards with my Blade, sinking it deep in his side, and then I galloped out into the street, yelling for the guards as he barrelled out after me , sword swinging. The guards came running, and before long, I was able to stop running, to watch. It didn't take long. Four guards were more than a match for him, and as they turned from his body,I sheathed my Blade. I saw them coming to talk to me. Thinking quickly, I put on a great show of trembling and crying. "Poor kid, "one said."Far too young to be wandering around on his own!"They asked me where I was staying, and escorted me back, seeing me up to my room. After they had gone, I laughed quietly to myself. Mission accomplished! Suddenly weary, I threw myself down on the bed, and soon fell asleep.I found when I woke that I must have got into bed somehow during the night, as I was comfortably settled under the blankets. I set off for home again after breakfast, the next morning. It was a lovely day, and I made good time. After a stop in Bravil, where I ate and reattached my pauldron and hood, I set off again, for home. Just at the turn off for Cheydinhal, I heard a horse trotting briskly behind me. I moved to one side to allow it to pass, but it slowed and stopped alongside me. I turned to squint up at the rider, loosening my Blade. "It's amazing what you find on the roads nowadays," a well loved voice said. "Tad! What are you doing here?" My father leant down, grasping my hand and swinging me easily up behind him."Same as you" he said, "returning from a contract.You were successful, I take it?" he said, grinning. We rode home together, chatting all the way, and I took comfort in the strong back I was leaning against. Back in the Sanctuary, there was a big fuss over the baby assassin who was now an active member of the Family. I caught my Father winking across at Mother with a huge grin on his face.She grinned back at him, and I just thought they were proud. Many years later, as a Silencer for my Father in Skingrad, he told me the whole story. he had followed me, invisible but there, from the moment I set out.He it was who had dispatched the marauders while I dealt with the wolves, and he had thrown the roof tile into the street. Curious, I asked him if he would have carried out the contract, had I been unable to do it. "Certainly not!"he had exclaimed. "That was your job! Mine was simply to see that your little blue backside made it safely back home to Cheydinhal." We enjoyed laughing about it for a good hour after that. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:10 AM Post #8 |
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This is Zahraji's story... If you were wanting a happy story about a young woman and a young man, go somewhere else. This tale is not pleasant, or even happy. It is a the story of a Khajiit. Her life ended when she was a little cub. Not even seven, she was captured by slavers and sold to a Telvanni. She cleaned his Tel and washed his clothes as a little one. While his wife lived, her life was bearable. Her Khajiiti pride was not taken until she was older, and the wife died. Young for other races, she was old enough to be curious about males. That curiosity was not allowed to bloom like in most young girls. Hers was answered in sharp terms when her master called her to his suite of rooms and raped her repeatedly. A piece of her died that day, her pride going dormant. The Telvanni kept his sex slave even after the law was passed to free slaves. He cast very heavy enchantments on her to keep her docile and willing. His “hired help”, as he always told the authorities. He also kept her young. She aged not a day after hitting twenty, and though he could have kept her in with magic, he chained her to his bed. “Why?” she asked him one night as he was locking the shackle. His answer made her weep. “You, my little treat, are a strong willed little vixen, in spite of all of the magic I use to keep you here.” He stopped to run his hands all over her, mussing her fur. “Your fight excites me, so I let you keep it. Besides, it’s fun to chain you up. You have that weight on your ankle to remind you that you are owned.” She tried not fighting him after that, and he beat her brutally until she did fight back. He wanted the conquest every night. He wanted to subdue her. She hated him for it. He was twisting something beautiful into something horrendous. “You Khajiit play at this all the time, little treat.” He never called her by name. Ever. “Dominance and power. I don’t see why you resent it so much.” Leaning over her supinated body, he hissed in her ear. “Call me “Master”, Little Treat.” She growled and began to fight again. She would never, ever call him that! Never! “Death first!” she snarled. She awoke one morning to an Altmer man standing over her. “Who?” she mewed. He bent and lifted her chin. “She is badly beat up,” he observed without a hint of compassion in his voice. “Kind of scrawny too.” Rising, he looked across the room. There stood the Telvanni. “And?” “You’ll never convince them that she is willing if she looks like this. Give her to me for a week or two. I’ll make her look like she should. You know if you try illusion magic, their Breton will sense it.” She backed away from him, eyes wide with fear. Who was he? What was he going to do to her? The Ashborn shrugged. “A trade then. Yours for mine. I’m not giving up my nightly play.” The Altmer laughed. “I like that idea. Though mine isn’t colored like this. You got kind of lucky.” He touched the shackle, and it released. She stood, shaking and naked in front of him. Bits of her fur had been torn out, and some of it was kept shaved off. She lowered her head and fought tears at his scrutiny. “Young one, come with me,” he said, taking her hand. For two weeks, the girl was called by her name, and it was almost as frightening as not being called by it. She was fed well, and her fur was allowed to grow out. The chip in her ear was healed up, and she was never chained. No, no, this was not better. The Altmer was not like the Telvanni. He would not chain her, and he would not allow her to starve herself. He forced his will on her with more magic than she had ever encountered. There was only a small pocket of her mind where she was free, and in it, she wept constantly. He used his power over her to make her embrace him in his bed as though she actually wanted to be there. At least, fighting, she had dignity. In this, there was not even that for her. She was actually almost happy to return to her own master. He took her into his arms the moment she walked into his Tel. “Look at what you have done!” he exclaimed, a smile on his face. “She looks wonderful.” “Did you enjoy mine?” the Altmer asked, looking at the Khajiit who sat, her mind a shambles, eyes wide and blank. “Not really. There’s no fight in her. She pleasured me, but… she was not there with it.” “They will be here in two days to see your servant. Try not to beat her badly between now and then. Your Restoration skills aren’t up to it, and I’m going out of the Province for a few weeks.” And he, along with his, was gone. She returned to her regular duties during the day, free of mind and most of her body again. She wished the deepest circles of hell on the Altmer for what he had done to the other Khajiit. That night, she fought again, and she felt elated at every strike she was allowed to make, every scratch she gave. “I do believe you are enjoying yourself,” the Telvanni mocked, the smile playing on his face twisted and sick. She went limp, eyes wide with anger. “No…” He buffed his hands along her middle. “Oh, yes. Yes you are. Did you find your time with my… associate enlightening? Which of us is the more cruel, hm? He is. You are lucky to be so well liked.” Tears that she had been fighting for many years welled up and overflowed. “Please let me go. Let me go!” He backed away from her and looked thoughtful. “You truly wish to be free?” She sat up and nodded fervently. “Please let me go…” “Little Treat… Zahraji.” A smile crept onto his face. It was the first ray of kindness she had seen since his wife had died. “If you want your freedom, you may have it.” “Really?” Astonishment filled her, though a wariness bred of betrayal and cruelty mocked her. He kissed her cheek and nodded. “On one condition.” “What is it?” she asked, feeling a familiar fear. “Submit to me. Make love to me as though you actually want me. If I am convinced, you will go free.” His proposition pleased him. And angered her. “You want me to…! I cannot do that!” She turned from him and jumped off the bed, running to the end of her chain and straining against it. “I wont! I can’t!” “That is the price I ask for.” He maintained. “You can take the offer whenever you wish.” He grabbed her chain and yanked her back to the bed with a strength she did not possess. “Where would you go, anyway?” “Anywhere!” she sobbed, feeling his hands on her again. His mouth came close to her ear, and he whispered into it sweetly. “Submit to me, Zahraji… and I will take care of you. Educate you. Give you money. Your passage to wherever you want to go will be yours. You want your freedom? Be mine, and I will give it to you.” It was too terrible to think of: coming to his bed willingly. And the implication was more than once for continued benefits. “That would make me a whore,” she whispered through her tears. “And what are you now? How would you make any money outside of this house? By being a whore, no doubt. You have no other skills.” He took her hands and turned her around, softly caressing her cheek. “I can be kind.” Her mind went around, spinning with confusion. “You’re a beast!” she cried, pulling away. “Your words sting me, my lovely.” He drew her close again, kissing her sweetly. “I am not the one with fur or a tail, Khajiit. You are the beast here, and everyone in Morrowind will see you that way. But I can get you to Cyrodiil, my Treat, where Khajiit are more than welcome. Fetch, I could get you all the way to Elsweyr. It all depends on you. One little word, Zahraji…” She felt panic. Could it be so bad? He would have her regardless, and she would be free to go! “No magic?” she mewed. “No magic,” he repeated, smiling at her. After another moment of being tenderly touched, she surrendered. