Wrapped in layers of masks and deceit, what may appear at first to be a noble lady of Rihad like her namesake with her rosy, almost light tones to her tanned and smooth skin, there is far more to her than at that first glance. It starts with the way she bears herself, just ever so distinctly aloof and with a subtle difference to those of the shaded cities. Every step is with a purpose, and a skilled eye can easily tell that it's not because she feels herself to own the very ground she walks upon, but that her mind is focused and determined. It comes with the sudden tensing of muscle that hadn't been obvious before, a woman who seemed rather soft and pampered suddenly revealing a life of hardship with the first tell of danger. With her heritage as a nomad of an Alik'ri tribe, all of this comes rather easily to Khaliya though, who bears the scars of that life plainly beneath soft silks, rough traveling leathers and ever so rarely the pale light of the moons. Small pink tears dot her sides and back where arrows or fangs broke skin, a few savage gashes ever so distinctly forming the shape of a large creature's maw framing her body showing where death nearly took her, and the calluses on her hands and feet tell the story of a young woman who did not have that easy life. But dark flowing ink also shows where she not only survived these encounters, but surpassed them and learned from them to better herself. In the twists and turns of the flowing Yokudan style, her accomplishments are there to be read by any fluent enough in the forgotten language, most prominent of which is the wyrm coiling around her arms up to her shoulders and neck to depict the greater duneripper that nearly took her life. But for all the hidden meanings and openly obvious signs of who and what she is, there is perhaps the most obvious. Despite how often she finds herself in combat or pretending to be someone she's not, there is always that rather girlish pixie-cut style she wears her white-blonde hair in, two long tails of hair banded with small Yokudan charms. And then there is that eerie silver tint to storm-gray eyes that shows her mixed heritage, a woman of many different worlds doing her best to blend in.
Personality
Tempered by a childhood living along the dunes of the Alik'r desert and the few years since leaving those familiar sands for the varied provinces of the Empire, Khaliya can be a woman hard to read at times, and quite straight forward at others. There is a genuineness to her willingness to help at a moment's notice, where she makes herself available to those in need to help guide them through whatever troubles they may have come into. Yet there is also that subtle ulterior motive as she learned while traveling with her people, in that it can always be easier to gain a read on someone when their own guard has come down. It is a subtle cunning in a way that is just barely visible in her eyes as she carefully watches her surroundings, constantly aware of herself as others view her, and the ever evolving way a person can be around others. To that end, who she really is, the quietly energetic and upbeat young woman looking towards an adventure around every corner, can often be masked by the practicality of wearing another face for the sake of learning more. But despite the cloak and dagger routine of her life's task, she still has a good heart and still seeks the best of others. That is because ultimately, she wants only to leave the world a better place than it was when she came to know it, just as her Yokudan ancestors taught.
Skills
Bladed Weapons
Borne of a life among the sands with her nomadic tribe, Khaliya was taught from an early age to familiarize herself with a sword and other manner of weapons to protect the tribe and hunt for it. While her skill with a bow leaves much to be desired, she took up enthusiasm for the sword and over years has become adept enough with it to have been named one of the foremost experts among her people. This was accelerated by her study of the Book of Circles and varied Yokudan legends until she was regarded as the first true Ansei in centuries. Truly Khaliya may have many skills and passions, but it is with a sword that she will always excel.
Armor Training
Almost as a matter of course, with a nomadic life there comes the need to be able to protect one's self with more than just a sword. Even the most skilled swordsman can still be taken out with an arrow to an uncovered head, and the sands of the Alik'r can be all the more deadly for those without the knowledge of how to dress for them while still maintaining protection. Primary for Khaliya and others in the tribe is learning how to dress for the heat of the day and the cold of the night, as well as how to fully utilize the bare minimum for protection against blades, arrows and worse. So it is that she's able to work folds of cloth mid-combat to snare blades when up close, using the cutting power against her opponent or reflexively bunching material up to soften concussive blows. But while she is adept in unarmored combat, she has also adapted quite well to lighter armors such as leather, cloth and even Altmeri/glass. Anything heavier would have been a detriment to someone of her size while traveling, so she remains unskilled in such things.
Escape Artist
Alongside the traditions of her people in song, dance and of course the martial arts of ancient Yokuda, there has also been another aspect of living the life of Alik'ri nomads. Because of how her people are regarded by most Redguards, Khaliya herself has learned the valued skill of masking who she is and wearing another persona like anyone else wears clothes. Names are like masks with histories draped over them, and the right name, the right mannerisms, the right way of speaking can get someone anywhere they want. It's become second nature to adapt to those around her to the point that she can even vanish in broad daylight, simply fading back into a crowd as if she was just another passerby. She also has a remarkable ability to find the quickest exit from a situation, both metaphorically and quite literally.
Infiltrator/Light Fingers
While not endorsed whatsoever by her father or her tribe, Khaliya did manage to pick up a few tricks from some rather unsavory contacts while among the cities of Hammerfell. It became first a game to play with the local Thieves Guild representatives as they communicated what information they had with the elders, and slowly she learned the makings of a good mark, how to read people and their potential wealth, as well as how to make it hers. It came with the ability to casually put her fingers in places they were certainly not welcome all the while with her mark right there oblivious until long after she had left. Her deftness also made her ideally suited for lockpicking, able to intuitively feel out the motions of the tumblers as they fall into place one by one. Of course it's not all picking pockets, locks and dealing in the shadows, as these primary skills in determining who to pick has made her ability to blend into crowds and social strata all the more potent.
Alchemy
While not particularly her forte, there is a degree of understanding of native flora and how best to use them, due in part from a life among the harsh sands of the Alik'r and the desolate eastern reaches of Hammerfell. Her mother also played a large part in teaching her what heals and what harms, focusing primarily on restorative medicine with limited resources.
Magic
Shehai- Second Class Ansei
Where the first spark came from can be argued as to whether it was her Yokudan heritage that she just so happened to inherit this gift, or the long study of the myths and realities of the Sword-Singers, or perhaps more practically when she first properly manifested the blade of light-made-steel. It is regardless, a gift that has not been seen for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years despite being what allowed those first Yokudans to settle Hammerfell and eventually become Redguards. Whether she goes by Ansei, Sword-Singer or even the more esoteric Sword-Saint, the truth of the matter is the same in that she has manifested the gift of the Shehai. First forged out of the battle of life and death she faced in the sands of the Alik'r, it is a weapon of unparralleled quality and might, and forever within her grasp so long as her will remains unbroken. Exactly what the Shehai is had always been debated fiercely of course, with the Psijic Order calling it a unique and unstudied magic native to Yokuda, implying that it may not be exclusive to them. The Yokudans of the First Era called it a manifestation of will, their warrior spirit in blade form. To Khaliya though, it is her make-way for lack of better words. From either hand she can summon the ethereal blades, the shape shifting depending on what she wills it to in the moment, from the curved scimitars native to her homeland to Legionary gladii and even the jagged edges of Morrowind glass.
Of course it is still no small feat to manifest the Shehai at all, and it is something she is always training in to keep it active for as long as possible. At first she was only able to manifest a single blade and for but a moment, but since her recovery and further practice she has now been able to keep it active for much longer and in both hands, something only rumored of the old Sword-Saints. There is a small matter though in her ascending to Second Rank Ansei, a rite in which she gave up a blade of significant importance to her to go further beyond her limitations. In seeking greater understanding of the Shehai mortal blades now no longer sit comfortably in her hands. Where before she could work a sword as if an extension of herself, it is becoming more and more difficult to hold a sword steady, her hands shaking as if unused to the weight. But for Khaliya it is a minor sacrifice to make when she knows she will always have her Shehai at the ready, and there is still much to learn.
Equipment
Personal Items
Work Clothes - Waitress outfit for Daggerfall Dan's Small leather fold with Imperial papers within identifying her as Khaliya al-Rihad and a handful of septims Caddach's wallet Darmon's coin-purse, minus the septims Brita's coin-purse, also minus the septims Set of keys to Daggerfall Dan's
Lockbox
- None -
Stored Items
Collection of books from home, including the Book of Circles Central Tamriel-geared traveling equipment, including fire-starting utensils, a small cookpot and a single bedroll with weather-proof leather tent. Assorted armor/clothing such as traditional Hammerfell Knight armor, light traveling leathers, a hooded poncho, a light furred coat and a set of priestess of Dibella vestments.
