Status

Recent Statuses

10 mos ago
Current Somebody stole my mood ring. I don't know how to feel about it.
14 likes
12 mos ago
Let's be honest, it's far more satisfying and challenging to actually imagine what a character looks like than paste a hundred gifs of a celebrity and call it good.
4 likes
12 mos ago
So, a team of players who are good at playing as a team in a team-based game are individually bad players. Seems kind of silly when you put it like that, no?
8 likes
1 yr ago
My goal these days is to have an RP that can actually finish, or the very least, last a few years. I see way too many die on page one to take chances
4 likes
1 yr ago
Detailed character sheets are my jam. I refer to them a lot for consistency and if someone puts in a lot of effort, I feel more comfortable taking them than someone who didn't
4 likes

Bio



Lowering the site's value since January 2012.


Most Recent Posts

Helpfully written on the job offer in (mostly) legible writing was an address, as if there were some sort of internal debate of whether or not to post it and this was the unfortunate compromise. Fortunately for La’Shuni, her new friend Megana seemed none-too-concerned about finding the guildhall and the two set off together, excited for the new adventures to come. The echatere scuttled along just behind them.

“La’Shuni thinks your cloak is very pretty, miss Megana!” the Khajiit said, beaming an inviting smile as she looked over at the Nord. “Did you come down from Skyrim, too?” she asked.

"Ahh, thankies!" Meg retuned the smile with one of her own, clearly pleased with finding someone friendly and open right off the bat. There was a spring in her step even though she was walking- it was quite similar to the walk of happy dog. "It's just somethin' I picked up 'fore leavin' Whiterun, needed somethin' t'keep me warm at night, y'know? I really liked the green colour too."

She then let out a small chuckle. "Y'don' havta call me 'miss', just Meg is good 'nough!" She looked to the Khajiit, properly taking in her suit once more. She was a pretty sort with her white hair, black spots, amber eyes and long white hair, but it was easy to tell from the garb she wore, and most certainly that interesting mount that was following her, that the Khajiit named La'Shuni had seen quite a lot of outdoors as well.

"You've been t'Skyrim eh? That' m'home! I've been 'round most of it, but lived in Riften an' Whiterun the most. Guessin' you musta been there yerself?" She paused to jerk her head in the direction of the creature behind them, intrigue shining in her eyes. "Where'd ya get that one? Ain' seen any beastie like that in my travels."

“Meg it is, then!” La’Shuni agreed with a polite smile, turning back to look at Scooter, who tilted his large head quizzically at his master. “Oh, Scooter comes from New Orsinium, far West in Skyrim. This one imagines the Orsimer brought many echateres with them when they relocated from Wrothgar after the past three times they had tried to establish their kingdom, but this time feels different? This one hopes.” The Khajiit shrugged, adjusting the pack on her back. “La’Shuni has spent a few years living and working there, her uncle had business and family ties there, and La’Shuni felt it would be a good experience to see something different in her life. It has been a truly wonderful experience, and it’s why she is here now; adventures and lending her spear to people who aim to do good things… Scooter just likes to go for walks.” she said with a giggle, prompting the echatere to snort back.

Ah, from far West Skyrim. That was one of the few places in her home country that Meg had decided to leave alone while venturing about by herself- She didn't want to be one of the Reachmen's victims. "Scooter?" She grinned at the name, looking at the large echatere over once more before returning her attention to La'Shuni, nodding along. She could certainly understand the zeal to travel and attempt to make a difference in the world.

"Aye," she agreed after a moment. "My Pa stays in Whiterun, used t'live there too 'til like a year ago. Wanted t'see more of the world, y'know? Go 'round an' help people like my Ma used to! She was part of the Companions!" There was a proud look on her face. "I figured if I wanna be like her, I need t'have people who got my back, an me them." She chuckled, slightly embarrassed, and decided to change the subject.

"Guessin' yer from the South before headin' t'New Orsinium though, righ'? How long 'fore y'got used t'the cold? I met Khajiit back in Riften who'd always remember the warm weather from Elsweyr."

“Leyawiin, actually. It feels strange to be this far North, far from home, but still in the same province, the same Empire.” La’Shuni remarked, taking in the Imperial and Nord infused architectural stylings of the city. “La’Shuni has not written home for a few months, she wanted to have something to share with her parents that was worthwhile, but the words fail her. Perhaps her fortunes have changed, yes?” she said with a self-assured smile. “Do not worry about trying to live up to your mother’s legacy, Megana; La’Shuni feels like she would be proud of you for simply starting on the path. All great journeys begin with a single step, and in this case, wherever this address is…”

“I hope so!” Meg replied with a nod. She didn’t doubt the Khajiit’s words- her Ma had after continued travelling and adventuring even after she was born. “This is my great journey I think. Ain’ ever been in Cyrodiil ‘fore now, never even knew ‘bout a place called Leyawiin…” An embarrassed laugh pushed past her lips, and she peeked at the Khajiit woman, hoping her new guild companion wasn’t offended that she had no clue about the city La’Shuni was from. “Uh, maybe we could ask someone where it migh’ be?” She attempted to look at the piece of paper, happy to grasp at a subject that didn’t have to do with her lack of geographical knowledge

La’Shuni’s eyes twinkled with a friendly recognition, knowing that she could help her new friend with. “La’Shuni has a few maps, and there will certainly be more where we are going! This one would be honoured to show you how wide our world is.” she said confidently before glancing back at the chicken scratch that passed for an address, her long lips raising slightly as she let out a long breath. “But first, let’s find out how large this city is. A shopkeeper would know, certainly. La’Shuni did not have time for breakfast before discovering Scooter had run off. Let us find something to eat first, yes?”

---

The guildhouse was what would lovingly be called a fixer-upper in the old part of the city, among a copse of quiet or abandoned houses and structures in various states of repair. Despite the remaining residents’ efforts to keep nature at bay, it struck La’Shuni as a losing battle as grasses were a bit too long, weeds running rampant, and vines and lichens reclaiming many of these structures’ wooden walls, as if the earth itself were preparing to pull them beneath the dirt. The Adventurers Guild hall, thankfully, looked more charming than condemned and both women approached the door to knock at what would be their new home away from home.




It was the sound of a loud knock that roused Dro’Sintaba from his rest. As each one thudded out down the empty hallway, he wondered at first why Ivy hadn’t answered it. With a grumble he pinched the bridge of his nose with a huge hand, his claws scratching either side as he dragged his large form from lying to sitting. The bed groaned as he released the frame from his weight. Bare feet touched the floor as the naked Cathay-raht stalked the length of the room to find his robe, coughing into his hand as his lungs adjusted to the morning air that filtered through the gaping window.

As the knocking continued, the cat roared out in a rasping voice; “I’m coming!” muttering a curse to his Dunmer colleague afterwards.

Eventually he made his way to the door and opened it. His plush velvet robe open at the chest but covering his modesty none-the-less. In the doorway his eyes travelled down to spot two young women, a khajiit, and a nord. Immediately, and in a flustered manner he pulled the robe even tighter around himself. They were his recruits. La’Shuni and Megana if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Ahh, ladies, good morning..” he growled out, embarrassed, still sensing the tickle in his throat. He glanced over his shoulder and yelled down the hallway - he could now hear the tricky Dunmer in the kitchen. Pots and pans banging and clattering. “Ivy!” he called out in the general direction.

After there had been no answer, he once again called out; “Ivy!”. For a moment the pottering stopped.

A soft and feminine voice called back, “Sinty? What is it?”

He sighed, his shoulders drooped and he opened to door further. “Recruits are here,” he called back - and then the sound of a whole pot hitting the floor was heard - followed by an excited “oooh!”. Dro’Sintaba rolled his eyes and took a step back, looking back upon the two women in the doorway. “Please, enter.”

"Ah... g'day!" Meg blinked up at the Khajiit, a little stunned. Never before had she ever seen a Khajiit man that tall. Having lived amongst Nords all her life as well as chatting with the occasional Argonian or sneaking away from the rare troupe of Altmer she would see, Meg had most definitely seen tall and generally large people. However, it seemed to her that the dark furred Khajiit took the cake. She cast a glance at the Khajiit standing next to her, and then back at the one who'd opened the door as if to compare, and found both as opposite the other as were their furs, like day and night.

"Uhm, I'm Meg," she continued before quickly stepping in, realizing she was probably being incredibly rude. "Megana really, bu' I like Meg better. Y'can call me wha'ever y'like though, tha's all good!" She bit down on her lip to keep more blathering on so that the Khajiit she'd become acquainted with earlier would have a chance to introduce herself. In the meanwhile, her nose worked- a nice smell was wafting through the air, agitating her stomach just a little.

After spending a considerable amount of time with Orsimer, La’Shuni had considered herself pretty accustomed to brash and socially awkward situations. She did not, however, expect to be greeted by her new employer being only just covered up by what had to have been the most oversized robe local suppliers had in stock. She put a balled fist up to her sternum and bowed slightly, both as a gesture of deference and respect, but also to free herself of the creeping heat that was building at the nape of her neck.

“This one is La’Shuni. She apologizes for arriving at an inconvenient time. Please do not trouble yourself with us; we will wait here until you are ready to receive us.” she said, trying to sound reassured and confident, but her voice edging on a quiet meekness.

Dro’Sintaba sighed again, at himself this time. “No, no. It appears I’ve overslept… Meg… La’Shuni” he said, noting their names back to them. “It happens when… Well, when one gets older... And, other things.“ His ears flicked back and he tried to smile, it was more a grimace.