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll do it.” When he finished with her that night, she felt very sick. She lay, unshackled, unable to move. She hated herself for weakness, and that hatred took her to her dreams, tormented and restless. “You remained here!” he seemed so happy and surprised. “My lovely Zahraji!” He held her to him and praised her, which made her feel worse and worse. This went on for two weeks. She gave herself willingly in exchange for an education, which she determined to absorb quickly, and humane treatment. Finally, she told him that she was ready to leave. “Where will you go?” he asked, pulling her into his lap for a cuddle. “I don’t… I don’t know. Maybe Cyrodiil. I have studied your map of it… I want to go to Bravil.” She flicked her tail, nerves on high. He ran a hand up the inside of her leg to tease her. “When will you go?” She fidgeted, hating his hands, but not wanting to destroy all she had worked for. “Tomorrow, I think.” “One last night together then?” he whispered in her ear, his other hand moving to her chest. She could feel him warming to the idea. But she could not do it! Not again! “No.” Her voice was flat, void of emotion. “No?” he ground out. “Have I not been kind to you?” She pulled away and backed into the kitchen, watching him follow her. “Two weeks of false kindness does not make up for years of cruelty!” He grabbed her, forcing her against a table, nearly tipping it. “It was fun while it lasted…” he mused, stripping her nice dress from her with ease, tearing it to shreds. “But I think the chain will return.” “No!” she screamed, struggling. “You said I could go free!” But she was taken anyway. Her ravaging was prolonged and horrible. When he finished with her, she was broken. Every last scrap of fight was gone from her. He licked her, testing her reaction. “Hmm… maybe no chains will be needed.” Her existence altered. Her will came back very slowly, but it was hidden from her torturer. He continued to assault her, though she had very little reaction to it. Finally, after months of this, she snapped. Rising from his bed as he slept, she found a blade. Instead of stabbing herself with it, she decided to kill him. And she did. Her escape was with many of his pilfered valuables—all she could carry. She made her way into Cyrodiil, unaware that she was followed from the border. She found Cheydinhal to be a nice place to stop running. She went in and snuck into a house, killing the woman occupying it to settle and sleep. “Your sleep is… troubled.” She sat upright, eyes wide with fear. “Who?” she demanded of the black robed and hooded figure. “Be at ease… I am not here to… hurt you. I am Lucien Lachance, a Speaker… for the Black Hand. I am here because you… you are a cold blooded killer.” |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:10 AM Post #9 |
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And Aya Shadowblood's: My name is Aya Shadowblood and this is my first illegal kill that I didn't get caught with. I was in Skingrad when I heard a rumor about one Lazare Milvan. Now I put great stock on being polite to people from all walks of life and from what I heard of him, he was a rude little bugger of a person. So I took out my spell book and found the spell that would help me in delivering a lethal lesson in politeness. The that was cast was called The Cloak of Nocturnal (100% Chameleon From Mighty Magick reborn) and I sneaked into his house and basically wreaked havoc on his mind before sneaking up behind him and slitting his throat. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:11 AM Post #10 |
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Vienne's story: My name is Vienne, and all my life I have been a healer. I've saved more lives than I can count and pride myself on living a humble and virtuous life. For many years before now, everything in my life seemed to fit neatly into little black and boxes. And I usually avoided any grey areas... This changed the dark, cold night I met a large Nord man named Hrisskar, and his severely wounded Breton wife, Alyssa. I'd met them a few years before during my first time travelling to Leyawin. They were on their way to Skingrad, and seemed to me at the time to be a very happy couple. But on this dark cold night, Hrisskar stood menacingly over me as I began to heal the cuts and bruises on his cowering wife's body. They were far from happy. I watched with unease later as they walked out of the chapel, Hrisskar muttering threateningly at Alyssa as they went. I prayed to Julianos that they'd sort things out and I'd never see them again. However, that is not how fate would have it. No more than a few nights later, I was walking back from the city gate after healing one of the guards and heard some scuffling and shouting coming from behind the church. I peeked from behind a wall and saw Hrisskar punching Alyssa repeatedly in the back. I watched, frozen in fear. Just as she was close to falling unconscious, he finally stopped. I saw him turn around and walk in the other direction (to my relief) and I ran to her side, casting a strong healing spell when I reached her. I'm relieved to say I was able to heal her, but I knew this wouldn't be the last time she'd be needing help. The beatings would only get worst until she was killed. I couldn't let that happen. I wrote a fake letter from the Leyawin Mages Guild, asking her to return immediately due to an emergency involving her mother. The following evening, I prepared a tasteless poison, cast invisibility, tracked down Alyssa and watched as she left the house. Just as she was about to close the door, I sneaked in past her - undetected - into the living area of the home. Hrisskar came down the stairs with a half full flagon of beer in hand, set it down on a table and went into the kitchen to grab some food. I knew this'd be my one and only chance so I quickly poured my homemade poison into the flagon and ran inside the nearest cabinet. I peeked through a little hole in the cabinet door and watched as he came back in. He scratched his over-sized backside as he sat down. I couldn't really see him after that, but I didn't have to wait long before I heard a loud thud and clatter. I crept out of the cabinet quietly and found him face down on the floor, paralysed and dying. I stood over his body and said to him, "You have raised your hand to a woman you were sworn to love and protect your whole life through, and now you pay the consequence for your monstrous actions. These shall be the last words you ever hear." His eyes closed and I walked out with a strange feeling of detachment. I had just taken a man's life, and though I knew it was wrong, I knew he'd never be able to hurt anyone ever again. Night had fallen by the time I arrived back within the chapel. My parents went to sleep early, so I decided to follow suit. I felt I'd slept for only a few moments before a soft female voice broke the silence in my room. When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by the face of a beautiful Dunmer woman wearing a long black robe and hood. She introduced herself as Arielle, a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, and told me I had made greatly appeased Sithis when I had killed Hrisskar. She said if I wanted to continue down this path, I'd be rewarded with more freedom and independence than the chapel ever gave me. And I'd be welcome into a new, dark family who would love me unconditionally and eternally. I listened with rapt attention as she told me I'd have to kill another first and she instructed me to seek out one she referred to as "the woman who must not be named". She told me where I could find her, that she'd be completely bald and that I could kill her in any way I saw fit. She then presented me with what she called "The Blade of Woe", and vanished into the shadows without another word. I almost thought I was dreaming, but holding that blade in my hand brought me quickly back to reality. I hid it under my mattress and decided to go through with it the next day. My mother sent me out in the morning to gather more ingredients for her and father, so I took the opportunity to begin my initiation. I left Skingrad and made my way down the golden road towards the Imperial City. I was to travel to the Arcane University there, where the Speaker told me I would find this woman. Just as I was walking up to the door, an acolyte stepped out. She had no hair and avoided eye contact with me, skulking off down to the lake. I followed her, casting invisibility when she looked away for a moment. She took off her robe and dived into the water. I dived in with her and my invisibility faded immediately. But I knew what I was doing. She barely had enough time to react before I held her head underwater and cast a burden spell on her. She sank to the bottom, flaying desperately and I watched as the bubbles of her last breath surfaced. They soon stopped and I decided to make my way slowly back to Skingrad, collecting ingredients for mother along the way. That same night and not long after I'd fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of someone in my room. Arielle had returned, saying "You have fulfilled Sithis' will, my dear child. And now I am here, bearing the love of your new family." She then told me whenever I was ready, to enter Nerastel's house through the backdoor. She told me she would be awaiting my arrival, or would make sure someone was there to point me in the right direction. I thanked her, and this God called Sithis. I haven't looked back since. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:11 AM Post #11 |