As with many of the Yokudan myths and legends, the woman who would become Ansei did not start out gifted or soft in any way. Her life from birth had been one of the harsh desert sands, born among the nomadic tribes of the Alik'r who for one reason or another rarely visited the shade of the cities. Though in a way her life was a miracle in a way, as it had nearly never happened at all for her tribe's varied conflicts with neighboring provinces and within Hammerfell itself. One of those few who still hold true to the Warrior Wave philosophy, her people have lived a life of hardship for hundreds of years, seeking out any threats to Hammerfell no matter where they may dwell, and destroying them utterly. Whether it be the revered undead or a clan of Orsimer cursed by Malacath with a blood rage. It was the latter that brought her mother to her father, an Altmer woman gifted in restoration and dead set on sharing that gift with any in need of it. Her wanderings had brought her to a clan of Orcs beset by one tragedy after another, and soon she had been wed to the Chief and the thing thought impossible came to their clan. Peace.
But it didn't last long, as their blood boiled from the merest of slights, and eventually one of their clan struck a Redguard merchant down in cold blood, drawing the attention of the Alik'ri tribe. A mission of destruction was undertaken, with the only survivors being the youngest and eldest of Orcs, as well as Terandil of Shimmerene and her two unborn children. Jakir, the chief of the Alik'ri tribe, walked out of the main building of the stronghold a shaken man and gave the order himself, what had transpired between himself and the Orsimer chief remaining secret to this day. Of course, news spread quickly of the razing of the clan's land and soon an army began to draw against the Alik'ri. Little by little they were driven into a pass that was to be their grave until Jakir himself negotiated with the Reachman warleader, and showed that his people had taken in the most vulnerable of the Orcs as well as the Altmer Terandil.
Many tense years passed since that day, and on the eve of the seventh Khaliya was born to Terandil and Jakir, the two having found a love for each other in their time among the sands. Of course her childhood was a rather rough one though, not just for the biting winds of blown sand, or of the merciless sun during the day and the bone-chilling cold of night, but for her older step-siblings Yashar and Roshanara who had been fully adopted by the Alik'r since then. With half-orcs as siblings, she quickly learned to toughen up for the rough-housing of children, and over the years was made all the better for it. While her kin and tribespeople were given towards more martial skills because of their lifestyle, Khaliya found herself gifted in particular with the blade. As others branched and learned more of song, dance, pottery or weaving she did much the same, but always her eye was drawn more and more to the sword.
It was found all the more in the tales of the Ansei and her people's Yokudan history told through the songs of her tribe. Each was a tale of great heroes fighting the demons of their homeland, or fighting to secure a new home which future generations would call Hammerfell. And while most were told their song, dance and copious embellishment, there were a rare few which Khaliya became uniquely suited for. It started as just a whim on a visit to Rihad, she was a fresh teenager and already assisting on the hunts and defense rotas, and her father and uncle had just begun a tale of Frandar Hunding. Normally the tale would be told with a sword-dancer playing out the role of the hero himself as the elders spoke in reverent tones of his many deeds, but for some time her cousin who would have normally performed the role had been working off an injury. So without even asking for permission or waiting for the two to say something against it, she took up the ceremonial swords and simply joined in mid-act.
At first it was simply the usual crowd of spectators, a few elders watching with respect and curious younger passerby who perhaps had not heard the stories told in such a way. Steel caught the light as trailing red cloth painted the strokes of killing blows millenia past, Khaliya putting to work all the practice over the last few years to try and recreate what she had seen. She knew the steps as well as anyone else in the tribe, and she knew the story better than even her father at times, it being a favorite of hers. There was something else about acting it out though. More and more she let the crowd fade and the words guide her hands and feet, until at last she came to a standing rest and felt the heat of dozens of eyes staring at her and the wave of applause. Her performance had drawn quite the crowd with her easy motions, the swords lighter than air in her hands and acting more like an extension of herself than steel and silk. It was certainly a surprise, but she made herself quite scarce after a few stepped forward asking her name, the calls following her family as they headed back to the caravan to count coin and get ready for the night.
But it wouldn't be quite over for her by any means. Over the next few days as they rested and traded within Rihad there came numerous requests both to have another performance with the young sword-dancer and to know her name. Her father was equal parts frustrated and proud, one in having seen his daughter take up an honored role with such excellence, and the other in having to now deal with repeated advances from Hammerfell knights wanting to bring her into their order. Crimson Sands, Opal Watch, Rihadi Wardens, even the Sentinel White-Cloaks, each of them made it a point to try and speak with Khaliya either with or without her father present in order to convince her to give up the nomadic life and become a knight. "One with such skills cannot belong to the sands alone." As they said repeatedly, their goals clear as they sought her only for her skills and the potential glory for their own individual orders. All were of course turned away, and not always by her father. His word was final, but she had found her frustration mounting as the day they would leave Rihad could not come faster.
On the final day her last admirer arrived at the camp, just as they were hitching the camels and packing the last of their goods for the long road. Unlike the varied orders he came not with a grand escort, no banners, no emblems or symbols of office. There was no intent to impress, ingratiate, beg or intimidate for her attention. Instead the aging man presented himself to her and her father as a keeper of the old ways. He was just a man with a book, one that could be of use to a girl with so much potential, as he said of Khaliya. The book itself looked every bit older than the man, wrapped in delicate silks that preserved it from the arid heat and showed that while he himself looked nearly destitute, that it held more wealth than all of Hammerfell to him. It was offered freely with no expectations, the old man merely suggesting that it would be of interest to Khaliya and could help her make her own way some day in the future.
The significance of this gesture wouldn't be understood until far from Rihad, when she unwrapped the silks and stared at the interlocking rings on the cover, Yokudan script showing the title and author as something quite extraordinary. Within her hands was the Book of Circles, and not just some copy done clumsily by Cyrodillic hands or some Scholar who had never held a blade before. It was done in the tradition of the old Ansei, passed from teacher to student with the intent for them to one day write their own. The pages were old and weathered, the ink older than her entire tribe and calling back to another age where their traditions were a way of life to more than just a scant hundred. And there on the first page in the flowing script of a warrior wielding a pen instead of a blade, the name "Frandar Hunding". All of these books were written much the same, the man who had written the first given the honor of the first page of every copy written by every following Sword-Saint. This was to Khaliya, one of the most significant treasures she had ever seen, and her family knew it as well, allowing her the time to study it more than she had ever delved into any book before.
Days turned to weeks on the road, her feet stirring the sands in one rota after the other. Weeks became months, the sword of her father singing along the wind with a fervor of a woman who had realized her life's purpose. Months shifted into years one after the other and Khaliya had read the Book of Circles front to back, practiced every maneuver back to front and almost memorized the sword strokes that were meant for a blade infinitely lighter than the steel she held.
With three, almost four years passing since being gifted the Book of Circles, life had shifted quite drastically for Khaliya. Now sixteen she was leading expeditions across the sands ahead of the tribe, pathfinding for her people to avoid the dangers lurking beneath the dunes. The slightest mistake could lead to the death of dozens, far too many for any tribe, much less one who had made themselves known to seek out and destroy the undead, a taboo among all Redguard. That was why a good eye was often times more valuable than a strong arm, and she had learned all too well the little details that others missed. The way the dunes shift ever so slightly in the distance, ripples across the surface and the occasional breach of stone hinting at the lurking teeth and claws waiting for passing prey. Heat hazes could distort the horizon in more subtle ways, making one think an oasis was far closer than reality, if it was even there to begin with. Of course the haze was the lesser effect of such punishing heat, and she knew that spending too much time on the sands was lethal even under the shade of the main caravan.