Fortunately for him, his colleague was on her way. In spite of the awkwardness, he felt that had it been anyone else at the door he might not have felt such a mixture of embarrassment and ease at the same time. They were the two younger recruits that he and Ivy had discussed quite a lot. The Nord being a girl he had wanted to choose for his squire. He wished he could have made a better first impression.

“Ah! Why you two must be Megana and La’Shuni!” Ivy trilled out from the end of the corridor, before setting her eyes over Dro’Sintaba. “And you should go get dressed for breakfast, Dro’Sintaba…” she said - knowing by his flustered stance that he had not yet introduced himself. The Dunmer motioned with her hand to the two newcomers to join her.

Unlike the guild leader, Ivy had at least gotten herself ready for the day. A long and floating dress in a marigold yellow, held up at the waist by a leather corset belt. “Come, come! I’ve prepared eggs, bread, cheese, juice! You girls must be hungry!” she giggled, moving up and down on the balls of her feet with excitement.

"Hello!" Meg greeted, looking away from the large Khajiit to the Dunmer instead. She was immediately in awe of the woman's vibrant, fiery hair, only tearing her eyes away to look her head on at the mention of food. "I'm Meg, an' yes, I guess I am purty hungry..." Was it terribly impolite to say it so blatantly? Meg wasn't too sure but she figured it'd be worse if she declined the offer. Already things seemed to be going in a positive direction- three new friendly people in the span of a short while! Deciding to wait no longer, she gravitated towards the dunmer, though paused in hindsight to look over at her new friend, not wishing to leave the Khajiit behind.

Admittedly, the humble breakfast La’Shuni and Megana had shared after their meeting hadn’t been overly filling, and the Khajiit’s stomach rumbled somewhat at the thought of it. “This one is humbled by your generosity.” she said to the Dunmer, finding her enthusiasm and cheer warming, like a flower garden. Ivy, she presumed from the recruitment paper, didn’t strike La’Shuni as a particularly guild leading sort of woman, but she knew better than most not to judge one from appearances. Few would have pegged La’Shuni for having been a scout for Orsimer clans the past few years.

The dining area was open and inviting, and it appeared Ivy had been preparing for their arrival, along with the rest of the recruits. La’Shuni found a quiet corner to set her belongings down and stood near the table, hands folded neatly before her. Manners still counted for something, and she didn’t wish to presume anything with her new employer. “This is a beautiful guildhall. Are we the first to arrive?” she asked.

“Oh! I’m glad you like it,” Ivy said with a smile - resuming her spot by the stove to collect up platefuls of food for the new arrivals. “Dro’Sintaba and I have spent quite some time trying to make it as nice as possible… It was, really something when we got here,” she said with a breathy chuckle.

“Yes, you’re both the first to get here…” the Dunmer answered. “I hope everyone else has looked at the note,” she continued, her tone had a little trickle of worry in it too, before she snapped out of it with a clatter of a spoon on a pot. “They will be! I’m sure, just means that us girls get to spend some time together… And get the best breakfast bits,” she giggled.

“Did you both only just meet?” Ivy asked curiously, looking at the both with a glint in her eye that suggested there was more than just small talk in her question. Ivy found it more than a coincidence that the two young women in question had found each other so quickly.

“Mhm!” Meg replied, nodding her head. “Uh, not like now now, bu’ like we both saw the postin’ on the board there. There were plen’y other folks lookin’ at it too, nearly smashed m’face into a huge Argonian!” Her hand rubbed at her nose, which remained quite straight and unbroken despite years of actually hitting face first against things. “Didja know-” she paused to jerk a thumb at La’Shuni “-she has a beastie as a friend. A… er… echa somethin’...”

Her forehead creased and nose crinkled in thought before relaxing. “Sorry! Forgo’ wha’ they’re called..” She gave La’Shuni an apologetic smile.

“Echatere.” La’Shuni offered with a polite smile of her own towards Megana. She turned her gaze to Ivy. “Do not worry, miss Ivy! It is as Meg has said, there were plenty of others who saw the posting, and this one thinks many matched the names on it?” she trailed off in recollection, trying to put faces to the names. She had been too focused and happy about her own success she didn’t take in the others. “Meg and La’Shuni had met after we had found our own acceptance letters.” she bowed her head politely.

A grunting sound came from outside of the window, where Scooter was peering in, his front legs pressing up against the wall to elevate himself to reach the sil. La’Shuni hurried over to prop open the window, lest the points on the legs break glass. “No, we talked about this!”

"Looks like he wants t'join in on the fun," Meg commented, trying not to let on how amused she was, "or maybe the food's makin' him hungry too."

"Well look at this beautiful creature!" Ivy cooed, immediately opening the window so that her hand could meet the soft snout of the creature. "You are just so beautiful!" She repeated as she gently and affectionately coddled Scooter, she half wanted to climb out and embrace him. There was no fear of the Echatere.

"What can he eat?" She asked, her head suddenly jerking back to look at La'Shuni, her eyes sparkling with joy. "I love him!" she admitted, her fingers finding the underside of his chin to scratch.

Scooter snortled contentedly, lifting his large head to allow for the Dark Elf’s fingers to work through his fur. La’Shuni couldn’t help but giggle at the warm reception of her companion. “Oh, he’s mostly a scavenger, he likes root vegetables and grubs the most, he likes flowers and leaves and berries, and occasionally small rodents. Scooter is great at looking after himself and finding food, but he doesn’t exactly have the best judgement for what’s appropriate.” The Khajiit noted. “He considers me a part of his herd, so he doesn’t like being too far away from me, and as Meg observed, he certainly smelled something appealing in here.”

“Oh…” Ivy hummed our in realisation. “I hope he doesn’t sneak into my herb garden… Those are guild supplies!” She said, only momentarily placing her hand over her mouth. Her deep scarlet eyes immediately moved back to Scooter and she sighed contentedly. “But if that’s what precious wants to eat, how can I refuse?”

The peaceful moment didn’t last, thumping feet vibrates over the wooden floors. The unmistakable heavy gait of the mysterious guild leader - now dressed infinitely more appropriately, but his jaw fell open at the sight in the window. Dro’Sintaba remained like this for some time, slack-jawed in awe at the site — until he merely sighed in resignation and padded more softly towards the food, mumbling under his breath as he went; “already overrun… typical,” his growling huffs were barely audible, but were certainly not malicious. There was no anger in his piercing green gaze, just a surprising warmth.

The Khajiit yawned, working his jaw before digging in to a bowl he’d made up of eggs and bread. “No one else yet then?” He asked, glancing sidelong at the window again. At his provisioner and colleague as she fondled and baby-talked the creature in the window. After she didn’t answer, he turned his attention to the two younger women, and in a tone that was only awkwardly amicable, he asked, “so… How do you like the guild house?” Clearly, the Khajiit had a long way to go with making idle conversation.

"I think it looks great," Meg replied enthusiastically, still in awe of the very large khajiit but not so much that the cat would get her tongue. She hadn't seen much yet, true, but the sights and scents so far seemed very comfortable and homelike, her first encounter with a guildmate had gone swimmingly, and Ivy seemed so kind and friendly and clearly knew how to make good food. "I know I'mma like it here, an' I'mma make sure t'do m'best for the guild!" She slapped a fist against her heart, perhaps a little too earnestly as she faltered a step backward.

Unlike Megana, La’Shuni was more than familiar with her kinfolk and their often wildly different shapes and sizes. For her, it wasn’t all that dissimilar to one having a different coat of fur or shade of eyes; Dro’Sintaba was a familiar soul in a form that was comforting after so long away from home.

“It is a beautiful home! Not quite what La’Shuni would have expected for an adventuring guild, but this one is more than accustomed to the concept that looks can be very deceiving.” the young Khajiit said with a polite smile. She bowed her head. “Thank you for accepting us into our home, and this one will make sure that Scooter puts in his fair share of work, too. He does more than eat, La’Shuni promises.”

“Not my problem what he eats, or doesn’t. Speak to Ivy about that, she volunteered to take charge of that, didn’t you Ivy?” Dro’Sintaba commented, his tone of voice becoming more smug as he went on, the grin on his face more so.

The Dunmer huffed out and scowled at the guild leader. “Well I wouldn’t trust you to do it. Lest we live off nothing but ale and rabbit for the rest of our days…” she said, chuckling as she did so. “But! Ah! Where are my manners?” She cooed, dragging herself away from Scooter to clasp her hands together with a smile. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms, and then afterwards our illustrious leader will talk to you about our jobs list — because he volunteered to sit in his office and be in charge of paperwork… Isn’t that right Sinty?”

He rumbled out a lazy growl in response, muttering something incomprehensible under his low breath, before tucking back in to his meal, enjoying what little silence still hung in the air of his guild house.

Things were about to change.

Bruma
20th First Seed, Morning


“What is that repulsive creature?! Why is digging up my garden?” a shrill Imperial voice broke the cool, damp morning. The creature, unsightly and of an appearance that suggested the Divines had plucked a bunch of parts from a box and stuck them together to see what would happen, disregarded the woman as its tusks plowed into the dirt once more with a contented snort. It was a large creature, standing a bit taller than a typical pony and about twice as wide, supported on six legs that ended in bony, insect-like spikes that connected to a pale grey and black striped coat with a long ridge of rough fur going along its spine, like the peaks of a mountain range. Its face looked like some unlikely pairing of an elk and a bear, and a short little tail wagged behind the creature as its pointy legs probed the dirt, nose sniffing all the while. It seemed entirely unperturbed by the interruption.