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Bronwyn's story: Bronwyn My name is Bronwyn. I am a mixture. My Father was Bosmeri and my Mother was a Dunmer. My parents ran away to be together as neither family would accept their pairing. I had a happy, stable childhood, and my parents looked after me well. We lived in a small villa in the West Weald, near Kvatch. On the night Kvatch was destroyed, a man came running to our house, screaming in terror. My parents, good souls that they were, took him in. It was a terrifying night. We watched the Gate open in front of the city, and another, and another. The man was raving, and my Father brought him some food and he eventually calmed down. He slept. We could not. The screaming could be heard where we were and it was awful to watch. My Father said he would go as far as the road to help people to find us, and shelter. My Mother tried to stop him, but he went. He said he could not sit in safety while so many died. He never returned. In the dawn, I woke to a horrible scene. The man we had rescued was standing over my Mother. He had a bloody knife in his hand, and she lay dead . He never saw me. I moved round behind him and brought down a cast iron pot on his head as hard as I could. He fell, dead to the floor, his skull crushed. I sat, weeping , for a long time. It was dark by the time I gathered up my few belongings, and in a daze of grief and pain, I stepped out into the West Weald and headed away. I knew not where I was heading. I just walked. My happy life had been shattered in a night of blood and pain. I slept under a bush just off the road to Anvil, and a black robed woman woke me. She was Khajiit and soft spoken. She offered me a Blade to go and kill someone. She would welcome me into the Family if I did. I thought in my daze that she offered me my own family back, and so I did the deed. He was a short Imperial and gave me no problem. Determined to win my family back, I thrust the Blade into him. That night, just above Anvil, the woman appeared again. She gave me directions to a Sanctuary she said, where I would have a new Family. I realised then that my family was lost indeed and dropped to the ground, weeping. The lady took me into Anvil and looked after me. I told her my whole story and she welcomed me in as a 'sister'. My new family had claimed me. In the long time since then, I have had to learn to fight, to use weapons and to be stealthy and secretive. I was very fortunate, as my Speaker, the Khajiiti lady, is the right hand of the Listener herself. She is Shivani, the Voice. She is kind and caring. I have a family again, and I am learning just how innocent and unprepared for the world I was away in the wilds of the West Weald. Every day I am getting stronger and more independent, but I have not changed too much. That is my story so far. It continues in the Brotherhood. May Sithis go with you. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:12 AM Post #12 |
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Here is that of Talsi: My past doesn't matter. I have abandoned Morrowind to serve Sithis. I have been back there a few times, but I have never stayed. My daughter serves Sithis. Her son will serve. My name is Talsi. Night had fallen shortly before he had left the house. He had beaten me until I passed out and then left. I had had enough. I knew my parents had not meant for me to be a battered wife when they married me to a man more than twice my age. But they had died, and I was alone in the world. I had no one, except for myself. So, when he came stumbling back through the door, drunk and reeking of whores, I killed him. I attacked him and stabbed him several times with my eating knife. In fear, I left Morrowind. I would start over in Cyrodiil, away from anyone who would know my face. However, I had been caught. As I was sleeping, a man appeared in my room. He was tall, Dunmeri, and handsome. He gave me a blade and told me to go and kill again. His Family, I readily joined. The Nord I killed was the easiest kill I have ever made. He was old, frail, and disgusting. Just like my late husband, really, only blonde with wide, shocked, blue eyes. When the Speaker returned, I invited him to my bed. Banus Alor refused me then, but sent me to Bruma. I have been there ever since. The Speaker that I was so attracted to at first has long since died, but we have a new one now. J'Ghasta is a good Speaker, and he takes very good care of all of us. My rank is Eliminator, as I have been in the Brotherhood for almost a hundred years. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:12 AM Post #13 |
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The story of Thoryn Indarys: I am called Thoryn, Thoryn Indarys. Yes, my cousin is the annoying brat in Cheydinhal. Right, now we have disposed of that.....here is my story. My mother was sister to the Countess Llathasa. When my Mother died, I travelled to my Aunt with the message, intending to stay for a while with them as I had no one left then at home. On the way, a thief tried to steal my coin and my goods.I killed him and that night, I was visited by a very attractive half Dunmer woman who told me about the Dark Brotherhood. I could join, she said. One more death and I would be admitted. I had no other plans and I thought I would do the deed asked after I had seen my Aunt. My Uncle Andel was distraught and unhappy when I arrived, and told me brokenly that my Aunt Llathasa lay in the Chapel in her last long sleep. I stayed with him one night, than left to do the task I had been set. It involved going to the West Weald to take care of a Nord who had stolen the deeds of a house belonging to two elderly people who had fallen on hard times.Within the hour, I had remioved their difficulty and given them back their title deeds. I slept in the open that night, but that little pretty girl found me again, and I was told to report to her at a house in Skingrad. I have done so, and have been welcomed into the family.I dare say my Uncle will get to know eventually. He seems to know a fair bit about the Brotherhood. I must find out what he knows! Anyway, here I am in Skingrad. I am going to look round the Sanctuary and see what I can see.If you see me, say hello. I don't bite! I'll be the tall Dunmer with the long dark hair. I sing, I laugh a lot and I am a bit of a s'wit. I like ale, wine, women -well, I'm Dunmer!I read a lot and can cast a few good spells. I can also dance, paint and juggle - though not all at once! I look forward to meeting you. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:14 AM Post #14 |
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Adair's story is told thusly... Never in my long years would I have expected to do this. I am called Adair. I am a Telvanni, or I should say, I was a Telvanni. I was once House Sarys then later House Aren. I killed my teacher, a spellwright of no import. He taught me everything I know about alchemy, until I grew too advanced and surpassed him in skill. When others in House Telvanni began coming to me for potions and training, my teacher began poisoning me, poisoning my magicka to keep me from learning more. Once I found out, I killed him. It was easy. A knife between the ribs during deep slumber ended his miserable existence, and as I did not use my Magicka, the elders of our House could no more pin the murder on me than they could on anyone else. But as my apprenticeship with him was incomplete, the fetcher Gothren foisted me onto another Telvanni, one living in Cyrodiil. I finished my training with Fathis Aren. Between that time, someone approached me, woke me from my sleep. A Khajiiti by the name of Shivani woke me from my slumber and called me a murderer. Gave me a dagger and some instructions. I very nearly ignored her offer to become part of her Dark Family. She comes from Anvil and I live far from there. But traveling is no object. And, I was bored. So here I am, House No More in Anvil. If you require potions or training in Illusion, how fitting for me to take over my oldest teachers position after all. Come one, come all. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:14 AM Post #15 |
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And the story of Caravei the Alchemist. My name is Caravei, I am an alchemist. My joining of the family was simple and lovely in its own way. I was having a drink of ale at the Five Claws Lodge in Leyawiin, I was on a hunt for sinkhorn cap for an invisibility potion, I was approached by a inebriated Argonian with the most lovely scale pattern of green and red, he began to speak of how my beauty had drawn him like a mouth to flame. At first I was surprised, as a Bosmer I don't normally attract the tailed races of Tamriel, but then I was struck by a interesting thought. Do Argonian scales have the same effects as slaughterfish scales do? Now I had to know. So I asked him if I could have some of his scales, he seemed to like the idea and invited me to his room, I didn't understand why I needed to go but I went. Once we got there he removed his shirt and came over to me, I drew my dagger with my right hand and grabbed a hunk of scale from his shoulder with my left. A flash of blade and I held my bloody sample. He hissed at me and called me several names that I will not repeat in this company, then came at me claws first. Unfortunately tall for one of my race(if not for the color of my skin one tends to think I am of the Altmer race) I do not lack for speed so dodging him was a simple task. After going by me instead of turning and coming at me again he whipped his tail at my legs, staggering me to the point where I almost fell but my balance was good and I recovered before he could mount another attack. As he turned to face me my arm was already moving, my knife gleamed as I planted it into his left eye, then he fell at my feet, dead. I cleaned my blade and left, politely locking the door behind me. It had grow rather late so I returned to the mages guild hall to sleep. The next morning I left to return to the Arcane University, my home and place of study for many years. Late that night I began to look for a place to rest and found a nice dry camp that already had a cheery fire going. It was unoccupied soon after my arrival and I settled myself down for the night. I was awakened by a Khajiit male in black robes, I arose naked from my pallet dagger in hand and went for his head. I found myself on the ground a moment later my knife gone but alive. Then he explained who he was and why he was there, the offer intrigued me so I agreed. One simple murder later to prove I could kill who I was told, I was among family. I gave J'Ghasta a daedra heart as thanks. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:15 AM Post #16 |