So she learned to read the sands, to listen to and feel the winds, taking in all the signs that a skilled navigator could use to find their way to the sea. Yet it was on a day when she was relied upon most that she would be challenged by her greatest foe. Her brother Yashar had been spending the last couple years with her uncle along the northern shores, and Roshanara primarily stuck with their mother and the main caravan in case some danger bypassed the sentries. On this day she was out ahead with a dozen men walking the sands, feeling out a safe route towards Sentinel and avoiding the fringes of Craglorn. The sands had been whipped into a frenzy by westerly winds heated by the sun and driving the dune rippers into a maddened hunger. Each of the western sentry groups had encountered lesser rippers that would have normally never attacked a group like that, and the tribe as a whole knew that soon there would need to be a decision made. Either press on towards Sentinel regardless of the rippers and the approaching sandstorm, or break east and enter Sunforge. The latter had been regarded as a non-starter for years, ever since the conflict at the pass had nearly destroyed their tribe in Craglorn, they had kept their distance from the region and the many Orsimer strongholds that retained a grudge.
Sentinel though… Yashar was likely to be there, but the most pressing issue was that it was still more than three days of hard travel even if the camels were pressed without rest. All that could be done was to continue on with caution, to keep both options open until the very last moment. That was as her father had taught her, to never close a door until sure that it held no benefit. Pressing forward through the gusting winds and darkening skies there was the ever present looming danger of what may lie beneath, Khaliya herself on point and cresting each dune carefully. Little by little they made their way, glancing between the skies above, to the west and east, and in the far distance the banners of their tribe showing them on their way. That was a distraction though and she knew it. The tribe would be fine as long as they focused on their duty, to keep any dangers from the main caravan. Just one last dune before they would enter into the hinterlands where the sand would start to shift to rock and dirt. The wind shifted the sands around this one as it crested high into the horizon, looming like a barrier in their journey and curling towards them as a break against sea-borne winds. Though the closer her party got to the dune the more something seemed off. It was as if the dune had not formed over eons of gentle desert winds but… Too late they realized the danger they had come upon, one that they were trying to deliberately steer the caravan away from. Without hesitation Khaliya ordered a runner back to divert the tribe east and closer to the border to Sunforge. All she and her scouts needed to do was carefully maneuver themselves around the dune and leave marks for those to follow. But as they closed in and began to skirt around, the sands shifted. Great spires of hardened carapace erupted from the peaks of the dune, pitted and scored by years of desert life. A rumbling came from beneath them, disturbing the sands under their feet as the shape of the dune writhed back and forth lazily, and for a fraction of a moment in the darkening twilight of the impending sandstorm, they saw it.
Murderous intent gleaming behind eyes that had seen many tribes such as hers come and go, the shifting of sands across eras and the death of empires. It was a creature as old as the sands themselves and one of the most feared beings in all the Alik'r. To the Forebears within their safe cities and the Imperial travelers, it was just myth and legend, some creature from the Merethic that had long since passed. For her and the other Alik'ri tribes though, they knew it as the Greater Duneripper. A duneripper that had survived through its adulthood to become an elder and like all of their kind, old age was barely an inconvenience. All Khaliya remembered of what was to follow was a whisper under the howling sands as the creature slowly dove into the earth, meter after meter of ancient terror…
Dunefather. It would be several weeks later that Khaliya would find herself in Sentinel, her mother resting beside the bed she lay in and a dull pain all over her body that told her that she had been through something rather significant. Fresh scars lay under the bandages wrapping her entire torso and lower body, flashes of that encounter in the sands and a bright spear of light erupting from her hands in a moment of stress. Her family would take the next few days between her resting to fill her in on what had happened. During the sandstorm that had engulfed the tribe's caravan and the scouting parties, her own had encountered a greater duneripper of significant size, one believed to be the Dunefather himself. That was something of debate among the tribe though, but they knew it to be a rather significant threat and six of their people were dead with several others wounded just as Khaliya had been. What was of particular note though was not their harrowing encounter with the Duneripper or the hastened march towards Sentinel, but in how it had been fended off and sent back into the sands. The survivors of her party spoke of how one by one each of them had been pulled beneath the sand screaming, only blood and cloth remaining as they were picked off. Suddenly Khaliya had been dragged down next, and the duneripper crested from the surface with her clinging on as best she could, sword simply slipping off the carapace of the beast. Everyone had thought her lost as she disappeared into its maw, only for a moment later to hear her voice knowing it to be one of anguish, and instead a blade made of pure starlight erupting from the top of the duneripper's skull and swinging outward. That had been enough for it to drop the wounded woman back onto the sands and retreat, not willing to continue that fight.
Luckily for her the main caravan had hastened to catch up once the sandstorm hit, and that had been when her mother saw the bloodied sands and her daughter barely clinging to life. From there they had set a maddened pace all the way to Sentinel, their rush nearly finding the city guard upon them if it weren't for Yashar there to vouch for them and the state of many of their scouts. But it was all past now, and all she had to do was look towards the future, one that seemed a little strange especially for she remembered little of the event. One visitor in particular though provided some insights, the same elder who had given her the Book of Circles now came to her as she recovered from her ordeal, and just as before he came with a gift free of expectations and once more, he gave her a choice. He sat beside her bed and offered the stories of old Yokuda and the Warrior Waves, some of which she knew already but not in the same ways. There were the same figures of old, the same heroic deeds, but this time a sudden clarity on those myths. Ansei they were called, a word whose meaning had been lost over the eras and merely relegated to the ancient heroes. Gone had been the truth of it, and the myths of warriors of peerless skill losing the why and how. To be an Ansei was to be a Sword-Singer of pre-eminent skill, a holder of the Shehai and one of unshakeable will and righteousness.
And what the Shehai was, it was something she had awakened within herself. The sons and daughters of Yokuda all held this gift within themselves, as the elder told her, but some were more capable of reaching for it than others, and of them there were further separations still. As he taught her of this ancient art, he told her of how she had taken the first step. Through a moment of extreme stress and a display of incredible willpower, she had refused to accept her death and chose to make-way in whatever manner she could. That was when the Shehai erupted from her hands in a display of starlight-made-steel. Try as she might though, she couldn't replicate the same blade she had awoken, only vague shapes clinging to her palms. Even that was remarkable, as all who witnessed it seemed to find their faith in Hoonding there before her, but she would need to steel herself in order to surpass this, and that was a final gift given without expectation.
Three weeks after her awakening of sorts, she embraced her mother and father for what may be the last time, having settled on what she must do with her life. The book had shown her another way of life, anchored her passions into something real. The duneripper had challenged her and through force of will she had not been found wanting. The elder had given her a light along the path before her and signposts pointing the way. With those three she was for the first time filled with determination, something her father Jakir would not stand in the way of, and her mother Terandil would see to it that at least she would have someone to rely upon along the way. Though their hearts ached for it, she was given her father's sword once more, even knowing what must be done with it, and her elder brother and sister would accompany her to provide some much needed assistance when needed, but to also ensure she would never be without a friend. Then with all said and done, she set out for that first step on the road to becoming a true Sword-Saint. It was a simple matter on the surface, to give up her most prized possession to Hoonding and offer it as a blade for those in need. Yet one never does give up their father's sword with ease…
That was two years ago and since then Khaliya has been steadily advancing towards a dream she never knew. The Shehai comes to her hands when called, a blade shimmering and sharper than any she had ever known or ever will know, so long as her will is focused. What lies ahead she can't possibly guess, though at the moment with her pockets filled with other people's wallets and sitting in the Imperial Prison, things seem to be a bit dark. At the very least the guards don't seem keen to keep them all there, having turned from gathering those beside her as potential belligerents in the bar-brawl turned riot, to escorting them to safety and keeping them away from the Imperial City proper. The City of a Thousand Cults and it seemed they found the one day where it was most inconvenient to visit…
"...So, would this be a bad time to point out that I have no idea what I'm doing?"
Name: Caddach Thraigyr Age: 19 Race: Breton, Mostly Appearance: Of relatively modest height— standing at only 5'6"— but surprisingly built as a consequence of both his occupation and the Karthic blood in his veins. Caddach's light brown hair (with the occasional tinge of the ginge) is cut short in the legionary fashion, both to keep it out of his way and to keep his head cool during those balmy Cyrodiil summers, where he often finds himself working on the palace's roof— which also accounts for his near constant farmer's tan.