The woman then noticed it had a harness adorned to its frame and a length of severed rope trailing behind it. Someone owned this thing, she realized. She had berated irresponsible dog owners in her time, and had no problem shooing them away. This thing, however, made her stay her ground. Everything about it was so pointy.

“Go, shoo! Get!” she demanded. The creature’s face burrowed into the dirt once more.

“Scooter! Where are you, Scooter?” a strangely accented woman’s voice called, raspy in cadence. A Khajiit woman rounded the corner, dark sleeveless leather armour adorning her from, contrasting with her white coat of fur and tidily braided mane of hair. The Imperial grunted, immediately drawing the connection. The creature and the Khajiit even had matching colours.
Suddenly, the Khajiit’s eyes grew wide, and she exclaimed, “There you are!” she said, hurrying over. The creature responded to the familiar voice, brown-yellow eyes turning ponderously to glance back to meet the amber eyes belonging to his master. It bellowed contentedly and began prancing around with surprising agility that could most charitably be described as aerating the garden with its pointed legs. It suddenly stopped, pressing the front half of its body low as its rear end wiggled excitedly, as if this uncouth display was somehow a game.

Despite the utter annihilation of the garden, the woman had to admit, the strange creature was surprisingly cute, in its strange, monstrous way.

The Khajiit hurried up to the creature, which was hurriedly trying to chew on a truffle it had managed to dislodge so his master couldn’t remove it. It was rather dog-like, in a fashion. The Khajiit stroked the creature’s head and pressed hers against it. “You cannot run off like that, Scooter. People aren’t as understanding of your appetite as La’Shuni!” she said.

The Imperial approached with a huff. “This thing is yours?” she demanded. Suddenly, the Khajiit was standing erect, hands crossed before her, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Oh, yes! This one is very sorry!” La’Shuni exclaimed, bowing her head apologetically. “This one tried to tell the stable master, ‘oh no, an echatere is not a horse! You cannot stable him like one!’, but he didn’t listen and this rascal got out in the night La’Shuni imagines, and he’s very clever, you see! He knows how to gnaw through ropes and open simple latches with his tusks, this one swears he only thinks with this stom-“

The Imperial gestured to the garden with an exasperated flourish. “It destroyed my garden! It’s eating my truffle right now!”

“Ah, yes! Again, La’Shuni is so, so sorry! You see, we had a long road coming from the mountains in the North, and there’s all these strange sights and smells and tastes to him, see he’s never left his home before, so he’s kind of like La’Shuni was only a few years back-“

“The. Garden.” The Imperial snapped. “You owe me, Khajiit!”

The flowers in the Khajiit’s hands were thrust out in offering. “That’s why this one bought you this! It is not much, but this one does not have coin at present, spent what little this one had one food and board last night, but she should be getting a job today!” La’Shuni said proudly. “First one, on her own, you see, and-“
The Imperial took the flowers, looking at them quizzically, the fire dying down somewhat in her dark eyes. “While the thought is appreciated, it isn’t going to replace my produce. I grow my own food!”

Another bow of the head, although this woman was being excessively rude. “Perhaps this one can suggest you invest in a sturdier fence? There are goats in this town, and from experience, they will eat everything…” she realized she was rambling on and smiled apologetically. Scooter grunted and tried to return to the garden, stopped by the muscular arms of the Khajiit woman. It bellowed dejectedly and slumped down on its flank with a thud, another unnervingly dog-like behaviour. “So please understand that this one does not have coin at present, but she will! There’s an adventurer’s guild starting up in town here, and this one will be able to pay for your losses in short order. It’s the best La’Shuni can do, but she promises she will return with coin!”

A nearby bulletin board was suddenly drawing a small crowd when an official came around, affixing parchment to it. La’Shuni’s heart raced; it was time!

“Oh! Excuse me, miss! This is likely her employment!” she said excitedly, hurrying over to Scooter. “This one will be back, she promises!” she exclaimed to the woman.

“Wait!” the Imperial shouted, but it was too late. The Khajiit and her echatere were thundering towards the crowd, bony points clacking into the cobblestone.

La’Shuni found herself in an odd assortment of people from all across Tamriel, and she was brushing shoulders with an incredibly large Argonian and a Nord woman with mousy, dark hair. The Khajiit’s eyes darted across the board and her heart skipped a beat.
Her name.

A claw raced out, pulling the paper off carelessly, which made her instantly regret it due to the rip. It would be seen as so disrespectful and unappreciative, a small part of her mind reminded her as she quickly took in the missive.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “This one got the job!”

Her face was beaming, and she began to excitedly pat Scooter’s neck, his legs clacking contentedly. She waved the paper back at the Imperial woman, who couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. The wonders of youth, she thought as she grabbed for a rake and began the long process of rehabilitating her poor garden.
Name: La’Shuni
Age: 23
Race: Khajiit, Suthay-raht
Class: Scout

Portrait:


Sum your life so far into a single paragraph:

This one had always been quiet and studious, but an opportunity to join my uncle on a business trip to the new Orsinium in the Dragontail Mountains had opened La’Shuni’s world considerably. She has spent the past 5 years in Orsinium, learning about Orsimer customs and history, and it has awoken an adventurous side to this one she did not know she had! This one is still largely inexperienced, but she is understanding why her sister has not returned home to Leyawiin in some time. When one hears the call to adventure, to see things that you could only dream about before your eyes, it makes it difficult to return to a small, comfortable box. It is a Khajiit’s way to be a nomad, no?

What was the most difficult decision you've ever had to make?:

One is never prepared to choose between lives, but oftentimes, fate does not let you sit idle. While accompanying a caravan across a treacherous mountain pass on the way to Wrothgar, some of the ice pack gave out near the rear of the column, where six of the caravan were clinging for their lives, two having already fallen too far to retrieve. The rest of the shelf was beginning to show signs of wear and damage, and it became clear that to linger would have put the remaining column at risk, and the supplies that were fastened to the horses and echateres were direly needed by the mountain clans and strongholds for the winter… we had to get them off of the shelf and back away from the crumbling ice. This one still can hear the screams and the deafening sound of the impact when bodies… may we move on? It is a difficult memory, one La’Shuni asks herself each day if she could have done things differently, if those people would have survived had she been brave enough, fast enough. But she knows that had she done so, La’Shuni would have likely fallen that day, too.

Tell me how other people would describe you?:

This one has always been quiet, studious, respectful. Following the rules of both the law and home, respecting one’s family and community, and not expressing yourself inappropriately around others were all hallmarks of my upbringing. My sister was, and still is, a brash troublemaker, and La’Shuni spent years trying to cover for her and to try and make our parents happy and proud. It did not always work, and many have commented that this one takes some things too close to the heart. This one was always curious about people, although shy, but she delighted in the stories of people from far away brought with them… they were always the stories belonging to another person, a different life, one that this one would never experience herself.

This one’s parents were quite understandably shocked when she declared she wished to accompany uncle Zegol to the North. La’Shuni, leaving town? No, that could not be right! She was preparing to be a court page, or to inherent father’s business! For so long this one spent her life trying to please others, no one thought to question what it was that this one really wanted for herself… even she didn’t know until something told her if she did not take the chance, she would never find out what she was meant to be.

This one does not wish to sound ungrateful; she loves her family, her community, and she hopes to return to Leyawiin before long, but there is still so much she needs to discover about the world and herself, and after seeing so many people struggling in ways she could not imagine from her life at home, how can she turn her back on them? Since arriving in Orsinium, La’Shuni has been accused of having too big of a heart, to rush in without thinking. The Orcs are big on personal accountability, honour, and strength, and it is hard for them to readily accept an offered hand. This one does not care; if someone is cold, they need a coat. If someone is hungry, they need bread. Pride is a silly thing to suffer for, is it not?


What are your outside interests?:

This one loves animals! Perhaps more than anything, leaving home and seeing what sorts of magnificent beasts roam Tamriel has really turned the embers of my wanderlust into a wildfire. La’Shuni has spent hours sitting on frozen beaches with horkers, grooming and feeding echateres, gazing at the magnificent mammoths and their giant keepers from across the tundra… there’s nothing more pure and wondrous than the natural world and those that live in it. This one even bonded with a badger echalette that has become her companion! She calls him Scooter; she was never very good at naming things, but the little fellow never seems to sit still for long!

She has also had a keen interest in cultures and society and people in general. She never understood why Daro’Vasora had always had her nose in books and focus honed almost exclusively towards a world long passed and people who are long gone when there are so many people here and now who have such incredible aspects to them. Cuisine, clothing, customs, the way they fight, how they build their cities, the rites they follow… it’s something one could spend a lifetime immersed in and still be discovering new things. There is so much war, distrust, and hatred in this world, and perhaps there wouldn’t be if people just simply took time to appreciate what made them different?

The Orsimer have never treated this one poorly for being a Khajiit, La’Shuni thinks they understand more than most what it means to be an outsider, to be distrusted. Many look at this one like she will steal their belongings, or bring skooma into their communities, or that she is a Dominion spy. This one does not think a spy would loudly exclaim delight at seeing a puppy or kitten and rush over to greet it, but what would La’Shuni know? She isn’t a spy.