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Nerussa's story: I'll post it here... as I was asked to! I was a solemn child. Quiet. Shy, even. I was pushed into corners and called names a lot by other children. Some adults, even, did this to me. They called me the Devil’s child. Princess of Worms. Why? I was sired by Mannimarco. My mother was not a willing partner to him, oh no. He had her heavily spelled and controlled. She was actually only a Mage, not even a Necromancer. I suppose he had gone to collect her power, as he had with so many others, and was enticed by her beauty. He would not have been the first, nor would he be the last. My mother was a normal Altmer in her appearance. Her hair was as black as pitch, and her eyes were as clear and blue as the sea after a storm. Her main beauty was in her grace and poise. She was a dancer, and she was good. Or, so I was told. When Mannimarco had my mother, he pleasured himself with her often. She conceived eventually, and as I was growing, my sire decided that he did not want me. So, he tried to remove me from my mother. She woke up from her magic-induced stupor and fled. In her flight, she found refuge in the city of Bruma. However, one day, she slipped on the ice and fell down the flight of steps in the center of the city. The fall cost her the memories of her entire life, and nearly cost her me. In a way, that would have been a mercy to her, as now she could imagine that she had been loved into carrying a child instead of the truth. The Mage’s Guild in Bruma had her moved to the Arcane University. There was a Dunmer there that was said to be the greatest healer in Tamriel. She took one look at my mother and sent a team of Apprentices to work, retrieving all that was needed for birthing. I was brought into the world early, and my mother was not ready for me, mentally. She hardly knew what to do for me, so the Guild had to help her. She did not recall though, that she was supposed to be in hiding from Mannimarco, and after a few years, she became a powerful enough Mage to draw his attention again. Imagine his shock to find her! And she had no notion of who he was! I remember being pushed into a closet, hidden from him, while she told the most powerful Necromancer in the world to leave as though he were a mere Apprentice himself. He laughed at her and recast his spell, turning her into an obedient slave. She then drew me from the closet to show him what she had hidden. I was six. My sire bent down to look at me and frowned. He told me that he had no use for me, that my magic was too weak for him to care about. I cried and cried when he took my mother. Many of her friends, fellow mages, had died during his “visit”, and I would receive the brunt for it. People are strange like that. They need someone to blame, even if the person was in no way at fault. At sixteen, I was sent to Kvatch’s Guild Chapter to teach Restoration Spells. It was the only school of magic I had been allowed to learn after the Arch-Mage found out who had sired me. No one wanted me to be like him at all. The only Illusion spells I was allowed were light spells and night vision for safety purposes. Other than that, I was fairly limited in what I was allowed to do. The head of Kvatch, a Nordic woman called Elda, was given instructions to be certain that I did not learn things I was not supposed to know. I was assigned the garden there, and I tended it well. There were never weeds in it. I kept mostly to myself, and I would not meet anyone’s eyes. Ever. Even there, a few of the mage’s persecuted me for my parentage. I hated Mannimarco for making me, though I would not take my own life. The injustice of everything sat in my belly like a festering wound. One day, that wound would explode. Timothy, the Breton who usually took messages and parcels from our Chapter to others was down for the day with a rather interesting illness that even I could not cure. And I had tried every spell I knew. I was accused a few times of not really trying, but the amount of sweat on my brow convinced Elda that I was doing all I could. So, she sent me in his stead. My destination was Cheydinhal, and I had no idea what was in the parcel I carried. I had never ridden a horse before, so I was walking. On foot, Kvatch to Cheydinhal was more than a long walk. I was hurrying, and I was supposed to stay in inns on the way, however, I did not really have the coin for such a thing, and Timothy had neglected to give me the amount I would need. I was not far from Cheydinhal when this became a true problem. Three bandits appeared in my path, and they attacked me. I was terrified! I tried to run, but the parcel on my back slowed me down. So, I continued to panic. Finally, I turned and unleashed my very first Destruction spell. It was my only hope, and I was not even certain I had done it right. It did not look like fire, being more blue and white than the candles that illuminated my room back home. However, when it struck the Redguard who was assaulting me, she let out a scream unlike anything I had ever heard. My fire, which looked more like lightning, crawled over her skin, consuming her. The other two fled. I was left standing on the dusty road with wide eyes. I had taken a life. I felt ill, and sicked up in the undergrowth beside the road. This was not the end, oh no. It was only the beginning. I made it to Cheydinhal only a few hours later, and I was trying to navigate through the veil of tears. The guard by the gate was a courteous Imperial, and he helped me to the Chapter. “What took you so long?” I looked up into Falcar’s sand colored eyes and froze. Shame enveloped me, and I shook my head, taking the parcel off and handing it to him. He took it without looking at it, his eyes searching my face. He swept them down to my feet and back, taking me in with a tiny frown. I blushed furiously at his frank appraisal of me. “I… was attacked,” I mumbled, shifting under his gaze. He took my arm and led me through his Chapter to the room in the basement. “Settle here, now, and tell me the story. Don’t worry, whatever you tell me in here will not leave this room.” I stared at him for moment as tears refilled my eyes. Finally, I spilled them, and the story. By the time I was finished, he had an arm around my shoulders. “I was so scared!” I told him. He gave me a comforting squeeze. “It’s alright now. You’re safe. I’m very glad that you’re alright!” Miserable beyond feeling, I nodded. “Yes, so you could have your parcel.” He snorted. “My dear girl, are you so underappreciated in Kvatch that you think your life is less important than a few potions?” His voice held a level of contempt that I had never heard before. “Those fools. You are a living, breathing woman with feelings and needs and wants as well. Why do they treat you so?” My voice grew quiet. “My sire is… Mannimarco.” He paused, regarding me with an unreadable expression. I wanted to put a bag over my head and die. “I see nothing of him in you, Dear One,” he said quietly, touching my cheek. “I look like my mother,” I mumbled, taken aback by his kind treatment, and his words. His smile was wonderful. “She must have been a beautiful woman.” I am more than certain that my blush was as dark red as the vest under his coat. It was the next morning that I set out again. But he met me at the city gate. “Hello…!” I gasped, shocked to see him. He grinned. “You are an early riser, Nerussa. I like that. However, that did not give me time to respond to Elda, and I always do.” He handed me a letter. “You take care of yourself now. I hope to see you soon.” Two days later, I found out that the letter contained a request. He wanted me to carry all correspondences between Kvatch and Cheydinhal. Elda saw nothing wrong with that, and she made it so. After nearly a year of the back and forth, Falcar asked to court me. I went back to Kvatch walking on clouds. I had a suitor! My first suitor! He wanted me moved to his Chapter permanently, and I wanted that too. I asked Elda, begged her for transfer. She shook her head. “Nerussa, I cannot do that.” My face fell. “Why not?” “The Arch-Mage put you here in Kvatch. Even if he hadn’t, I would not allow it.” Her voice grew somewhat cold. “I am responsible for you, and I simply do not trust him. Why should I endanger a perfectly good healer?” The feelings ripping through me were confused. “You just don’t like me!” I accused. “No one does! No one but him! And you wont let me be with him!” “Nerussa, calm down,” she said evenly, drawing me into her room and offering me a seat at her table. “I like you just fine. You’ll notice that I have only ever stood up for you.” “You had to,” I maintained, crossing my arms. She shook her head. “Look, here’s the facts, alright? Falcar has a horrible reputation with the Council of Mages. He disregards orders and claims they were only suggestions. You are, specifically, kept from certain schools of magic because no one wants to see you end up like Mannimarco. There is no telling how he got the way he is, and the Arch-Mage doesn’t want to risk being the cause of that.” I cursed my sire blatantly, growling at the floor like an angry Khajiit. “I’m not like him!” “I know you’re not.” She patted my shoulder and I jerked from her. She sighed. “Nerussa, Falcar would teach you things you aren’t allowed to know. And then he would teach you things that no one should know.” I got up and left, angry. My feet carried me to the chapel. Brother Martin comforted me for a few moments before a loud crash earned both of our attentions. The sky turned red and deadra sacked our city. I survived