Personality: A child of Cyrodiil through and through, Caddach is a clever, hardworking, often sarcastic but all around good natured kind of lad who, despite all his family's wealth and being noble by birth, has never really acted the part; the result of growing up around many different kinds of people from all sorts of places as well as his House's general shutting out from 'Proper Society' by the Nibenese High-Nobility for their 'foreign' origins and ways. As such, to the eyes of anyone else, he's pretty much just your average kid from the Imperial City— knowing the place with the kind of intuition only a local could. Like where to get what you want, where you'll be ripped off and where to cover your coin-purse as well as being on a first-name basis with all sorts; beggars, mercs, shopkeeps, inn-keepers and guards— many of whom he's known since he was a kid and some he actually grew up with. Though that's not to say he's some soft-skinned city boy either, and his youthful travels as well as being raised largely by his grandparents have made him just as comfortable sitting at a campfire in Black Marsh, hiking through the Colovian Highlands or within the walls of Orsinium as he would be at home.
At the end of the day, despite his storied lineage and arguably much more successful siblings, our boy Caddach has never aspired to be anything more than what he actually is. Just a local guy, loyal to his Empire and Emperor, doing his job, paying his taxes and going out for a drink with his friends on the weekends or dropping in on his family to see his grandparents, maybe get a free meal out of his mum and definitely to play with the pets.
Just a guy. Nothing more, nothing less. Abilities:
Groundskeeper: Caddach's job is to maintain the Imperial Palace, and he's actually gotten pretty good at it; a bit of carpentry here, a bit of slating or masonry there, sweeping or scrubbing the floors... That kind of thing.
Innawoods Survival Training: A consequence of all those trips he took as a boy, and going out camping with his grandparents so often; Caddach is actually quite comfortable in the outdoors and can hunt, scavenge, fish, build a fire to cook things he hunts, scavenges and fishes and doesn't do too bad of a job at the cooking part either. Can also do the basic things like building a lean-to to protect himself from the elements when he sleeps and knows where to, and more importantly, where not to dig a latrine.
Animal Knowledge: When you grow up with a Druid and a Reachman for grandparents, in a house with many animals, like, for example; a lazy sabrecat, a cuddly, very well taken care of and affectionate skeever and multiple horse-sized wolves... you learn a few things. Though this will likely not see much use outside of perhaps tracking game, identifying and warding off wild animals and perhaps, just maybe, deactivating a hostile— or just scared— beast with the application of precision scritches in the right spot.
Martial Knowledge: Though he hasn't seriously trained with a weapon in years, as a scion to a family of knights, a good chunk of his youth before entering the Arcane University (and even then, unofficially carrying it on under his 'tutor') was spent in martial training, making him familiar with weapons of all kinds— and having more of a knack for it at the time than maybe even he himself realised... Though the most he gets out of it these days is the occasional spar with bored palace guards or a few nobles.
Educated: Though Caddach doesn't speak, or usually act all that differently than your other average kid born and raised in the Imperial City, and generally keeps his mouth shut and his head down while doing his work, he's actually far more clever than he ever really lets on. Sharp, even for a Breton and not at all hindered by his family's relative wealth affording him a damned decent education from an early age and access to all the books he could ever want as a kid.
Magicka: Before his unceremonious booting from the Arcane University, Caddach managed to pick up a thing or two from his... particularly unorthodox teacher. Namely a bit of restoration, some uncommon tricks from the school of destruction (like the ability to use melee weapons as a magical focus, though he is somewhat out of practice with it) and an actually impressive amount from the school of alteration; some of which are technically forbidden under Tamrielic law.
Herbalism: Caddach's dear old grandma Elyza was a druid back in the day, and made sure to pass on some of her knowledge to her darling little 'Snuggle-Bug'. So while his tumultuous time at the Arcane University prevented him from becoming a proper alchemist, he still has more than enough knowledge to identify and make use of nature's bounty to know what can be eaten and to create everything from salves, tonics and remedies to more mundane things like good spices, soothing teas, refreshing poscas and some of grandma's assorted super-secret recipes for food and snacks.
Frost: Skilled enough to use it offensively... maybe, but these days Caddach uses it mainly to chill his drink or, on a really hot day, on himself to cool off, so he's a bit out of practice.
Fire: As above, our boy is— theoretically, anyway— skilled enough to make use of fire spells on the attack. However, Caddach hasn't actually done so in a while, mainly using it for mundane things like heating his tea or cooking his lunch on the fly, so he's juuuuust a bit rusty.
Shock: Something Caddach was trained extensively in, both by Ted and his grandfather before that, as a Nine-Damned lightning bolt to the face is an immediate and particularly effective 'Fuck you and your mom' to anybody looking for the smoke. However, he basically hasn't used it at all since taking on his new job, as there isn't much place for lightning in the day-to-day life of a Groundskeeper, so he's severely out of practice.
Water: A neat, non-standard variation of the Frost spell Caddach picked up as a kid. Useful for a quick drink on the go, filling canteens and buckets or hosing down your friends as a cheeky prank. Actually gets a lot of use out of this one on hot days.
Glowlight: One of Caddach's more day-to-day spells, mainly because it's a helluva lot better than carrying a torch around all day on the off-chance he has to keep working into the night. With the added bonus that it's a lot less likely to catch things (like, say, tar) on fire.
Waterwalking: One of the first spells Caddach ever learned as a child, and something he used so often it became almost second nature. Great for not drowning if you fall off a boat, getting to weird places or, if you were a dumb kid like he was in his youth, infinite amusement riding those big damned waves off the Gold Coast. Also very useful for catching slaughterfish, oddly enough; As all you really have to do is stand there, wiggle your feet to get one's attention, then step out of the way as it comes up— mad as all Oblivion and looking for your toes— and whack it with a stick.
Waterbreathing: Something else he learned early on when he was a kid, partly as a back up in case the waterwalking thing failed for some reason and partly because he had a lot of Argonian friends growing up, and the spell helped him keep up with their innate ability to breathe underwater all those times they went out for a dive in the Niben looking for cool stuff or for a bit of spear fishing.
Feather/Burden: A combo of spells Caddach's Dremora friend was damned sure to drill into his head for their utility and for the fact that, in his own words "Anything you can make weigh a few hundred pounds on the downswing is a damned fine weapon.". Unlike a lot of other things he learned from Ted, he actually uses these almost every damned day in his new job, as there's no shortage of heavy things he has to carry or hammers that could use juuuust a little more 'Oomph!'.
Shield: Another hand-me-down from Ted, who reasoned that if the boy was going to be throwing spells, he might as well learn how to protect against them, too— As well as any hypothetical jackass comes at him with a big damned axe or something of the like. Suffice to say, hasn't really had much use of it as of late.
Levitation: Another thing he learned from Ted; While Caddach is nowhere near the level of, say, the masters in Morrowind (who can outright fly), he can 'Jump good' and 'Not die' pretty great after coming down, too. And while these feats are technically illegal under the so-called Levitation Act of 3E 421, the Palace Guards have always looked the other way the one or two times where he (or a coworker) have fallen off the roof and he chose to break the law instead of making a big red mess all over the Emperor's lawn.
Unlock:Really great for when Caddach forgets his keys.
Healing: It was never his strong suit, but Caddach can heal his own wounds and to a lesser extent, others. Though it's a slower process than someone who's actually skilled in the art and a whole lot less... pleasant; with wounds still leaving behind gnarly scars afterward and bones roughly snapping back into place instead of gently weaving themselves back together as they normally would.
Fortify Strength/Speed: Something Caddach learned very quickly after he started going on those dives with his friends as a kid. More specifically, after encountering his first swarm of slaughterfish and having to piggyback a (slightly chewed) Argonian all the way home.
Equipment:
-Work clothes; Leather boots with steel toe-caps, brown work pants with a whole lotta pockets bloused into said boots to stop them getting caught on things, and a simple, white short-sleeved shirt with more than a few stains on it from his job. -A little paper bag of the Arena's home brand of jerky, sweet and spicy flavoured. -Two little bread rolls. -A wet cloth one of the guards gave him on request, one that he's frosted over to have something cool to hold against his now very sore head and black eye.
-His keys, both for around the palace and to his family home. -A Wine-skin filled with honey-juniper posca. -A set of dice.