La’Shuni has discovered how much she simply just enjoys being out in nature. The cities are great, and that is where the people are, but there’s nothing quite like losing one’s self for hours walking the wilderness, immersing yourself in the breath of Nirni, sustaining yourself from the land. This one has learned how to hunt, gather, track. My Orsimer companions certainly see the benefit of one who can see at night with the same clarity as another can see at day, no?

This one loves music, but she has no talent of her own. You would not wish to hear her sing, and she is careful not to drink to excess, so it is unlikely she would ever get to a point she would wish to. Sitting near a warm fire listening to instruments and the voices of those who carry a tune in their hearts with a mug of mead in one hand and the other on a board game piece is a delightful way to spend a night, or simply sitting around a fire sharing food and stories.

Moreover, La’Shuni takes pride in testing herself and training. The Orsimer have this philosophy for preparedness and that every day you do not hone your body and mind and skill at arms, your enemy will be. Should you be overcome by this enemy, it is because they prepared more than you had. While this one has run into bandits, raiders, scavengers, and the like, she has to have taken a life, nor met someone who has challenged her abilities. She hopes it will stay that way, but she knows that with this life, it is only a matter of time.


What are your greatest strengths?:

This one is in excellent physical condition and is a specialist in survival in harsh Northern climates, capable of tracking prey and quarry from vast distances and recognizing when something is amiss, unnatural; it keeps you alive, and there is almost always another way around. Finding food is simple if one knows where to look, and if you can get a fire started in the summer rains or the winter storms, you can anywhere. Likewise, La’Shuni can turn most anything she can find into a passable meal, provided you are not expecting some gourmet dish with the finest Alik’r lamb, Pellitine spices, and Kwarma eggs.

La’Shuni is quite capable with a spear, which is her main form of defense and hunting, and she has been training with twin daggers in more traditional accordance of Khajiiti martial teachings. A Khajiit is more comfortable in light armour that allows us to be agile and flexible, unencumbered by heavy plate. Hard leather protects against slashes and even some arrows, as well as the claws and teeth of many beasts, but it is better if your adversary cannot touch you, no? Being quick of mind and body is more important than how well one can swing a sword, in this one’s humble opinion.

With many respects to my upbringing and the education this one’s parents were able to afford as prominent members of the Leyawiin community, La’Shuni is educated and capable of speaking multiple languages, as well as reading them. She has learned commerce from her father, how to spot counterfeit or poor quality items from uncle Zegol and Daro’Vasora, and she is familiar with the customs of Khajiit and Orsimer quite intimately. This one may appear to be naïve and out of her depth, but looks can be deceiving; this one has learned much and it has brought me to where she is today.


What are your weaknesses?:

Perhaps this one can be too trusting of others and what they say; not everyone means well, and lie through their teeth to take advantage of others, and La’Shuni has fallen for that more than once. Perhaps it is a desire to want to see the good and earnestness in everyone, or perhaps this one does not wish to face the world as jaded and cynical as my sister does. She is lonely and miserable at times, but it makes her push others away from her, and it keeps her from trying to help others in need. That isn’t La’Shuni’s way.

This one also acknowledges that five years is not enough time for one to call themselves an expert at anything, and she has much to learn of the art of fighting and she has not truly had to test herself in any meaningful way. While La’Shuni is proud of her techniques and progress, she also knows that many others have been raised as warriors since they were children, and this one has gone from a world of courtly mannerisms and finding stacks of books heavy to a harsh, unforgiving world where you must push yourself constantly to survive; she would not have it any other way, but she has a long way to go.

On a personal level, La’Shuni is rather meek and modest and she has a difficult time asserting herself in social situations. She is not particularly well-spoken under pressure, and she worries about what others think of her. It makes me push myself harder than she should to prove myself through actions, and La’Shuni knows that that can be a mistake in many ways.


What are your aspirations for the future?:

La’Shuni wishes to travel Tamriel, to immerse herself in what the world has to offer and offer her services to those who are in need. She is not after fame and fortune, at least, not in the way many think of it. Experiences and learning are what she wishes, and to improve herself. This one feels she spent years of her life in such a small place with only a window into the world, and there is much to catch up on.

Why do you want to join this guild?:

For experience, travel, and training. The companionship does not hurt, and there are a variety of people from across Tamriel that this one is eager to learn about. It seems like a good chance to help people and hunt monsters in a way that feels right.


What are your expectations of the guild?:

That it is not just a bandit clan with a new coat of paint, that its leaders are earnest that it is honest work. We are not mercenaries, this one hopes. There are enough people in this world who harm others for amusement, power, and profit. Tamriel does not need more.

Character Skill/Spell/Equipment Table;

Please complete for each character as means of reference. Paste underneath character application.


Splinters and Blisters

A Greenish Dervie doohickey
Morning, 18th of Sun’s Height, 4E208
Falkreath




Crack.

The axe buried itself into the upright log, wedging itself only about as long as the blade into the wood rather than splitting nicely. “Son of a bitch.” Daro’Vasora growled at the defiant piece of lumber, before lifting the axe with the log stuck to it and driving it down again, driving the split further, and again until the two ends split entirely and popped off. Dutifully, she tossed the two ends into a hand cart before picking up another log and setting it on the felled trunk that had been used for this purpose for divines-knows how many years.

Crack.

The axe came down again, the wood nearly splitting into two this time from the first blow. She had woken early, rolling over once more and discovering Finnen was no longer at her side and her tent was cold and empty without his presence.

Crack.

Her hands ached, they always did when she split wood. It didn’t matter how many times she did it, either out on her own at a camp, or with others. How many times had she been the one to create the stockpile of wood for the evenings crossing the mountains? Bigger, stronger, and much more macho individuals always offered to do it, but sometimes, she had some things to work out.

Crack.

The pain around her neck was gone, but she still felt Finnen’s hands grasped around her neck. Pale-feather had nearly taken her life, using her lover to do his dirty work. If only she fucking listened, she thought bitterly, tossing more wood into the wagon. Maybe the group wouldn’t be fragmented. Maybe Raelynn wouldn’t have abandoned her and dragged Fjolte with her. It just affirmed to Daro’Vasora that maybe she shouldn’t get people involved in her life, they couldn’t betray her or abandon her that way. At this rate, she’d be marching upon Red Mountain alone, with everyone either being dead or abandoning her when she didn’t want to be alone.

Sure, they checked up on her, the poor girl who was nearly murdered by the one she loved. She brushed them away, saying she was fine. She wasn’t, really. She just couldn’t afford to be the reason people left, like she usually was. What was the balance between being a good person who was at the mercy of others’ intentions and the hard-hearted bitch that shielded herself from others with scorn and mockery. She had always had to be the smartest person in the room, to prove herself unimpeachable in her talents and logic. It was a game to her, to rip into others’ insecurities or slips of tongue to bring them down to the size she always felt deep down.

Daro’Vasora, famed treasure hunter, explorer, and researcher, a 25-year-old girl who still felt like she had to impress her parents enough, to prove that she was worth more than being a shitty teenager who stole and soiled their reputation from her actions. She wanted nothing more than to be loved and appreciated, to not feel ashamed of who and what she was. Her slit eyes, her long tail, the claws in her hands, the coat of fur. It always made her different, always made her loathed.

Roux wasn’t the first person to betray her trust, to abuse her. Finnen wouldn’t be the last, either. She was just a damn fool for thinking someone like Raelynn would actually like her, and see past her being nothing more than a stupid fucking cat.

Crack.

It didn’t matter, not really. In a few weeks, none of it would. Would people think about her, after the deed was done? Would she make her parents proud? Would Raelynn tell people in her high society life that she was proud to have been a close friend to Daro’Vasora? What about the history books that Daro’Vasora grew up reading, and still did to this day? What would they say about her?

So many questions, and not enough answers.

Crack.

"Sora?" The sudden voice was a familiar one, and it wasn't long before Megana had found her way to where the Khajiit woman was chopping wood. She had returned to her tent the previous night and slept away the effects of both the mead and her tiredness in general. She hadn't realized she had been so tired until she woke up from what seemed like a dreamless night of only a few minutes to discover the night had passed and the sun had already risen. Pulling herself from her bedroll had been a task, but when she realized where she was and recalled the events of the previous night, a little energy returned to her.

Leaving her tent and wandering through Falkreath, she had hoped to see some familiar faces- she hadn't really had a chance to catch up with her friends save Calen and Judena, and even just two days apart without knowing their fates had been hard; thank Stendarr Zaveed had been there, even though she hated that the dwemer had hurt him.

Seeing the familiar figure of Daro'Vasora labouring over the logs of wood reminded her of the conversation from the previous night, though really she knew nothing. From what she could tell, the khajiit looked preoccupied in her work and thoughts- Meg couldn't help but wonder what sort of thoughts those might be given the little she had heard. And so no longer hesitating, she now stood a few feet from her friend.

"Ye- you're sure busy," she commented, arms wrapped around herself as she watched. "How're you doing? I sure missed y'all!"

The voice broke through the chaotic dark cloud that had enveloped Daro’Vasora’s mind, and when she looked up to see who was speaking, she saw a light shine through. A mixture of emotions flooded her, and she struggled to maintain composure. “Megana… I- I heard you were safe, that you came back. And…” she paused, trying to steady her breathing to calm herself. “And I didn’t dare believe it was true. I couldn’t take it if it wasn’t true.” she said quietly, the axe slipping from her fingers as she slumped down on the log, the strength failing her limbs. Her eyes were unfocused, and long, slender fingers worked through a knot in her mane.