because of Brother Martin, the Hero of Kvatch, and a Nordic woman with scars all over her arms. She took all of us from the Chapel and got us safely to the camp to wait out the rest of the battle. She was mad! Laughing and obviously elated by the prospect of killing, she ran back up the road, and I shuddered. I hoped never to see the psychotic Nord again. Martin and I prayed together until the Hero came back and took him. I was alone in the world. No one else in my Chapter survived, and my garden was a scorch mark in the ground. I sat on the crumbled steps and wept. After a little while, I rose and left. My feet then took me to Cheydinhal and I was in Falcar’s arms again. He told me that I was marked for greatness because I had survived. He offered to teach me to be great. After a few days, I agreed. I excelled in Destruction magic. My combination of fire and lightning was potent and devastating. Falcar had never seen anything like it, and he could not duplicate it. Weeks went by. I buried myself in my training, learning things that I could never use. My magic was not strong enough for much of what Falcar was wanting to teach me, and I could tell that he was disappointed about it. When I told him what Mannimarco said about me, he nodded, looking somewhat crestfallen. “But… I love you,” I said quietly, trying to make up for my lack of magical strength with that. He looked up at me sharply and nodded, crossing the room to take me to his. “I think we’ll be alright,” he told me, kissing me deeply. When I realized that he was working my robes loose, I tried to wiggle away, telling him that I was not ready to give myself to him. He responded by shoving me down on his bed, covering my body with his to keep me still. “You’re only frightened because I am your first,” he said huskily, getting into my mage’s robes with skill. I struggled. “Falcar! I’m not ready!” I protested. “I really not!” “Shut up!” he barked, hitting my face. Stunned, I looked to the side and gaped, seeing the Black Soul Gem sitting on his dressing table. The blade beside it was obviously enchanted with Soul Trap. Looking back at my assailant, I opened my mouth to form words and only let out a cry of anguish. “You… lied to me!” He grinned, finally finding bare skin. Working his own clothing, he kept me pinned. “Of course I did. I thought the daughter of the great Mannimarco would have more ability than you. I meant to use you to get in good with him. But you had to ruin that, so I will take him your soul instead! That is, after I enjoy the body you’ve been denying me for weeks!” I freed a hand and set it against his chest. “Do not make me kill you!” I warned, near hysterics. “You know my fire will eat you alive!” He paused for a moment before knocking my hand away, kissing me forcefully. I hit him hard and cast the spell which missed his skin and consumed the remainder of his clothing. I imagine that he was horribly scarred from the event. I, however, did not stick around to find out. I forced him off of me and fled. No one in the Chapter would help me. Most of them would not even look at me. I understood then. Not only was I the offspring of the King of Worms, who they hated, but now I was the supposed doxy of the cruel man who ordered them around. Fixing my robes with a telekinesis spell, I made my way into the city. I was full of rage and lashed out at the first person to touch me. The beggar was incinerated to only a pile of ash. As I stood, looking at the ashes, I felt cold. My feet moved again of their own accord, and when I finally collapsed from exhaustion, I was in what was left of Kvatch. I missed Brother Martin. I was awoken not long after falling asleep by a handsome Dunmeri man. “Wake up, Nerussa,” he said evenly. “Who are you?” I demanded. “I am Jhared Valtieri, a Speaker for the Black Hand. I represent the interests of the Dark Brotherhood. The Night Mother has seen you kill one as innocent as a beggar. You are now invited to become one of her children.” I was amazed and filled with dread as he continued. Dread gave way to rapture. I took the blade he offered and killed the woman he sent me after. My name is Nerussa. My father is Sithis, his bride my Mother. I have no other family, and I do not care for magic. Sithis is my father. |
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| Shivani | Mar 8 2012, 04:15 AM Post #17 |
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Voice
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The tale of.... The Reaper. Do I have to post this again? Kidding! I didn't rewrite it or anything fancy. My name is Minx. My mother was a Nord, and my father was an Imperial. You can imagine what that did to me when I was a little kid. Being the product of a union that neither parents’ family approved of, I was picked on more than the average child. When my father died, my mother married another Nord, and he was very decent. I liked him well enough, and he liked me. Together they gave me a sister. She’ll come back into play later. Anyway, I was a young woman when I was drawn into the Nord vs. Imperial conflict. So, I killed a bunch of them, so what? IT didn’t take a long time for a commander to take notice of me. Now, I don’t know what you know about Nords and our ways of doing things, but when he noticed me, I was supposed to become part of his squad. I didn’t want to be in it! I was happy in my mother’s husband’s. Now, my mother died, leaving me little choice but to move out of her house. My sister never really liked me, being a “half-breed” and much better at fighting than her. Eventually, the commander that wanted me for his force changed his tactic. I see now what he was doing, but then…I was young. I was thrilled at the attention I was getting from a very attractive young man. His eyes were blue, and his hair was wispy and blonde. But he was large, strong, and had a deep voice. Having been set in my own way by everyone from childhood, I’d never even been looked at more than once by a young man, so I fell for his tricks easily. Soon, I was his champion: a killer with ice in my eyes. My specialty: the spear. None could best me with it, and few could best my hands either. My commander was great with a sword, but I rarely used mine. I didn’t really like it. I do now, but that’s another story. See, I was prowling through our encampment, having just gotten off of my watch shift, and I was heading for the commander’s tent to give my report. No one ever heard me move, but I guess it’s hard to miss a long legged blonde moving with purpose through the camp, spear in hand. Several heads turned to regard me. One of the men moved out of my way with mocking deference. The look I gave him made him shudder, and he ran in the other direction. It amused me, but I gave no sign. Opening the tent, I found the commander—whom I had agreed to marry—tangled in my sister’s arms and legs on his bed of furs! They both looked up at me, shock on their faces. “Minx!” his eyes were wide. Mine narrowed to icy slits. “You cannot tell me that you’re actually surprised,” my sister sneered. “He had to get you in his forces somehow.” The smug look on her face numbed my whole being. Without hesitation, I leaned forward, spear in hand, and flicked it in her direction, slicing her throat. “What are you doing!?” the man shrieked, jumping up, pulling his greaves back on to hide what was left of his dignity. “I challenge you,” I growled, standing my spear up beside me and flicking my hair tail over my shoulder. He spluttered and clenched his fists as the tent was further invaded by my step-father. “What has happened?” he gasped, kneeling by his daughter, his face paling. “I challenged him, and he is shaking in fear,” I said coldly, ignoring the tears flowing down the man’s cheeks. My sister’s father rose, wrath in his eyes. “You will fight her!” he barked, pointing at him. “Neither of you will utter another word until one of you is dead!” I realized the assumption that had been made and smiled evilly. The commander pointed at me. “If she kills me, she will be exiled!” “SILENCE!” Others were joining us now as shouts and roars were being exchanged. I walked calmly out of the tent, not minding the thought of exile. I had been segregated anyway. I was followed, and the commander was told to indicate what weapon he would use. His sword in hand, he attacked me without hesitation. He died only a moment later, my spear protruding from his heart. “Coward,” I spat, pulling it out. No one spoke after that and I gathered my few belongings and left. I headed South, for Cyrodiil, contemplating the murder of my half-sister, and the lack of guild I felt. When I reached Bruma, I had to keep myself from attacking the guards, and they greeted me amiably. I had no real reason to hate Imperials. After all, I am half one. On a whim, I got a room at the Jerall View, though I knew very well that having lived in the Jeralls my whole life, just looking at them would do me no good. In fact, I actually missed my home for a little while. Taking my ease, I fell asleep. Now suddenly awake and on my feet, spear in hand, I attacked the person who’d broken into my room. The Khajiit growled and jumped back, his black robes fluttering slightly as he dodged artfully. “Enough of this!” he growled. His attempt to disarm me remained an attempt. Pinning him up against he wall with the shaft of my spear, I barked out a laugh. “You were the one who came in here, fuzzball.” He grunted, pushing me away from him with surprising strength, bringing himself to his full height to look slightly up at my face. “I am J’Ghasta, Speaker of the Black Hand. I came here to make you an offer.” “Keep talking,” I told him with a frown. If I didn’t like this, I’d just kill him too. I am now so very glad that I didn’t! As he explained the Brotherhood to me, I grew more and more impressed. Eventually, I agreed to eliminate a target in Kvatch. That was completed in less than a day, and I returned to Bruma again. The Khajiit assigned me to the Sanctuary of someone he called “Jakhajiit”. Tucking my spear under my arm, I ran cross-country from Bruma to Anvil. Shivani was my new Speaker, and I liked her right off the bat. The Reaper |