Background:
Born to a branch of an ancient, though (until relatively recently) minor noble house from the Westreach region of High Rock that had migrated down to the Imperial City in his grandparents' day, Caddach had... honestly, a pretty damned decent childhood. Though not high enough on the social totem pole to be invited to those kinds of galas, banquets and balls the Nibenese elite like to throw every other day, partly due to being considered 'Foreigners', even after three generations of living in the capital and partly due to the sheer scandal of a family perceived to be far too friendly with those savages of the Reach— though that accusation in particular actually has some truth to it, as the young man's grandfather and namesake being very much a Reachman, his mother half-so, though she tried to hide it, and even his father's side of the family being suspiciously broad-shouldered and more sturdily built than most Bretons— the tidy profit his family earned from the overland trade of rare alchemical goods, ores and animals from their holdings in the Westreach, spices from eastern Hammerfell and lumber from Colovia meant that he and his family could live very comfortably indeed. Even moreso when his eldest brother took the two remaining ships the family had mothballed in Anvil after trade across the Abecean dried up in the wake of the War of Betony to extend their usual trade route down the Niben and into southern Elsweyr and Black Marsh.
So, Caddach whittled his days away as a youth away playing in the streets with the other neighbourhood kids like any child of the Imperial City would, learning how to fight as any Thraigyr child should and every once in a while riding out on the back of his Karthwolf, Ryka (a very good girl, in case you were wondering) to visit his uncle out in Kvatch, or going up the trade route with his dad one way to visit friends and relatives in High Rock, Hammerfell and Orsinium or down the other to meet with new trading partners in Elsweyr and Argonia— One trip to the latter in particular resulting in a tattoo on his shoulder a local shaman insisted he should have, the boy himself thought was kind of neat and his mother absolutely hated.
Finally, at the age of fourteen, his second oldest brother began poking him about joining him in the Legions in a few years time. But his heart was set on writing his entrance exams and getting into the Arcane University, so he could stay close to home, which he did that very same year.
And incidentally, that's about when his life ceased to be a charming tale of a young lad traveling the world and making new friends along the way and became a outright fucking comedy.
For no sooner did he walk in the front door to the highest institution of learning in the entire Empire, did he encounter Saullon Ocato— or as he'll call him 'til the day he dies; 'The Fuckwit'— who took one look at him up and down and decided that there was no way in Nirn or Oblivion that this 'Little Barbarian Shit' was going to pollute his university. And very quickly, Caddach would find to his initial horror and eventual annoyance that any potion he mixed would either fail or just blow up in his face, any book he tried to study or report he tried to write would mysteriously either go missing, burst into flames, or some other crazy shit, and any official he tried to bring this apparent sabotage to the attention to, or Nine forbid asked to be taught by being dismissive, mocking, aloof, outright hostile or any combination of the above.
Nevermind all the times his clothes would just vanish off his body as he walked through the halls. Or freeze solid. Or spontaneously combust. Or all the times Saul and his ilk would just casually stroll up and punch him right in the godsdamned face, knowing full well he wasn't allowed to hit them back— Something in particular that galled Caddach as he was pretty certain he only needed to punch the spindly Altmer exactly once to snap every bone above his shoulders.
A few months into his new career, unable to learn, no one willing to teach him but with his family having supported the university too generously in the past (while probably being unaware of it's inner workings) to get rid of him, the lad would find himself downgraded to being essentially an unpaid janitor. Which is where, oddly enough, he found the only instructor he'd ever have his whole time there- 'Ted', Saullon's own bound Daedra who'd been stuck with him for over a decade and hated the little bastard even more than Caddach did. And who was more than happy to teach him all sorts of things the instructors never would, even if they were doing their jobs; like how to fool magic wards, pop open locks with a touch, the first two phases of now very illegal levitation magic and how to really fight with magic. Things Caddach would use to get into the library to sneakily read all the books that were suddenly forbidden to him, and educate himself on all the gaps that Ted couldn't teach.
Two years past that, our boy had long since given up on ever rising above his status as the unofficial toilet-scrubber for the University and was simply learning for his own sake. Riiiiight up until he found one book in particular, one he realized he had to study thoroughly, spending an entire week on it, in fact. Following which he'd toss his mage robes directly into the trash, and go looking for Saullon, who he'd find as he typically did throughout the day, with his whole hypesquad of dipshits and a grumbling Ted in tow and immediately unbound the powerful Daedra right on the spot with all he'd learned from that particular book, a last favour to the best friend he had ever made in that damned place. Who, in turn, must've been the happiest Dremora that ever fucking existed.
He had been waiting years to deliver this ass-whooping, after all.
As Caddach expected, he was immediately expelled from the Arcane University for that particular stunt, though officially he was let go for his poor grades; the full scope of the incident and all that led up to it being a serious threat too many careers if it ever made the light of day in an official report. At that point, though, Caddach could really give less of a shit about it, and was just happy to leave. There was the slight possibility however that Saullon, being of distant relation to the High Chancellor of the Elder Council, might come back to bite him and more alarmingly his family in the ass, but as it turned out, Ocato of Firsthold hated the Fuckwit just as much as he did, and was actually pretty pleased to see him get a healthy dose of reality (and Daedric fists) to the face.
Hell, that's probably what got him his current job in the first place. As not even three days after the 'incident', one of his childhood friends from the block who grew up to be a member of Imperial Intelligence just happened to arrive at exactly the moment his mother's screaming about how he'd ruined his own career reached it's daily crescendo to offer to take him to the palace to interview for a suddenly open position as a groundskeeper. Which he was more than happy to take him up on as it got him out of that damned house. Where he would meet with a Khajiiti aide to the Council who would go over the specifics of the job, how he'd be apprenticed to masons, slaters, carpenters— he would pause a moment to note with the kind of amused smirk only a cat could pull off that 'This one is told you don't need to be taught how to clean'—, that he'd stay in the general servants quarters for a few months before getting his own little room, and that, most importantly— and they really stressed this— he was to "Pay attention."
And there he's been ever since. Cleaning out eavestroughs, scrubbing floors, re-slating the roof and, most importantly watching, listening and learning as he was instructed to do those three years ago. And honestly? He kinda likes it. Sure, the labour can be rough sometimes, and you get a lot of weird things going on in the Imperial Palace, buuuuut, it pays well, the room, food and haircuts are free, he gets weekends off and he's actually made a few friends among the other palace staff and guards; even going out to the Arena then onto Daggerfall Dan's after quittin' time every other Fredas.
All in all, he's back to a comfortable life.
...Well, was.
Right up until the big boss let him off early to go see the big fight in the arena and some dickhead tripped him in the bar afterward, making him spill some beer. Which, subsequently, earned him the mother of all punches to the face.
He doesn't know it yet, but his life's about to get a whole lot less comfy.
...The massive shiner he's currently wearing aside.
Name: Darmon Saishir Age: 26 Race: Redguard Appearance: Not a large man by any measure, Darmon stands only about 5’5” and is quite lightly built; Though not a warrior by any means, his life being nearly perpetually ‘on the road’ as it were has kept him quite fit…despite his preference for richer food and drink.
Like many of his people, he favours the flowing hoods and robe styles native to his home land; though not overly flashy compared to some of his peers, obvious wealth ‘on the road’ draws bandits like honey draws flies.
Personality: A friendly and outgoing fellow, as any successful merchant should be; he's a man who tries to take work seriously but life, not so much. Growing up a ‘Merchant Prince’ of Sentinel, but spending plenty of time down on the docks with his uncle (and older brother), he’s as comfortable drinking in rough taverns with the average folk as he is trading polite nothings with ‘high society’ (though he prefers somewhat more of a middle ground; rough enough to have an actual fun time, but classy enough that people bathe regularly.)
His charming and outgoing nature, and good looks also has a tendency to make him rather popular with many of the women that he crosses paths with..and very unpopular with quite a few of their husbands/fathers/fiancees etc; he’s also fond of ‘justifying’ his actions by saying ”If the man was better at his duties as a partner, the lady wouldn’t have found me nearly as interesting.”
This philosophy has gotten him run out of numerous towns as establishments over the years.
Abilities
Swordsmanship - While he’d be the first to admit he’s no Arena Champion or Companion when it comes to swordplay, Darmon is certainly skilled enough to defend himself from the usual lowlifes and cutthroats he sometimes encounters.