“Are you okay?” the Khajiit asked after a few moments of collecting herself.

It wasn't hard for Meg to see that Daro'Vasora was barely being able to keep her inner emotions from spilling out, and she could understand why. If she had missed the the group so much, then how would the khajiit woman fair any better when her lover and two friends were missing, along with herself? Meg's mouth trembled a little, feeling pain for the woman standing before her. Perhaps she was their leader, but she was still a person with feelings, someone who needed as much comfort as anyone else.

"Oh Sora." She headed over, and without another word she wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her close. "I am okay, please don' worry 'bout me. I found my way back with Zaveed- there was no way we would’ve stopped searchin' 'til we found y'all."

She didn't let go as she continued. "But what 'bout you Sora? You... I don' think you're okay."

Daro’Vasora was surprised by the embrace, but she returned it readily, appreciating the physical connection and warmth. Her eyes remained unfocused over Megana’s shoulder.

“You’re certainly observant. I’m… coping.” the Khajiit admitted, breathing deeply, her chest rising and falling against Meg’s. He neck throbbed under her own makeshift scarf. “A lot has happened recently and I don’t know who I can really trust anymore, and everyone who was hurt under my watch feels like my responsibility. I haven’t had anyone to talk to, at least, not easily. I’m just relieved you made it back okay… I feared the worst.”

She broke off the embrace, still holding onto Megana’s forearm gently, her eyes not meeting the Nord’s. “I suppose I feel like I’m going to be finishing this journey on my own, and everyone I trusted feels like they’re slipping away or turning on me. It’s silly, I know… I still have you and Judena with me, but it feels fleeting.”

"I know it's gotta be hard." Meg couldn't blame the Khajiit woman for feeling that way, when it seemed so many they had journeyed with from the beginning were no longer there with them. She also couldn't blame Sora for feeling feeling as if she would be alone even if she did have people around her. Hadn't she felt the same way when she had been in Anvil and Gilane?

"It ain't silly," she added, shaking her head at Daro'Vasora's words. "Sometimes even if y'know something, the thought still comes in the noggin an' won't leave. Me? I know I ain't gonna be leaving until we get all this shit sorted out..." She faltered slightly, rubbing the back of her head. "I guess even when it's hard, we still gotta look for what's positive. Like... like yer sister! It's pretty amazin' that she's here, ain't it?"

“It is… I just don’t recognize her anymore. She didn’t have those scars the last time I saw her.” Daro’Vasora frowned. “She’s not the young girl I left behind anymore, but I never wanted her to be forced to fight and kill. It’s just another thing the Dwemer have to answer for.”

She reached down, grabbing a water skin and pulled the cork, drinking deeply for a few moments before offering it to Meg. “Finnen tried to kill me.” she said suddenly.

Meg nearly dropped the waterskin she had taken hold of. Eyes widen and mouth open, she managed to tighten her grip on the waterskin. Feeling her heart beginning to race from the shock of the sudden words, she quickly brought its lip to her mouth and took a few mouthfuls, wiping her mouth when she was done. Finnen of all people?

"Jaraleet had said sommat happened with Finnen... but I didn' know it was somethin like... that. What happened? Why-" She forced herself to stop, putting her free hand on Daro'Vasora's shoulder. "Only if y'want t'tell me. I know it can't be easy for ya."

“Pale-feather.” Daro’Vasora replied simply. “Leave it to me to fall for the guy with multiple personalities, one of whom is a murderous feral man who strangled me after Finnen went down to rest. I can’t say Finnen never tried to warn me, but I’m stubborn.” she said, pulling the fabric about her neck up more, the thought of hands about her throat returning. “I told him that I’d be there for him no matter what, and that if he hurt me, it wasn’t his fault. That I accepted the risk. I probably shouldn’t have, because I certainly am having second thoughts now.”

She shrugged, standing again and doing her damnest to look disinterested in the conversation at hand, despite it eating away at her like she was a fruit rotting from the inside out. She picked up the axe again and set up another log. “Roux, Finnen… two for two and I’m already starting to think that maybe I have shit taste in men.”

Crack.

"I don' think we can be blamed who we fall for," Megana replied after a moment, watching Sora as she cleaved the log in half. "Sometimes... that kinda thing just happens. You grow close t'someone an' your feelings jus' get stronger an' stronger." She couldn't understand how anyone could have fallen for a necromancer, but in their group, their own friend had become the lover of one and kept his secret until it was out for all to know. And what about her own self? "Ain' like I haven't had my share... the first man I loved was a thief. As for others I've liked..." She shrugged, a sigh escaping her lips as she thought to last night's conversation. That door was now shut whether she liked it or not.

"You couldn't have known any of this would have happened." Her mouth curved downward. "It ain' fair t'blame yourself for things like that, Sora."

“I spent a good chunk of my life blaming anyone but myself for the mistakes I made. I guess I had to grow up eventually.” Daro’Vasora replied, tossing the split wood into a pile. “But you’re right; feelings are irrational, as are matters of the heart. I think maybe it’s just that I fell for the man Finnen pretended to be, Latro. I remember when I first saw Pale-feather in the governor’s palace, he frightened me. I guess instead of worrying about danger because I figured, what the hell, we’re all probably going to die any day now so might as well be selfish for a bit.”

The Cathay brushed a stray hair out of her eyes and returned them to Meg over her shoulder. “Look, I am glad you’re here, and honestly you’re a better friend than most I’ve had. You don’t need to hear your fearless leader mope constantly… I just haven’t had much occasion to be very cheerful of late.” she said, rolling her jaw. “It isn’t like I’m a stranger to danger and near-death experiences, but it’s rather… unendearing, non-enticing? Whatever, when people you trust hurt you. I’m sure you remember what I was like when we first met.”

Megana couldn't help but give Daro'Vasora a sheepish smile. "Not gonna lie, I was a bit intimidated by ya when we first met," she admitted after a small pause. "Wasn' sure what t'make of anyone t'be honest." The smile faded and she shook her head. "I... I can' say I know exactly how you're feelin', but I can imagine it must hurt a lot, worse pro'ly then when we found out about Gregor bein' a necromancer..."

Her mouth curved downward, and once again she couldn't help but shake her head. "You're wrong though Sora. Maybe your friends do need t'hear you mope. You don't do it constantly... more like the opposite. An' it ain' fair that everyone else got someone t'listen to them but you havta be strong all the time. It ain' like that. These kinda things- it's impossible to deal with them all alone, but yer not alone. Don' go pretendin' you're okay when you're not."

“Oh, don’t worry, Meg; I don’t.” Daro’Vasora replied with a terse smile. “The way I look at it is if you keep moving, your problems can’t catch up to you. There’s always the next quest, the next score. Things just get complicated when you start to let people in, and I’m certainly having my regrets.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, since Finnen… yeah. Since all of that, I’ve had half a mind to take this damned lexicon I found and march to Red Mountain on my own. Let everyone go home, not worry about this shit anymore. I move faster on my own and have a considerably lessened chance of being captured and having my limbs broken by psychotic pirates.

“I’m not okay, Megana, but it doesn’t mean I’m helpless or incapable of thinking clearly. It just means the box you idiots pulled me out of is looking more and more like an attractive, comforting option. I kind of miss when I didn’t care who or what a person was. A necromancer, a lich? Whatever, don’t take more than your share. A holier than thou priestess? Just don’t cram your dogma down my throat and we’re square. A murderer? Eh, we’ve all done shit we’re not proud of. Just don’t expect me to remember anyone’s names after I’m done if all goes well.” The Khajiit grunted, setting up another log.

Meg was quiet as she listened to Daro'Vasora, arms unknowingly wrapped around herself even though she didn't feel any sort of cold at the moment. She felt sad, though.

"I used t'do that too," she said after a moment of thinking and chewing on the inside of her thumb. "I'd huntin' on my own, or with only one other person. Havin' a group so big was weird for me, an' tbe honest I didn' think we'd be seein' each other after Imperial City..." She let out a cold sigh, shaking her head. She was unsure herself what she was trying to get at. "That's how it is though, I think. We... we're not meant t'be alone. Before things went t'shit, you were happy, weren't you? I dunno if you'd be able t'go back in that box again where y'just don' care anymore- I know I can't.

"Besides..." Her mouth pulled to the side for a moment. "Ain' like you're alone, Sora. I know I'm no Finnen or Raelynn, but I ain' gonna be goin' anywhere 'til this shit is done. So... even if ya try t'do it all yerself, yer gonna havta be disappointed 'cause I'm gonna be there too."

“I was, but also scared out of my mind.” Daro’Vasora admitted, plucking a piece of splintered bark and slipping it between her teeth. “It’s hard to relax when it feels like every stranger you meet might be the enemy, and finding out that certain members of the group that I’d grown to trust were less than savory didn’t exactly help my disposition. You take life as it comes, the good and the bad. Just because everything’s shit the past few months doesn’t mean there hasn’t been good; I just think that maybe, possibly, the best days are behind me and I need to focus on what’s coming up ahead.”

She let out a huff of a sigh, turning to face Megana, pausing in place for a few moments as if waiting, or debating something with herself. However, she stepped close to her friend and placed her hands on either of Megana’s shoulders. “You’re a good person, Megana, and a better friend than someone like me had the right to deserve, but I’m not going to ask you to toss away a promising future for my sake. You don’t have anything to prove, and what comes next isn’t exactly going to be pleasant. You have family, you have all the chances in the world to be the person you want to be. But this burden is mine, and I need to see it done. Meg… I know those scars on my sister’s face are because of the decisions I made. Those muscles that are suddenly on her arms and shoulders, the long and haunted stare when she thinks I’m not looking. I did that to her when I was too much of a coward to stop Rhea from activating that machine. I’m not going to stop until I at least try to fix this, for everyone.”