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| Lethera | Jun 12 2012, 09:48 PM Post #18 |
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The Red Woman
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My name's Lethera...and I've been dead for almost 700 years, but who cares, it's not like I'm going to be giving out copies of this for people to read when they're home from whatever tiny little job they have that provides for their meaningless little lives. Sheep...I'm surrounded by fucking sheep. I love getting the use the word, 'fucking', you have no idea, journal...fucking none! Anyway, what was I writing about? Oh yes! How I met Astrid. My first contract with the Dark Brotherhood so to speak. We met at a party in Solitude, a very nice, extravagant affair, hosted by Astrid's target and my enemy. I had been married to a very evil man a long time ago, you see, journal...and so I have made it my personal mission to hunt down and kill all his descendants, and apparently, someone else hated this idiot enough to hire the Dark Brotherhood to kill him. So...I was planning on poisoning the man, and then setting the house of fire to cover everything up. But a certain blonde assassin got in my way. I had gone with the man, under the guise of a whore to his chambers, where I had already planted the poisoned wine earlier. He drank deep of his poisoned chalice and died...right there on the bed, good and dead. But Astrid, who had apparently snuck into the chamber to knife him or something. (I don't know how she planned on killing him, I never asked her, journal,) saw me give him the poisoned cup. I had stolen a Dark Brotherhood kill. After some negotiations, I was offered a spot in the Family. How could I resist? |
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| Dar'Nava | Oct 15 2012, 02:19 AM Post #19 |
Forsaken
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Hmmmmm, where could this one begin. How about the name for this one has many. You can call this one Dar'Nava the thief, Dar'Nava the murderer, Dar'Nava the furred angel, or Dar'Nava the whore. Any are sutible to this one as all of them are true. This one started out as a cub in the city of Torval in southern Elsweyr, times there had been tough but bearable...but...they only got tougher for this one once the five year war started and Dar'Navas parents were mercilessly slaughtered by the monsters known as the Bosmer. After that Dar'Nava had grown up on the streets of that damned city, stealing whatever this one could to just survive. It was as this one reached the age of fourteen that she began looking at alternative ways to earn money...so she had turned to prostitution. This ones body was beutiful enough to anyone who wanted Dar'Nava and the intercourse had felt plesurable to her so she had not minded...until he came. A Khajiit high off of skooma brutilly defilled this one. There was no pleasure that night...only pain. I decided to forsake that damned city, this whole damn country and met up with a caravan heading to skyrim. It was with that caravan that this one learned of the joys of many things. Moonsugar, skooma, as well as a Khajiit who cared for this one, but I never believed his affections believing he was just going to use this one like so many had before...Now that this one thinks back to all those years ago mabye this one should have returned the feelings but it is to late now and this one has moved on. Continually jumping from one mate to the next for the pleasure she gets that helps this one forget. Now that the sob story is out of the way it is time to tell of her new family and the satisfying taste of blood that is the way of Sithis. As a Khajiit it is very hard to nearly impossible to enter the citys but oh Dar'Nava finds a way, she always finds a way. This one was about 19 at the time and her first time inside a skyrim city was amazing, the specific city...whiterun. It was very late and Jode and Jone both shone brightly in the sky. Not knowing where to go she went to the first place that resmebled an inn to this one, a place called the drunken huntsmen. This one entered the tavern and was met by a cheerful fire that warmed Dar'Nava right up but when this one saw who was working behind the counter her blood boiled. the damn Bosmer...no two bosmer. the firery hatred that this one has for the race has never been exstingguished and so Dar'Nava chose one and when no one could here us...offered to bed him. After much persusion he gave in and once we entered the bedroom room Dar'Nava locked the door...the details are fuzzy after that. Once this one came to her senses she examined the room and the thick coating of blood around it but the one thing that this one noticed most was the feeling. The satisfying feeling of vengance and the thrill of the kill made this ones fur stand on end, it felt better than any male or female that had ever pleased her before. This one made her escape out of a nearby window but was stopped by what this one now calls brother. Dar'Nava had stolen a brotherhood contract and now had to repay it in blood, the target a Khajiit caravaneer. This one had no trouble tracking him down and when this one ended his life as well she had felt even more satisfyed, like she was getting the vengance for that Khajiit that had so brutally hurt her. It was after that that Dar'Nava got her invatation to be apart of this disfunctional little family but she loves them all as though they were her real family...no they are her real family. |
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| Rishava | Oct 20 2012, 06:15 PM Post #20 |
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I have a few characters, but I think I'm gonna go with Rishava for now... And sorry if it's too long, I've never written it down, and this is from my memory >..< Where could this one begin? Rishava has many names, the most common of them, made by the revolting Bosmeri, is Rishava the Demon-Cat. Rishava was born to a small Khajiit family in Corinthe, and was raised there for many summers. Her life was tough, being in a poor Skooma-dealing family, but it only became much, much worse. When this one was old enough to walk and speak, Rishava and her birth-brother, Jo-Shavaji, Rishava's sister having left to the Summerset Isles, were trapped in the Five-Year War with the elves of Valenwood, their mother having been raped and murdered by one of the leaders of the raid, and their father cut down in the line of battle by many Bosmeri arrows to his chest. Knowing she could never stand to befriend another life-theiving elf ever again, she and her brother escaped Corinthe and traveled across the warm sands of their homeland, stealing what was needed to survive in the deadly wilds, oblivious to the deaths that were taking place in the many cities of Elsweyr. She was just about seven summers , and the young cubs barely knew enough to survive in the harsh badlands and yet they had a burning hatred for the Bosmer, fueled by fury, and would never let them get away with their crimes against their family and friends. After many years of surviving in Cyrodiil, Elsweyr, and often Black Marsh, they came across a band of the raiding elves from their childhood, and though the elves had enough heart not to kill cubs, Jo-Shavaji and Rishava were sold fairly as slaves to the ashen elves of Morrowind. This one was outraged at having been a slave for much of her life, and so she learned how to wield a blade as easily as many find it easy to breathe. Jo-Shavaji, a few summers older than Rishava, escaped the slave trade and said he would become a blacksmith for the Khajiiti warriors back in Elsweyr. He told this one he would come for me, yet I do not remember ever seeing him again in the slave markets of Molag Mar. He was a very lucky cat, for Rishava's master was a cruel Dunmeri elf, and would beat her and her fellow slaves daily, usually for no reason but for not being a Dunmer. She took this wretched treatment until she was a young adult Khajiit, and she could take the humiliation no longer. Her master had almost beaten her best friend to death for not cleaning his linens properly, and Rishava heard the pleading cries all the way from the farm she worked on. She had concealed a blade on her long digitigrade legs, and she yanked the steel metal out in fury. After many years of the treatment her fellow slaves were getting, she had trained many of the Khajiit and lizard slaves to wield a simple blade, after the few years of surviving the harsh sands of her homeland. She remembers sprinting up the expensive manor, steel blade in paw, and mercilessly stabbing the elf many times, until her soft amber fur was steeped to the roots with his blood. Her claws were tainted with the bloody elf's skin and the cries of sorrow and pain still rung in her ears, but she felt as if somebody had known, her skin tingling with a strange icy feeling. Rishava was then sprinting out of the manor, freeing as many slaves as she could. With the revolting Hlaalu's death, the slaves could go back to the homelands, and even join up with the Twin Lamps this one has heard so much about. She had run to the northern parts of Cyrodiil, and stayed in the Jerall Mountains for many sleepless nights. Rishava finally went to sleep, hoping her brother and slave friend were alright in the warm sun and sands of Elsweyr. She did not expect to be visited, especially by a non-Khajiit. Rishava awoke in a freezing cabin in the wilds of an unknown land, and a Nord woman, calling herself Astrid, said I had stolen a kill. Rishava did not remember killing many in her life, but immediately knew which kill she was speaking of. After feeling the joy of murdering rush through her veins once more, she was welcomed into a family, but not one she would have ever thought of. A true family, whom she came to love not as an adopted sister, but as a real sister of the Dark Brotherhood. Edited by Rishava, Oct 20 2012, 11:52 PM.