Archery (Crossbow) - Like his swordsmanship, it’s not anything special, but he’s a good enough shot to both defend himself and keep fed between towns.
Sleight of hand - He was taught by an ex-Thieves Guild man he knew in Sentinel as a boy, and over the years he’s learned a few new tricks in his travels. Though largely used as an ‘ice breaker’ in social moments, what he knows has saved his skin on a few occasions.
Alchemist - Another thing learned for its practicality for someone travelling the length and breadth of Tamriel. Though he only knows a handful of recipes by heart, he knows them quite well, though some more than others.
Born the second son and third child of the head of the Saishir Trading Company, Sentinel’s third largest trading firm, he was born into the sort of wealth that most only find amongst Tamriel's nobility. That said, unlike too many of said nobility, his father wasn’t one to let his children become spoilt, idle layabouts that leeched off of the hard work of the folks that worked for Saishir Trading.
To his father’s credit, he also did his best to mould his children into jobs that most suited them. In Darmon’s case, his ‘itchy feet’ as his mother would put it and an easy and charming personality made him best suited to be one of the company’s point men, travelling Tamriel, searching out new products to bring to Hammerfell, buyers for goods coming the other way, making friends and contacts, in both high and low places.
By fourteen Darmon was travelling with his brother on the Sentinel to Anvil run, making friends, opening talks with other trading companies, and by sixteen he was setting off inland, eventually making his way as far as the edges of Morrowind and Black Marsh. At twenty his tiring, but freewheeling, life hit a bit of a hiccup as it was decided that he should be married to cement ties between his family and one of the noble houses of Sentinel. While a drag, he knew the young woman he was to marry and had always considered her a friend.
Though everything else proceeded as planned, all was not without issue. After some awkward confessions on the wedding night, Darmon and his wife Chan came to a few agreements and settled into ‘married’ life, with a lovely woman named Kiarsa as their servant and nanny once their son Limdon was born. While he spends much of his time on the road, both for his job and just because he enjoys the travel, he does his best to return home regularly to keep up with his family.
Currently he’s been in the Imperial City for a few days, overseeing some trade negotiations between Saishir Trading and the Imperial Trading Company. With his dealings having gone well, he decided to spend some time with a lovely lady while most of the city was off at the Arena for the big bout; sadly their plans fell apart rather quickly after the bout was cancelled suddenly and the lady’s father returned home sooner than expected, drunk, angry and with her equally drunk and unhappy fiancee in tow…though Darmon would swear to the Divines that he didn’t know the lady in question was already betrothed.
The two men were in no mood to debate such semantics, so he found himself dropping off a second story balcony and running, most likely for his life. Knowing he couldn’t run forever, he made the fateful decision to try and hide from his pursuers in a local place called ‘Daggerfall Dan’s’. Rushing through the door, he had just enough time to see a breton kid go crashing into a table of off-duty guardsmen…before several hundred pounds of angry, who’d been closer than he realised, hit him from behind.
Personality: Brita's personality is a… mixed bag. He was primarily raised by his mother who, though capable of being very kind and sweet, was deeply competitive and power hungry. And that rubbed off on Brita, on the surface he seems quite friendly. Possessing a warm smile and, usually, a calm demeanour he hides something underneath, something more fiery and driven. Like his mother he craves power and influence and though his father's name alone may bring that to an extent he is still always seeking out an advantage over his "competition." Which has led to him developing a hot headed streak, getting himself into far more trouble than he can handle.
Abilities: Mage: Brita was born under the Mage birthsign and with his parents power and influence, was almost destined to be where he is today. Brita was born in Anvil and spent a lot of time learning from the Mages there about the restoration school of magic. As such that is his primary practice, though he does know various spells from other schools. Connections: Brita is to put it simply, privileged, his father, though only a minor Noble within the Empire is a Noble nonetheless and this has given Brita many advantages in life over an average Imperial citizen. He knows people far and wide around Cyrodiil after spending many years hanging on his father's coat tails on journeys around the Empire and has gained quite the talent for speechcraft as a result.
Background: Britas' father Tyros Malica is an aging minor Noble in the Empire, with connections to various Imperial institutions and guilds which have helped him build an impressive portfolio. Britas' mother Lyra Malica is a well connected and powerful member of the Imperial Mages College. She too comes from minor Nobility and was only 22 when she married Britas' father who was 56 at the time as his wealth and power would allow her career to advance at an even quicker rate.
It was to this loveless union of convenience that Brita was born after only a year of the couple's matrimony. Brita was a quiet child who spent much of his formative years in the care of various Nannies and private tutors. His father viewed the boy as more of a necessity than a son, something to secure his name and legacy and rather than spend time bonding with his son he would instead travel Cyrodiil and visit his various friends, colleagues and Mistresses. Britas' mother, at the beginning at least, was much the same, distant from her son. Spending much of her time away at the Imperial College using her newfound influence and prestige to climb the power ladder.
It wasn't until Brita was around six years old when, after grasping the ability to read properly he got hold of one of his mother's magical tomes and after a few tries of reading the words cast a fireball which started a fire in his mother's office. From this moment on it was out with the contemporary education, Nannies and private tutors and in with a suddenly overbearing mother teaching the boy everything she knew about magic and when she was unavailable a bevy of his mother's friends and allies with the College were more than eager to teach the boy. And so that was Britas' life for more than a decade, beholden to his mother's wishes for him to be a Mage with little regard for what Brita himself would have liked to do. And with his father absent as usual there was no one to stop her.
As he grew up Brita would learn the truth regarding his situation and though he would certainly not be happy about it, he also understood the reality that there was very little a teenager could do about it. At 16 his mother would enroll him into the Anvil Mages Guild to get some "real world experience." Though initially he was resentful of this as he wasn't asked about joining first, he was simply sent there one day with a packed bag. Brita would struggle within the guild for the first year or so as though he had certainly become talented at the magical arts his people skills were far from ideal. He had become a quintessential privileged teenager in the years since his mother had gone from absent to overbearing seemingly overnight. Lacking any real friends or the ability to make any he would spend much of his time in the guild alone, he would sleep alone, eat alone and practice alone. The only time any other guild member would really engage with him would be when they needed him to do something.
His luck on the friendship front would change, however, as the guild received another new member a little over a year into his stay. Mazla Caysion, or just Maz as she preferred, was a young, talented and wideeyed Argonian who was attempting to gain the recommendations of the mages guilds so she could visit the Arcane University. And not knowing any better, Brita was the first person she spoke to upon entering the building. Though he was awkward at first the two would quickly become friends over the few months that Maz spent in Anvil trying to get the guild master's recommendation.
Britas' time at the guild would improve drastically over those months and his time in the Anvil Guild would conclude shortly after his 18th birthday when the guild master would finally give Maz a task he would give her a recommendation for. She was to explore a cave system to the North of the city where there was rumoured to be magical artifacts, if she brought him back anything of value then he would give her the recommendation she desperately needed. The only catch was that she would have to "Take the rich asshole" with her. To her this was no issue as she enjoyed Britas' company quite a lot, however, even Brita realised that given his limited knowledge of anything but restoration spells, should anything try to attack them he would be rather useless, but still she ventured forth with him in tow. Much to Britas' surprise it would turn out to be a fairly uneventful trip, the journey to the cave was a quiet one and the caves themselves seemed… empty. Almost too empty if he was honest though Maz paid no attention to his concerns as she had become hyper focused on finding anything which would get her the recommendation.
After three hours of searching and finding absolutely nothing the pair were ready to call it quits, but as Brita sat down on a rock to catch his breath the ground would give way under him. When he regained his senses Brita found himself in a completely uncharted chamber filled to the brim with magical objects, soul gems, alchemy ingredients and at one end of the chamber a pedestal with a large leather bound book resting upon it. Mazs' voice could be heard above calling for him from above and looking up he could see the hole left in the floor? Ceiling? Either way he had fallen a good 10-15ft and hadn't broken anything so he counted his blessings. And after shouting to Maz to confirm he was ok and that she should probably go get help he began to explore the chamber. Despite the depth of the chamber it was quite well lit with what looked like orbs of light seemingly stuck to various points around the room.