"It ain' about you askin' though, Sora." Meg managed to smile at the Khajiit woman, but there was still a tinge of sadness in her moss green eyes. "So I have a family- you do as well. How's it any different? D'you think my family loves me more than yours or somethin'?" She let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest tightly. "People change, an' maybe even if y'don' like it, it's for the better. If I met my family now, my Pa will be wonderin' what in Oblivion's happened t'me. We're not who we were... we've all changed. You're not gonna stop doin’ what ya havta do, I know that. But you have t'know, I ain' stoppin' either. Maybe I was the kinda person who'd run away from shit before, but it's not me anymore. I don’ wanna[ be that person anymore."

She shook her head. "You... you havta stop blamin' it on yourself. It's not just your burden; we're all in it together. We all want the dwemer gone, an' things t'return to- well, maybe not normal, but t'some sorta peace." She reached out and placed a hand on Daro'Vasora's hand. "Please, Sora... don' try an' stop me from helpin' you."

“You’re quite stubborn, you know that?” Daro’Vasora’s face showed the faintest of smiles. “I suppose I know a thing or two about that. I don’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done, and who you are. I guess sometimes I just need a change in perspective… my honourific, Daro. I always looked at it like a mark of shame by my family, like it was their way of saying I was too rotten to ever be worthy of their love. That my nature was opposed to anything good that could ever be accepted, that would ever amount to anything.”

Her teeth worked the piece of wood in her mouth. “That’s a big reason why I pursued this life of mine, I wanted to pursue my passions and earn a reputation for myself, so when I finally do decide to return home, my parents would be proud of me enough to accept me back. The thing is, I’ve come to realize, is that maybe it was their way of accepting who I was and encouraging me to cultivate the fire in my soul rather than snuff it out to fit into a box they expected of me.” she sighed. “It took me far too long to realize that. I’ve realized I need people around me, who can help me see things in a different light. That’s why this all hurts so damned much… I put my trust in the wrong people.”

"I guess that's just part of the learnin'," Meg replied after a moment, raising a shoulder in a sympathetic shrug. It had taken their last night in the Alik'r Desert for her to realize things couldn't just stay the same if she ignored it, and even though it was a different, she felt she could sympathize. "Even if it ends up hurtin' worse than a dull dagger in the gut. But that' where ya got people t'help get through that pain." She regarded Sora with a small smile of her own. "Like you did for me, the day y'gave me this scarf." She reached up and patted the gold and green gift comforting her neck. "The stuff y'told me was what I needed t'hear, and I honestly don' think anyone else would've told me the same. You've been there for others, more than you realize... You've- you've been holdin' our hand t'keep us from fallin' over- so don't think I'm gonna let go an' have you fall. A'right?"

Daro'Vasora smiled, regarding the scarf fondly. It had been such a simple gesture without any particular meaning behind it, the Khajiit wanted to give her friend something she thought would look good on her as thanks, and it took on a special meaning for Megana, it seemed… she was rarely seen without it.

"I really wasn't expecting it to mean so much to you. It suits you." She said, gesturing to the scarf. Megana's words rang true; maybe Daro'Vasora had more of an impact on a personal level than she realized. It felt like a bit of the weight left her tired limbs.

"I am not used to anyone really looking out for me; it's hard to accept help when it's freely offered." Daro'Vasora said with a resigned sigh. "Usually people in my life expect something in return, or have ulterior motives. It's hard not to be guarded and push people away." She admitted.

"I am sorry, Meg. I know it isn't easy being my friend."

"It's okay," Meg replied rather easily. "At least with you, I know you're jus' gonna say what's the truth an' not hide shit. That's one thing that I appreciate a lot- I never felt like I was stupid, or some sorta child 'round you, like I do 'round some others. I know I can be... well, I seem silly a lot, and maybe I just like t'be friends a little too much, but a lot of it's because being alone and lonely ain't fun." She allowed herself a half smile, rubbing the back of her head.

"You been doin' this since you woke?" she asked after a moment, gesturing towards the logs with her hand.

“I tried to eat first. Didn’t stick.” Daro’Vasora admitted, flexing and clenching her fingers. “Anyone who thinks you are an idiot or a child is a judgemental fuck who needs to travel more. Intelligence is about more than how you speak, and being inexperienced isn’t the same as being ignorant. I’ve met a lot of people, and I’ve found most have some kind of insight that can enrich you if you are patient enough to listen, but no one seems to give them the opportunity to prove it.” she said with a shrug. “I suppose I relate to people who don’t feel like they fit into a tidy box. Ask Judena; I treasure her more than most everything in the world, but how many people do you suppose made the effort to learn who she is because of her memory struggles?”

"Their loss," Meg agreed with a nod. "I know I learned lots from her, map makin', writin' letters home? I wouldn't have thought of that if I hadn' seen how much she took care to remember an' note down everythin' that takes place." Her eyes lowered as she remembered that poignant day in Gilane. "You should've seen how... angry she was when she found out you were caught by the dwemer. I don' think she'd ever been so upset, or maybe I jus’ never saw her get like that. But it only meant she had that much love to give- y'don' feel that sorta rage unless you feel like someone's part of you."

“I suppose not.” Daro’Vasora replied ponderously, feeling awful her predicament had caused Judena so much anguish. She couldn’t very well leave and take on the road ahead alone, could she? At least being in the company of others, she could try to make amends and set things right. You can’t do that if you aren’t there to do a damned thing about the struggles ahead.

“Thank you, Meg. I needed this more than you might realize.” she said, suddenly embracing Megana tightly. “If for no other reason than my hands are getting sore.”

This time Meg was the one a little surprised by the sudden hug, but it was a pleasant surprise and she returned the gesture by hugging the khajiit woman back. Everybody needed somebody to lean on, even if it was for those rare occasions where they felt they might stumble, and if she could be there for her friend, then there really was nothing better than that.

"You're welcome," she replied with a smile as she finally let go. "I'm thinkin' maybe you ought to let someone else's hands hurt for a bit, eh? How about you an' me go get somethin' to eat?"

The Khajiit smirked. “You don’t have to twist my arm. Maybe it’ll be something edible this time.”

17th Suns Dawn
Daggerfall, High Rock



The uneven patter of pointed feet crossed the leathery grey surface of scales, the six legs moving in a precision that all insects seemed to have, bringing about an instinctual revulsion from those who typically walked upon two legs. There was no personality, just an almost clockwork like rhythm that spoke to the extremely rudimentary intelligence that occupied the insignificantly small brain; the cockroach that crawled across the Argonian’s face was a product of eons of little more than instinct, never to serve a function more than to produce a significant amount of offspring before perishing to the cruel wheel of nature’s cycle.

These were the thoughts that passed through Lurks-at-Dusk’s much more advanced and significantly larger brain as with the stillness of a crocodile he waited for the cockroach to approach his lips before suddenly shoving it into his maw and biting down into the hard carapace, the juices splashing across his tongue as pointed teeth pulped the insect that had become his first meal of the day.

The Argonian stretched on his makeshift bed, a few sacks of what he assumed was flower or grain, and his eyes adjusted to the scant amount of light that seeped through the levels of deck above him, and he knew that the ship had not made port because of how it still moved across the waves. On either side of him, across from only a few inches of specially prepared wood fastened together but what he hoped were talented shipbuilders and artisans was the wrath of a large body of water that likely contained large animals that would love to bite into him much the same way he bit into insects.

The thought didn’t particularly trouble Lurks-at-Dusk. After all, he was an exceptional swimmer and could breathe underwater thanks to the physiological gifts the Hist bestowed upon all Argonians. He wondered idly if he would take over as the captain of the sunken Kismet, the underwater scourge of a ship that could not sail, or move from the sandy seafloor long after the crew and passengers of the vessel he was currently on had perished from not having lungs that could breathe water or those large animals who wished to bite into the hapless dry skins like his breakfast had a rare delivery that only tended to happen after a battle at sea or a particularly unsavory storm.

The Argonian decided that it would be a rather boring life, and eating exclusively raw fish and being unable to have a conversation would grow tiresome. After all, just because he could breathe underwater didn’t mean he could speak underwater. That would be silly.

He pulled himself up from the sacks, working his jaw around and running his tongue across his teeth, claiming the rest of his meal that had not slipped down his throat quite yet. It wasn’t quite filling by any stretch, but the Argonian certainly knew that there was other food on this vessel that was certainly adequate and dare he say quite enjoyable. The young Nord boy, Fally, Faldor, Fanon? Something of that nature, was quite exceptional at putting a bunch of ingredients together into something decidedly more appetizing than Lurks’ traditional signature dish, a freshly killed squirrel on a stick roasting over a fire. He doubted very much that there would be any rodents on the ship, perhaps a rat or two, but those likely wouldn’t make it into a cooking pot unless the boy was one who appreciated fresh meat and had a sense of pragmatism that wasn’t tempered by the squeamish sensibilities of dry skins.