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| Iniel | Oct 21 2012, 07:23 PM Post #21 |
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I am not a Thalmor. I am actually a sworn Stormcloak. There are many Thalmor hunters among those who serve Ulfric. I am not a hunter. I am a spy. My name is Iniel. I was born in Cyrodiil, a few hundred years ago. In my youth, I was a mage and a thief. The Gray Fox was my idol, and I learned every single thing I could about this individual. I was, therefore, quite heartbroken to learn that not only were they more legend than anything, but they were not even the same person all the time! The cowl was passed down while the legend grew? No, not for me. The Great War interrupted my life. Being an Altmer, many assumed I was a Thalmor and threw things at me in the street. But I was as Cyrodiilic as they! I had been born and raised in the Imperial City! My parents were honest mages! With little remorse, and a bit more hesitation, I left my home to travel North. Far, far North. Winterhold was colder than any other place I had ever been, but I liked the people there immediately. They, however, did not like me so much. The College was wonderful… until Ancano appeared. He, like many others, assumed that I was one of his… associates. So I left there as well. I went to Riften and rekindled my association with the Thieves Guild. The Skyrim chapter was not doing so well, and while the Grey Fox was not the leader, they still followed Nocturnal. There, I studied under Cynric and became one of the Guild’s best lockpicks. We were more than friends for a while, and I learned things from him that I still use to this day. I gave them my all for a few years until I overheard rumors of a civil war brewing. Another war? I ventured out of my life once again to find out all I could. Research only got me so far. Who was this Ulfric Stormcloak? Why was his name being spoken with love by so many, and hate by many others? I took a Guild job in Windhelm and went to find out myself. My arrival in the city was hardly a grand event. I met a Nordic woman a bit shorter than me who wanted to know who I was. Her armor was strange, and I felt a bit affronted by her manner. So I tried to walk past her. That did not go well. Sava the Silent was quicker than a shot arrow, and she boxed me in with ease and repeated her questions. So, I told her. And once I started, I found that I could not stop. When I finished my tale, she just looked at me for a moment before nodding and taking me to her Jarl. To say that the man impressed me would be a gross understatement. To say that the tenor of his voice sent shivers up my spine would not be doing him justice. This was Ulfric Stormcloak? The Elf hater? He was a bit reserved, but I sensed no malice being directed at me. So long as I was not one of the Thalmor, I was more than welcome in his city and his army. His army? I had not even considered that. Taking my leave, I wandered the city until I found Sava again. We shared a round of mead in the inn, and she told me of her position in the ranks. Two others joined us after a time: Galmar Stonefist and Sigurd Stonearm. After a few rounds, the stories began. I sat back and listened with eager interest. I have always loved stories and learning. But these three Stormcloak Officers were soon the center of attention, drawing all the soldiers in the room into their stories. I spoke with Galmar Stonefist about Ancano and how every Thalmor I had encountered thought I was one of them. After a test that he confessed he did not expect me to survive, I swore my oath and began my training. I soon learned many other names and faces. I went on my first mission and infiltrated my first group of Thalmor. They accepted me easily enough. Three hours later, I hated every single one of them. These people were… were… well, they were ruthless, cold, and they had prisoners. It took me a good week to manage it, but I eventually cooked up a poison that laid the whole garrison low. I left there with the prisoners in triumph. Again and again, I was called on to infiltrate the enemy, and again and again I proved that I could be trusted. I do not have a personal grudge against the Thalmor, really. They irritated me until I joined their enemy, and then… I learned to hate them. But I am truly in love with Skyrim now. As cold as it is here, I love it. That love translates into most things that I do. When the civil war came to a halt, I was not sure what to do with myself. I honed my skills with my daggers and taught a few friends how to pick locks. I was a spy, a killer, and a thief. And then, one day, Sava found me again. She was different, and her name had changed, but she was still Sava. Her husband, a mage I had never seen before, was a sharp minded Breton, and he told me of Sithis. He gave me a name, which I took and tracked. The man named by the Speaker bled on the snow, his life taken to give me a new one. The Night Mother has taken me in. She and the Dread Father have replaced the parents I lost in Cyrodiil. I am now a taker of souls. All hail our Dread Father. |
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| Aundae | Oct 25 2012, 10:13 AM Post #22 |
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Murderer
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Raised in a Thalmor household, I was taught to look down on other races, that they are inferior to us in every single way - culture, magic, battle, relationships.... and everything in between. My family had always lived in the Summerset Isles' capital city of Alinor. Consequently, I only ever knew what it was like to be surrounded by my own people and never became accustomed to being around other races. As I got older, I found myself watching as my father trained prospective soldiers and Justiciars and decided I wanted to follow in his footsteps. I trained hard and found that long range archery came natural to me. Seeing this, my father promoted me to Junior Justiciar and sent me off to Skyrim to be trained by the best in the Aldmeri Dominion: Ondolemar. My journey to Skyrim was long but, otherwise, uneventful and bore no indication of what was in store for me. Upon my arrival in Markarth, I was met by a young Thalmor agent no more than a few years older than me. She introduced herself as Mirie and led me up to Understone Keep. She didn't seem very fond of the city, but I found it to be full of character. As we entered through the main gate, there were a couple of stalls off to the side, manned by Redguards and Imperials. One of the stalls was selling meats, fruits and vegetables, the other was selling trinkets. A Redguard woman at the trinket stall smiled at me as we walked past and I glared back at her. Her face drooped a bit and she quickly looked away. I felt a bit bad at first but she was a Redguard commoner! Did she expect me to treat her differently? When we arrived at the Keep and Mirie opened the door for me, I was a bit confused at first. I'd expected that the ruler (known as a "Jarl" in Skyrim) of the town would at least be living in a castle, not this dreary stone-carved cave the place looked to be. The interior did nothing to assuage my feeling that it was a castle meant for a ruler, either. We shoved past a gruff looking old Nord who was raving on about something to do with "Silverbloods" and went up some stairs that were adorned with old dwarven centurions. Ondolemar was waiting just outside a doorway to the Jarl's throne, accompanied by two Thalmor soldiers. "I have brought Lady Aundae safe and sound to you, sir." Mirie said, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you, agent." Ondolemar nodded, looking me over. "You are dismissed." Mirie flashed me a friendly smile and left. "You've come at a rather hectic time, Lady Aundae" He said, looking at me inquisitively. "I'll see to it that you're put through your paces and you may just one day become my second in command. I've heard many good things about you and you seem like you can handle yourself in combat, but until I've seen that for myself, you will be my protégé. This is the agreement that your father arranged with me. Are you ready to begin your duties?" "Yes, sir, I understand and am ready for anything." I replied. So, over the next few months, he trained me in the fields of destruction magic and advanced combat with all weapons. I dedicated myself to his teachings and he became impressed with the rate in which I learned new skills. He became my mentor in all respects and I found myself thinking about him constantly and even mimicking some of his mannerisms. A bond formed between us and we became close friends forged through battle and blood. As time went by, I noticed signs that something more was developing between us - my gaze would meet his from across the room, he would go out of his way to get close to me during training, he'd find a