Starting with the most eyecatching thing in the room Brita made his way to the pedestal and examined the book. It was old, very old and had a thick layer of dust covering it, just as everything in the room did. Wiping it away he undid the clasp and tentatively opened its cover, he was greeted by a few lines of text written in a language he couldn't read but now his curiosity had gotten the better of him and so he continued, flicking through the pages. It was a spell book by the looks of things, various diagrams and instructions for what looked like casting techniques. After flipping page after page one eventually caught his eye, unlike the other pages which had diagrams and what looked like instructions scribbled on them this one was different, it had a picture of a… person? On it. A female figure engulfed in flame? No, made of flame, was drawn in the corner of the page and for once he could actually read the words written on the page, it reminded him of a language from a book in the library back in the guild. After a few attempts of reading the words he finally got it right, the book began to shake in his hands and then became extremely hot causing Brita to drop the book to the ground. After a few seconds a portal opened above the book and out came the flaming figure that had been drawn on the page, he had summoned a flame Atronach. The Atronach floated there for a while just staring at Brita and though lacking any discernible facial features he could feel it watching him, judging him almost. And then after a few minutes it disappeared back into the book. This was Britas' first contact with Tysuria an individual who, other than maz, would be his only real friend.
Brita stood there rather pleased with himself for a few moments before he heard voices come through the hole above him. Acting quickly he grabbed the book and carefully tore out the page with the Atronach spell on it and placed the paper into his bag. As he turned he noticed a rope descending behind him and a guard shouting for him to grab on. And after being checked over by a doctor he and Maz were back at the mages guilds by the end of the day, showing a moment of kindness he gave Maz the book, minus the page he kept of course, for her to turn into the Guild Master for her recommendation.
With Maz gone Brita would have another boring stint of about four months in Anvil before his mother was able to use her connections to get him a place at the Arcane University. Life at the University was like a completely different world compared to the Anvil Guild, the teachers there were more than eager to teach the young 18 year old, not necessarily to actually pass on their knowledge but rather to get on his mother's good side, but that didn't matter to him. And during the times outside of lessons Brita would divide his time between summoning the Atronach and attempting to research it. And partying at various upperclass venues in the Imperial City.
On a sunny afternoon Brita was in one of the various casting ranges with the Atronach summoned doing various exercises to see what sort of commands it would and would not perform. After an hour or so of this, as Brita was writing various things in his journal a distorted female voice spoke in his head "Are we going to do anything actually interesting today?" Brita stood alert and looked all around him, as far as he was aware he was the only person on the range at that time. Then it came again "Well?" He looked around more before his eyes rested on the Atronach, it… talks? He thought to himself. But it indeed could talk and was getting rather frustrated at having done nothing but his tests for almost a year. The Atronach introduced itself as Tysuria and that she would very much like to do *anything* else. Having already seen the resentment that "Ted" held towards his Master, Brita opted to oblige to Atronach and left to go and explore some nearby caves. From then the two would develop a… friendship? It was hard to say but at least she wasn't resentful towards him.
So that has been Britas' life for the last few years; exploring in search of magical items and artifacts, studying and developing his magical abilities at the college and building a friendship with Tysuria. For the most part he has been successful in these endeavours though he is still very much a social loner who's only real friend anymore is one he has to summon to talk to.
And now he finds himself nursing a bad hangover and many bumps and bruises inside of a jail cell. He had been wasting his money the night before on a bar crawl with Maz the night before, she left early as she had to travel the next day and left Brita alone in a bar near the Arena. Daggerfall Dans it was, a place he would never usually visit but Maz had recommended it. An hour or so after Mazs' departure the bar became overcrowded with patrons coming out of the arena. Brita was a few too many glasses in at this point and tried to keep to himself at the end of the bar.
But alas his attempt was in vain, he doesn't remember how it started but in only a moment the bar erupted into violence. Glasses, tables and even people were being thrown around, he's fairly certain he saw an Elf go out of a window. And eventually the violence would make its way to him, a man standing next to him was hit on the head with a glass but instead of turning to the crowd he turned to Brita and punched him in the face, knocking the man to the floor. In his drunken state Brita returned the favour after picking himself up but after doing so his inner Restoration student came out and he began to randomly cast healing spells on various patrons around the bar.
It was shortly after this when the guards arrived and seeing a Mage waving his hands around they assumed the worst. Tackling Brita to the floor and knocking him unconscious as they did so. By the time he awoke Brita found himself in a jail cell surrounded by other people from the same bar fight. His cries of "Do you know who my father is!" Seemingly falling on deaf ears, other than the other prisoners telling him to shut up.
Name: Savor Dalvaro Age: 85 Race: Dunmer Appearance: Typical skin of those blackened by Azura. Savor is remarkably average of height at 5'9" with ashen charcoal skin and angled pronounced bone structure. He enjoys high, pointed cheekbones, and a pronounced angled brow. He's athletic without being overtly muscular. He has longer hair that reaches just about to his collarbone which he usually keeps in a ponytail along with a pronounced goatee ending in three long strands with fishbone beads ending them.
Personality:Savor is a man with masks. Being an entertainer he puts on a mask of outgoing bravado out of necessity. He's been doing it so long that it's become almost permanent. To be fair it's combined well with his already cocky natural persona but he normally doesn't overly enjoy the extended company of others. However he quite enjoys the company of people even quieter than him leading to his nocturnal hobbies where he will quite often converse with the very corpses he's robbing. On that note, Savor is an opportunist first. He's not going to go out of his way to pick pocket someone or rob a house but if there's something of value just left in the open, Savor won't wince morally over relieving whoever was so careless of their burden. He doesn't favor fair fights and will leave if the situation turns too sour.
Abilities:
Tomb Robber: Savor's chosen profession, his real profession. He's become skilled at recognizing traps, spelunking dank caves, occasional lock picking, and generally going places unseen. He fancies himself a good sneak as he's never been directly caught entering or exiting a tomb, cemetery, crypt, etc but still, he doesn't directly burgle people's homes while they're asleep so…
Circus Performer The more public of Savor's professions. He utilizes a combination of acrobatic twirls, as well as destruction and illusion magic and even light alchemy to create spectacles for others often relying on his own natural resistance towards heat to his benefit as he often plays with fire. He's not an acrobat soaring through the air but rather a general walking performer away from the spotlight of the main event.
Alchemical tinkerer: OK, not an alchemist but he's picked up some tricks in the circus for creating a few things here and there, mostly for show or to help recover after a performance but the circus does draw questionable people and so he's learned about more devious concoctions such as poisons to coat arrows and blades. He's trying to make sense of herbalism in the wild but is still quite weak.
Combat:This isn't a skill but rather a place holder denoting his preference. Savor is not a swordsman nor an archer. He enjoys using lightweight throwing knives, daggers, darts, things he could use to dispatch a foe at range, perform at a bar/circus, or quietly slide through the ribs of an unsuspecting person.
Enchanting: Again, Savor's skillset isn't complete on the matter but, in his time fencing tomb spoils, he's found some rather impressive items. Now he's usually had to pawn those off to make ends meet, he's still destroyed one here or there to attempt to understand the spells and how they're used but he's not trained in it, he's currently reading a book he found on soul trapping but he's miles away from being able to actually do it.
Magicka: Self-taught, or learned from bar patrons or other circus performers, his skillset is bizarre and focused more on entertaining more than anything else.
Destruction: Fire:Enough to hurt, possibly himself, he's far from a wizard but he's learned a few spells to blast fire out at dramatic moments during a performance and occasionally burn a highwayman that might try to steal from him.
Illusion:The focal point of Savor's 'studies.' A wonderful marriage of making his life easier whether on the stage or in a crypt. While he tries to pick up spells here and there in destruction to help, he really favors illusion more. Nighteye/Light:Two sides of the same coin, he uses nighteye in his more nocturnal activities but uses light to a wonderful effect on the stage.
Calm/Paralyze: Used on the occasional animal found lurking in a tomb, he avoids fighting fair if at all possible and will run from battles straight away, this allows him to avoid killing anything in a tomb while still getting the loot.
Invisibility: He's often been torn as to whether he should have focused more on this or chameleon but he was younger and it was easier to learn absolute invisibility just by learning invisibility whereas he was told it would take time to master Chameleon.