Lurks-at-Dusk didn’t require much preparation to make himself presentable to head topside; he was still freshly waxed from the night before and wearing the same blue tunic and tan trousers without any footwear. It seemed appropriate, given their current nautical inclinations. His shirt didn’t quite match the sea, or the sky, or any other natural phenomena, but the harbour district of Anvil didn’t exactly have a lot of options for him to steal on such a short notice. It had taken him over two hours to find something his size, after all, and he wasn’t exactly going for the wealthy traveler sensibility this time around. This trip, he simply was a transient worker who had scrounged up enough coin to pay his fare, hoping his next port of call would bring him better windfall to feed his wife… husband? Kids? The Argonian’s throat swelled and his tail stiffened for a moment, a minute reaction that made him realize perhaps he didn’t think of a story that would be convincing and not something he’d tried a dozen times before.

By the time he made his way to the surface of the Kismet, he decided he would improvise. It was not as if he could get away with taking the belongings of those on board; that would be stupid. After all, there was no way off the ship that did not involve quite a bit of swimming that he did not feel quite refreshed enough to tackle, ignoring the simple fact the Argonian had no idea where they were exactly save for a vague direction of where the mainland was. He did not fancy swimming for days to find himself as the first person to step on Thras for thousands of years; the Sload from the stories seemed to be particularly unsavory and he did not fancy someone using his dead body as entertainment. He was not a good dancer in life, and he assumed he would somehow be even worse in death.

There were others on the ship, and to his pleasant surprise, there were other Argonians along this particular voyage. He barely recalled the destination, it hadn’t seemed important when he handed Captain Ravana, a rather handsome Redguard man with a rather fetching plumage of dark hair on top of his crown, the admission for sailing. All Lurks-at-Dusk knew was that he was growing bored of the Daggerfall cuisine and he was pushing his luck with the guard for the rather sizable pile of goods he had stockpiled in a cabin only ten minutes out from the city; someone would be happy when they discovered it, which brought him joy. Perhaps that one person’s good fortune would make up for the dozens of others who had decidedly bad days when the Argonian took their things.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, Lurks-at-Dusk realized that the Kismet was still in port. What day was it, he wondered. Hadn’t he boarded the day before, or was it earlier in the day? He could have sworn they set sail by now, or maybe that was just a particular dream he had. It had seemed so real, so vivid. Perhaps it was the drink he had yesterday to try and convince the captain he was down on his luck, or heartbroken, or something, and he needed a place to stay. Maybe Ravana had let him aboard the ship early out of pity or compassion? Or did he pay him in some treasure he had pilfered in his pack? He didn’t recall exactly what he deemed worth holding onto, but he certainly didn’t stuff that gold-rimmed conga drum or the engraved mammoth tusk in his pack; they simply did not make back packs that size for whatever reason.

Lurks-at-Dusk shrugged as he took in the salty morning air, enjoying the sensation of the large vessel bobbing upon the shallow waters… like an apple.

The Argonian’s stomach growled. He decided it was time to find the Nord boy, for it was a better use of his time to have someone prepare him a meal than to hunt for insects below deck. Besides, the boy seemed easily impressionable; maybe he had something enticing to share about his crew. Lurks-at-Dusk did not care for salacious details or off-putting affairs of cardinal instinctual desire, but rather what kinds of sentimental goods they had sequestered away. A family pipe passed down for generations? A necklace belonging to one’s grandmother?

The Argonian’s mouth salivated at the thought. No, he thought to himself, that would be because I smell something delicious.

Treasures could wait; they sat around waiting for him for years. Good food was fleeting, and Lurks-at-Dusk was a man of sensible priorities.


@Fetzen Mayhaps if you go the Skyrim route, one of his fellow adventurers was accused of Talos worship by a Thalmor patrol and everyone with him was seen as an accomplice? It might be able to keep your original idea intact.
@Fetzen I really like the character! I do think it's worth mentioning that Dwemer were never in any of the Aldmeri Dominion lands, so the Thalmor claiming ownership of them seems a tad off, and arresting people for exploring them would be well outside of their authority to enforce. There are a bunch of Aleyid ruins in Valenwood, though! Maybe Ercanoriel got interested in ancient elven civilizations and magic and technology first through the Alyeids before personally discovering the Dwemer ruins on his own after he got out of jail?

Race: Argonian
Age: 34
Birthsign: The Thief
Family Origins: Lilmoth, Argonia.

Appearance:

"What shall I wear today? 3,000 thread silkworm robes, or ratty old rags that reeks of something unimaginable?"




Standing at a tall but uncommanding 5’10” (177.8 cm) and weighing in at a fairly lean 182 pounds (82.5 kilos)*, Lurks-at-Dusk possesses a fairly average and unremarkable figure, partially due to the circumstances of his hatching, partially due to his active attempts of being a social chameleon. He purposefully avoids looking too ostentatious to avoid unwanted scrutiny and providing much that would be a memorable feature. He goes out of his way to avoid any expensive looking jewelry, often purposefully buffing out the sheen, avoiding bright tones, and purposefully picking fashions that he observes as being fairly common in the social strata he wishes to emulate. Lurks-at-Dusk has had an extensive wardrobe over the years, and much of it has been left behind as he moves from haunt to haunt. He sees shedding an outfit no different than molting skin; the new layers are stronger and better suited for the next stage.

Likewise, if Lurks chooses to look poor and destitute, he ensures his appearance and scent are not offensive; the only thing people hate more than a beggar is one who reeks and looks like they are contaminated with some sort of pestilence, even though that is something that eludes Argonian physiology. He knows that men and mer and cats alike have instinctual biases, and he purposefully tries to cater to them. As such, he simply plays himself off as a veteran or a worker who is simply down on his luck and could rise up to prosperity with a bit of good windfall. Life is a delicate balance, and going to one extreme or the next would be counter-productive to his aims.

Perhaps Lurks’ most fetching feature are his eyes, a golden pair of orbs nestled into dark-grey sockets of thick, broad scales surrounded by a valley of two thick ridges of his brow and across his cheek, the ends meeting both towards his snout and the pairs of grey-black twin horns protruding out of the back of his scalp. On either side of the back of his powerful reptilian jaw are an additional pair of shortened spikes and another pair of small bony points protruding down from his chin. Perhaps most striking is the blue-black plumage protruding from the top of his head down to the base of his skull, giving Lurks-at-Dusk a corvid-like display of feathers that have the added benefit of breaking up his silhouette in the dark.

His scales, although well-tended to and buffed, are rarely ever polished, and he has a pleasant slate grey tone across most of his body, with lines of sand and clay coloured bands crossing his body like stripes, giving the Argonian the appearance of a twilight shoreline with waves dancing over the shallow sands. It pairs well with his mostly pleasant countenance, unblemished by scars or markings, and a nicely symmetrical face that almost seems unnatural for how balanced both sides of his face are. Although the Argonian might look something fearsome and predatory to those unacquainted with the race, those who are would find his broad chin and long lips that are perpetually upturned naturally to almost give the impression of a very broad and reassuring smile, and his lack of overly long and intimidating spikes much more approachable than others of his kind. After all, large horns and bright colours in nature mean danger, and Lurks-at-Dusk is neither of those things. He’s a comforting, if somewhat forgettable presence. It’s just the way he likes it.

*Accounting for the extra mass an Argonian tail adds to a bipedal frame

________________________________________

Personality:

"I will be whatever you want me to be. You just won't know it."


Lurks-at-Dusk is an individual who has long learned that Argonians are alien to other people across Tamriel. After all, it is hard to read a reptilian face if one is not acquainted to it and smiling is something his physiology simply cannot portray in a conventional sense. As such, Lurks has made himself appear affable as possible, employing exaggerated mannerisms and afflictions of tone to convey himself as he believes others would wish to see him; it makes them easier to swindle that way. Likewise, what is widely a perpetually aloof and neutral expression can convey great disinterest to other parties, making him somewhat of a threat when it comes to gambling and haggling for bargains; he can outwardly express himself contrary to what he actually is feeling at any given time given years of practice. One would think his name would arouse more suspicions, but his often disarming and approachable disposition often erodes mistrust within short order.

Ultimately, Lurks-at-Dusk is driven by greed and a personality tick where he doesn’t steal, burgle, and pickpocket necessarily out of need or infamy, but rather because of the thrill he gets when he takes what he wants and what others cherish. In his own mind, he justifies his actions by generations of slavery and genocide committed by elves against the Argonian people, or unwanted rule by the Empires of Men, but deep down he knows that it brings him a more primitive and instinctual pleasure as opposed to any lofty ideals.

He loves getting away with something that’s outside the rule of law, and he takes great pleasure at the explosive reactions of people whom he had wronged. Someone croaking about a missing family heirloom or spilled ancestral ashes to their neighbours in the market the following morning, or a child crying about a precious stuffed guar that was found torn apart by dogs. It brings Lurks a sense of satisfaction he simply could not have living a life in the straight and narrow. Sometimes he likes to toss treasures or coins into the street to watch the feeding frenzy, either for the sake of entertainment or to empty some more pockets of unsuspecting innocents who made the mistake of trying to compete with the greed of the Argonian thief.

Lurks-at-Dusk feels well-connected to the Hist and he makes sure that he doesn’t target Argonians, unless they’ve particularly crossed him or seem excessively foolish. He does not feel guilt or shame at his actions because he believes that this life is one of many he’s had and will have, so if he perishes due to overreaching ambition, he does not worry; the rivers will take him into another form before too long and he’ll try something different the next life. It’s been quite some time since he’s been back to his swampy homeland, and one of the few things he purchases legitimately are keepsakes and items that remind him of home and his people.