way to touch my hand, arm or shoulder at any chance he could, and we opened up to each other about things we wouldn't tell anyone else. It soon became somewhat difficult to be around each other without things becoming ever-so-slightly more intimate each time. We resisted the urge to do more because of our ranks, but it was not easy. A year after my arrival in Skyrim, I received a letter from the Thalmor Headquarters. Ondolemar brought it to me with a certain twinkle in his eyes. "Aundae, this has just arrived for you." He paused for a moment before handing it to me. "I should tell you that I've been in contact with Elenwen to report on your progress. We are both very impressed..." He smiled warmly and squeezed my hand before leaving to return to his post. I sat next at a table nearby and read the letter. I could not believe it... I had been promoted to second in command to Ondolemar! I jumped out of my seat and ran after him. He grinned widely as he saw me coming. "I take it you received news of your promotion?" "Oh, Ondolemar, isn't it wonderful?!" I could not contain my excitement. "You have exceeded my expectations. Really, after the way you've been performing, I saw no other option than to recommend your promotion to Elenwen at once." He put his arm around me and we walked down the stairs together as he continued. "I can tell you're eager to start your patrols so I've order Mirie and a couple of soldiers to accompany you as you patrol the reach in search of Talos worshippers. You are to patrol the area for three days and report back to me on who you observed has entered and left the area in that time. In addition to that, you must also capture and detain anyone wearing an amulet of Talos. Do what you will with them, but don't let them live. I don't think you need reminding of that, do you my dear?" "No, sir, I know what needs to be done." I nodded, collecting myself. He chuckled and stopped walking as Mirie flanked by two soldiers approached us. "You all know what you need to do," Ondolemar squeezed my shoulders and let go. "Auri-El guide you..." I bowed my head to him and left with Mirie. The next few months were the absolute most traumatising and eye-opening of my entire life. My hatred for all Human races ran deep through my veins, but there are some things even I would never do to anyone - no matter how much I hate them. I witnessed some of my own men committing unspeakable acts on entire families. Murder looked like a mercy compared to what I witnessed. And some of the things I saw happen ran deeper still. I witnessed fellow Justiciars as they tortured and violated countless Humans, watched as they tore families and homes apart... I had thought all my life that the Justiciars were noble and only fought when provoked. How very wrong I was.... But the point where I had reached the end of my tether came fifteen months after my promotion. One day, I had returned to Ondolemar after a week of patrolling the Karth River and as I approached him I noticed he looked agitated. I apologised for not reporting sooner and he told me the source of his agitation was not my tardiness. Word had reached him that an encampment of Khajiit caravaners located a few miles West of Karthwasten had been worshipping Talos, so he had dispatched a group of soldiers to arrest them, but they were greatly outnumbered and (somehow) all killed. He could not understand how they became overpowered and asked me to proceed to the camp with a few soldiers and mages, and observe them. I rounded up a few men and off we went to the Khajiit camp! By the next morning, we had found a large cluster of bushes we could hide in while watching the Khajiit and stayed there for a few hours. They appeared to be weakened and I could see no reason as to how they were able to overpower our fallen comrades. I also noticed that there were less than what we had expected so, that night after the Khajiit had all gone to sleep, I ordered my men to charge through the camp and kill all of them. They had to be made accountable for killing our comrades. An almighty fight - that we did not anticipate - broke out and it lasted until just before dawn, with the only people to survive the battle being myself and another Justiciar. We realised there was still one tent we had not yet taken a look at so I went in first. Inside was a young Khajiit woman, curling her body protectively around her cub. "Please.... Take my life if you must, just spare my cub's." Tears flowed from her eyes. "I'm begging you!" I nodded, saying "As you wish." I then beheaded her. The cub started yowling and I picked it up and felt a pang of pity for the little life form I held in my arms. "What are you doing with that disgusting beast?" The other justiciar walked in, grimacing at the sight of the headless Khajiit woman and her screaming cub. "Kill it! It's drawing attention to us." I looked up at my colleague and, for the first time in my entire life, felt an overwhelming sense of horror and hatred for what he had said. I knew I could not ignore it, or try and forget it and I saw no other way around it. He had to die or at least pay for what he'd said. With a muttered incantation and a flick of my arm, he burst into flames and ran screaming from the camp. I heard him cast a spell to extinguish the flames, but didn't hear him return. I knew from then on, I would never be able to return home or to the life I once had. I had instantly made myself an outcast with no-one but the cub in my arms to keep me company. I spent the next half hour cradling the crying cub in my arms, singing him lullabies. He eventually calmed down and we fell asleep together. I awoke a few hours later and saw a puddle of blood in front of me. I screamed and frantically looked around for the cub. He was nowhere to be found. "Looking for something?" Ondolemar's voice cut through my heart like an arrow. I ran out of the tent and found him, arms crossed and smirking, but alone. "Where... where's the cub, Ondolemar?" I asked, dazed and unsure of what to do. "I expect by now, the undertaker will be cremating him." Ondolemar answered, matter-of-factly. "It's much more hygienic then handling the body to put in a coffin..." "No... How could you?!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, lunging at him. "How could I? Really, I should be asking that of you, don't you think?" Ondolemar snarled, grabbing my shoulders and tossing me to the ground with great force. "You're a traitor to the Aldmeri Dominion. Do you realise what I have to do now?" I looked up at him, fear building up in my gut. He stood there for a moment, pausing. Calculating. "Go." I looked at him in shock. "Leave now. If I ever see you again, I will kill you without warning nor hesitation." He turned his back and started to walk away. I paused for a moment, then asked "W-why?" He looked back at me, wistfully. "I cannot..." He shook his head, and practically yelled. "Just go! Get out of here before I change my mind!" So I ran... A couple of weeks later, after having been on the run and not staying in one spot for more than a night, I decided to hole up in a cave , a courier delivered a mysterious letter to me. It had a black hand print in the middle and had the words "We know" written below it. I thought it was a message from the Aldmeri Dominion and asked the courier if he could confirm my suspicions. He said he couldn't say, just that the man who asked him to make the delivery was tall and wore hooded black robes. I racked my brain trying to think who it could be and then it dawned on me... it was from the Dark Brotherhood. Who else could it be? They're secretive and dark by nature, and this just did not seem like it came from anyone I knew. I just hoped upon hope they wouldn't try to kill me, so I prayed to Auri-El for his protection and made my way to Dragon Bridge and stayed the night at the local inn. It felt like I'd only just drifted off to sleep that I'd woken up to the sound of footsteps. I sat up and realised I was no longer at the inn but staying on the floor of some run-down shack. I felt a sharp pain in my head and what happened between then and now is a mystery to me, but somehow or rather I ended up becoming a member of the Dark Brotherhood! As I write this, I'm still learning a bit about Sithis and the Night Mother and I'm looking forward to getting to know my new "family". They seem to be very caring and nurturing to one another and I am comforted that fate has delivered me into the hands of such lovely company. And I now serve only one deity: Sithis. Edited by Aundae, Oct 25 2012, 03:12 PM.
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| Furius | May 3 2015, 10:44 PM Post #23 |
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I am working with Alani to get my character introduced still working out the details. |
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9:19 AM Jul 11