Equipment:
-Personal clothes: Savor prefers loose fitting clothing reminiscent of his time in Morrowind before the fury of the Red Mountain. Right now he's a natural cream colored loose fitting long sleeve double breasted tunic tucked into gray loose pants that are, themselves, tucked into netch leather boots that end just below the knee. Over the tunic he wears an orange rust colored vest featuring a scaled pattern and yellow trim secured together with a broach made from sea shells. Over his belt line, securing his pants is a leather belt, perhaps 4-5 inches tall with what looks like fishing net running across his naval region securing the belt, the belt used to have some designs on it but they've long since faded and he wasn't the original owner. From the belt hangs a crimson sash that covers his left leg both front and back with the symbol of the Ahemmusa tribe on the inside and a leather pouch that usually rests on the three o'clock position of his right thigh. -in the leather pouch is a collection of septims and a pendant with two small emeralds and a woman's likeness carved into it, he's unsure if it's a person or a goddess.
-three throwing darts in a wrist mounted pouch
-three throwing daggers in a chest bandolier -a rather incomplete set of netch leather armor -a large brimmed hat made from a mudcrab's shell -lockpick set -book on soul trapping -tomb robbing equipment he refers to as spelunking supplies: rope, climbing pitons, a compact shovel -a brown cloth tent shelter that also functions as a traveling cape/poncho originally from the deserts of Morrowind that's been treated for the rains of Cyrodiil. -fishing tackle
Background:
An Ashlander child once upon a time, he grew up poor along with the rest of the Ahemmusa tribe. Savor wanted more though and once saw a group of funeral mourners making their way through his lands, he marveled at the wealth they seemed to have with bright jewels and gold. He wondered how important the deceased must have been but never pursued it. While exploring the bitter coast one season after migrating, Savor noticed a ruined ship he'd never seen before and, curiosity getting the better of him, he chose to explore it's hold. Inside was a skeleton with tatters of clothing about, but most importantly, there was a ring upon it's boned finger and a handful of septims strewn around him. Savor was giddy at the possibility of extra coin and took it from the corpse that clearly didn't need to eat as much as he did anymore. That moment, conjoined with the mourners, would serve as the cornerstone of a change in his life. He decided that the dead had no need for the riches they were buried with and, while he respected the tribes of the desert, the Outlanders and the Great Houses that lost their way from the path of Veloth deserved no such respect.
He found himself bringing extra wealth to his people and, while suspicious of the sources, they were more than happy to accept it. When the blighted creatures from the Ash storms became more and more common, he began to spend more time away from the tribe in what he viewed as safety and when their Ashkhan was claimed by the blight, that was a sign for him that the tribe was lost and so he fled the camp for his own safety taking what wealth he still had with him. He never met the Nerevarine.
It didn't last long as he was still an Ashlander and unfamiliar with more civilized life but found his way to a traveling circus which was an easier bridge into society from his own nomadic lifestyle. For a while he thrived but then languished in a lack of growth as they continued to do the same thing over and over. He remembered pillaging crypts and began again, he maintained his sense of honor from the Ahemmusa tribe and didn't touch anything that appeared to be Ashlander but that wasn't as much of a problem now and the Great Houses had more than enough dead people to supply him.
That lasted for a long time until some intelligent person began to connect the dots of tombs being disturbed whenever this particular circus was visiting. Savor was aware that House Telvanni was on guard regarding disturbances in their Crypts and one particular night a friend informed him that they were sending House guards to the circus that was all Savor needed to know that it was time for him to leave. Telvanni seemed to spread word to the other Houses as Savor was seemingly no longer welcome in any towns and one attempted Bounty Hunter sent Savor fleeing from his home island of Vvardenfell to Morrowind's larger land mass where he continued his lifestyle eventually taking him to Cyrodiil. He found particular success closer to Imperial's as they seemed to leave their dead open for the taking and seemed to love gathering together to watch performers.
The circus that Savor performed with found its way to the Imperial City one fateful night and the performance was wonderful in both of his professions. Unfortunately on the last night Savor found himself in Daggerfall Dans relishing the success of his new life. He can't honestly remember the night as he was truly celebrating, but he vaguely remembers punching or, at least trying to punch, a guard and then waking up and feeling the cold floor of a prison cell.
Appearance: Elliot stands around five foot ten and has a slightly chubby frame, he has started to look slimmer since becoming a squire but nowhere near to the shape he needs to be if he’s to become a knight. Saying that though, he has lost a lot of weight since childhood where he was a really fat child. Elliot has a mop of messy hair that is a dark blonde colour that just goes just past his ears that stick out. He has emerald green eyes and a nose that is just a bit too big for his face. His smile is nice though and makes him look friendly and open.
Personality: Elliot can be very nervous when first meeting new people and being in situations that he’s not used to but since leaving Daggerfall he’s started to come out of his shell a bit more. Although he is quite clever, he can lack a bit of common sense and not realise when someone is being sarcastic with him. He usually tries his best to help people with their problems, from a young age his mother read him stories about heroes and it’s filled his head with ideas of being a hero himself.
Skills: From a fighting and adventuring stand point doesn’t really have many skills having grown up having most things handed to him. The past few years though he has been learning how to fight with a sword and shield and how to use a bow. He’s shown that he is quite useful with the bow but from an experience standpoint he’s never actually killed anyone and only fired arrows at a target. Elliot is great at horse riding being a natural at it. He can play the lute and has a wonderful singing voice.
Magic: Has never really practised magic.
Personal items: THe only items of value that the guards didn’t remove were his ear studs that have emeralds in them.
Lock Box: Elliot at the time of being arrested was wearing some expertly crafted leather armour that was created by some of the best tailors in Daggerfall. They also confiscated a steel long sword and a few gold coins.
Stored items: The rest of his items are kept at the inn he stayed in and his horse is in the stables just outside of the city. Which would be a well designed set of steel armour with elaborate patterns crafted into it, a steel shield, his steel long bow and quiver and also a lute.
Background: Elliot grew up in one of the richest families in Daggerfall, the Viralaines. His mother, Luciana was the daughter of the head of the family, Theranis. Theranis was one of the most powerful men in Daggerfall so it was a massive shock throughout the city when his daughter was pregnant. She had fallen in love with a travelling bard who was playing at court. When her father found out he was furious and threw the bard in jail and was planning on executing him but Luciana managed to convince him not to.
After Elliot was born, Theranis tried to marry Luciana to any other respectable man in Daggerfall but none were willing to take a woman with a bastard son as a wife. Luciana tried to marry the father of her son, Timothee, but every priest in the city was too scared to anger her father. They used to meet in secret whenever they could because her father would never let him anywhere near the Daggerfall court again. Timothee rented a room above a tavern and played there most nights to pay for it so he could continue to see Luciana and their son.
As Elliot grew up living in the wealthiest district of Daggerfall, he was a bit of an outcast being a bastard and surrounded by children who weren’t. It also didn’t help that he was fat, shy and didn’t practise and in the ways of becoming a knight to the annoyance of his grandfather. His father didn’t agree with war and wanted his son to learn a craft that was peaceful and from an early age taught him how to play the lute and sing. However, the influence of his grandfather was too great and when he turned thirteen, he started to learn the ways of war. For the next few years Elliot started to practise how to fight with sword and shield, how to ride a horse and use a bow. It took him a while to become semi competent.
When he turned sixteen, his grandfather sent him to squire for a knight to get some real-world experiences. The knight was called Sir Alard and he came from a very well-respected family but a poor one. Personally, he took it as a but of an insult that his squire was a bastard but couldn’t say no to Theranis as he needed the money. They set off travelling around High Rock and then headed to Cyrodill and to the Imperial City where Alard could test his skills in the Arena. Accompanying the two was a servant who cooked and set up their camp when they were not staying in a city or town. Sir Alard treated them both awfully and beat them when they messed up, he didn’t really care about what they thought, believing he was better than both of them. When they reached the Imperial City, they stayed in a very average inn and spent most of their evenings in the Daggerfall Dan’s Bar and Grill. When the trouble erupted the servant was pushed into Sir Alard who then started to beat him. The servant finally snapped and pulled the dagger from around Alards waist and stabbed him in the stomach, it didn’t take long for him to die. Elliot was in a state of shock when he was arrested and taken to the dungeons.