Given the oftentimes temporary nature of building materials in Murkmire, Lurks became very proficient at working with his hands, able to throw together rudimentary, if sturdy, furnishings and structures together with any materials at hand with relative ease and patience. This has enabled him to turn otherwise decrepit structures into relatively comfortable temporary dwellings and bases of operation, and while camping in the wilds, he fares better than most in terms of comfort. One of his few honest ways of earning coin is by carving amulets and bangles in his down time, something that reminds him of happier times at home with his mother.

It has occurred to Lurks-at-Dusk that he could potentially become quite a proficient spy given his antics; indeed, he has overheard a lot of sensitive information that was spoken in confidentiality over the years that he never was quite sure of what to do with, and he has certainly made off with some rather incriminating and interesting documents. However, being shackled to a government is precisely what this Argonian does not want out of life given the oppression his people had suffered at the hands of others over the years, and he knows a spy would never be affluent as he and might be forced to do a job that ran contrary to his own morals, namely that he avoids killing or hurting people if at all possible. He is a crook, not a villain, after all.

Despite his self-centered nature and apparent greed, Lurks also possesses a surprisingly philanthropic side. He often gives coins to beggars, leaves gifts for those he takes a liking to, and when people are in need, he sometimes takes it upon himself to find the object that is needed and deliver it to their doorstep unannounced. After all, he knows what it was like growing up not knowing if his mother and him would be able to make ends meet, and he sees no purpose in denying someone who needs medicine who cannot afford it something simple that could either cure or alleviate their suffering.

Socially, and in particular when Lurks-at-Dusk isn't putting on an act, he is a somewhat awkward individual with a matter-of-fact disposition, often stating his thoughts out loud without too much consideration of how it might be received. He can be surprisingly well natured, behaving without the hidden mischief and malice he brings upon many others. Despite the fact he is always appraising and casing people for potential profit, he tends to be pleasant and polite and willing to lend a hand. He did spend much of his formative years engaging with customers and visitors to his city, after all, so he certainly knows how to engage with strangers in a cordial manner.

Lurks is not particularly well-educated, and there are certainly gaps in his knowledge and experience that he has to work around, and his facades tend to crumble a bit under questioning and overly invasive scrutiny, but that simply is not his field of expertise. The Argonian thief studies from afar and offers just enough to pass casual interaction, making a game out of whatever persona and history he is adhering to that particular day. His work is a game to him, and he certainly is winning.

________________________________________
History:

"My story is whatever gets me in the door quickest. How about it?"


A child of Lilmoth in the Southern coastal region of Murkmire, Lurks-at-Dusk was largely removed from the tribal heritage of the non-city Argonians and spent as much time in their company as foreigners who came to the city as either a stop to destinations unknown or trade, giving the young Argonian a fairly cosmopolitan outlook from a young age. His mother, Collects-Seashells, was a kindly woman with a knack for sales and a skilled jewelry crafter and Lurks learned much of her craft as a hatchling.

Ever since his youth, Lurks had associated money with his mother’s happiness and prosperity, and he cannot recall a time he wasn’t tinkering with things with his hands, whether it was helping patch the stilted hut they called home or helping Collects-Seashells produce items to sell. Times were often rough, with barely enough food and coin to cover expenses, but Lurks always remember his mother being warm and pleasant-spirited, even when dealing with debt collectors and overly forceful customers who sometimes made off with his mother’s wares without paying; it made Lurks’ blood boil. However, he was a patient and observant boy, having been raised to be considerate and polite even if someone deserved to have their face clawed off.

It didn’t mean he didn’t soon find a way to get even with such people.

Even from his youngest years, Lurks-at-Dusk noticed how carelessly some people tied their coin purse on their belts, how easy it would be to cut it loose, how an important piece of parchment stuck just outside of pockets. One evening, living up to his name, he decided to see just how easy it would be. Taking a fishing knife left carelessly at the docks as the sun was beginning to descend beneath the treeline, the young Argonian waited for a drunken foreigner to wander out of one of the many taverns in Lilmoth. As the Imperial man was preoccupied with emptying the contents of his stomach he spent some of his coin on, Lurks cut the purse from the man’s belt and bolted, diving gracefully into the harbour, disappearing beneath the waves before the Imperial or any of the guards could identify him, appearing quietly back through his bedroom window hours later.

It would be the first of many times Lurks-at-Dusk would act in such a manner, and he began to hone his craft in increasingly daring ways, always watching people and observing their behaviours like a crocodile watching prey drinking from the river. Port cities rarely were quiet, and even after dark there were always people out in the streets; these were the ones Lurks made as his marks, succeeding and failing in equal measure at first, but always with an escape plan. Before long, he only knew success and word of a pickpocket began to circulate Lilmoth, and the locals became more vigilant, but they were seldom ever Lurks’ target. It was the ignorant foreigners who carried the coin that glittered, and it made them entirely alluring.

The weeks pressed on, and Lurks’ stayed to different schedules and took irregular times off of his rounds, and never casing the same area twice in a row. He’d had a knack for making himself look like he belonged, sorting fishing line or cages, sweeping walkways, staring wistfully off of bridges, not paying much attention to the world around him. Most nights he picked pockets, but others he had tried his hand at lockpicking, having secured a kit and a manual from one of the merchants who came to Lilmoth who he knew didn’t ask too many questions or pay too close attention. The financial situation of Lurks-at-Dusk and his mother improved considerably, and to her credit, she didn’t ask enough questions.

Perhaps she should have.

It was only a few months before the wrong sort of people started going door to door, and Collects-Seashells was becoming increasingly harassed by enforcers and collectors who grew suspicious of her sudden windfall and change of fortunes. It was only a matter of time before suspicion grew into something decidedly darker, Lurks knew. So one night, after his mother had went to bed, Lurks left a heartfelt letter saying goodbye to his mother and saying he had to leave town to protect her. That night he had stowed away on a vessel leaving port, and it wasn’t long until Lurks-at-Dusk was unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. He was born under the sign of the Thief, after all. It would be beneath him not to honour that.

Lurks-at-Dusk descended upon city after city across Tamriel, honing his craft and finding himself amazed at the opulence of the citizens in their great stone cities, and just how careless they were with their belongings. It became something of a game to him; find a decrepit abandoned building or cozy spot in the nearby wilderness, steal a new outfit, and come up with a new name and identity to play while among the unsuspecting populace. Sometimes he was a beggar, other times he acted like a rich merchant or landowner, escaping or entering notice of various social rungs, studying the local guards and mercenaries, and generally blending into the fabric of society he elected to clear of belongings.

He learned how to read shadow marks left by other thieves, and he paid tutors in different techniques he could use to improve his craft; he learned how to throw a bolas and use a sling from a few martial instructors, took some rudimentary alchemy lessons from others, and he learned how to use his body to scale buildings and walls to access certain areas or slip around unnoticed. All of this has culminated in an extremely proficient thief that never stays in one place for long and has reached a point where he rarely wants for anything; he simply takes what he wants and enjoys the thrill of the hunt. Taking someone’s prized silverware set is a lot less gruesome than hunting down some wild game, after all.

Most recently, Lurks-at-Dusk has made himself at home on the Gold Coast, finding the climate agreeable and the easy access to ships and cross-Tamriel trade a lucrative place to ply his skills and the constant influx of unfamiliar faces easy to disappear in.

Biggest Regret: Lurks-at-Dusk has constantly had doubts and regrets about the manner he left his mother; he wish he could have said goodbye, and he knows now she has no way of knowing if he’s safe and he has no way of knowing if his sudden departure protected her in the end. It was his own personal greed and ambition that brought misfortune to their small family, and it eats at him that he brought that upon Collects-Seashells knowing that he cannot stop himself.

Lurks-at-Dusk‘s Goal: Lurks-at-Dusk has two long-term aspirations; first, to steal something invaluable belonging to none other than the Emperor himself… although he still needs to try his hand at infiltrating the castles and palaces of the lords and counts of the lands as a bit of a warm-up for the greatest score of his life.

Second, Lurks wishes to return home wealthy, powerful, and infamous… and out of reach of the rest of Tamriel. Aside from becoming a key figure in Argonia and something of a folk hero, or so he imagines, he sees his personal mission as something of reparations for thousands of years of oppression by foreign empires.
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Skills:

"Most people sound and move like a wamasu in heat. No one notices the dovahfly when the former is making a scene. What do you suppose I am, wamasu?"


Expert
Sneak: The combination of his naturally dark colouring and foliage-like plumage and years of lurking in the shadows, Lurks-in-Darkness basically is a shadow after dark, and his commitment to blending in society during the day has made him more of a part of the scenery than a person most can recall.

Pickpocket: One he started, Lurks never stopped plucking pockets, cutting his teeth on drunks in the dead of night to working up to brushing past people on the street without them noticing his hand slip into their pockets in broad daylight. He knows when to pick his targets, and as such, he rarely ever gets caught.


Adept:
Marksman, Throwing: Although not as proficient at this as he would like, Lurks has nevertheless practices extensively and received training with his bolas and sling to be a fairly accurate shot with both, being able to trip or ensnare an alerted guard or to knock out a lamp with a well-placed stone from afar.

Lock Picking: A hobby picked up near the end of his years in Lilmoth, Lurks-at-Dusk has had quite a bit of practical experience at this, although more complicated locks still give him trouble. However, most people have inexpensive or common locks that give him plenty of practice and access to their belongings.

Crafting, Woodworking: Growing up in a swampy, humid climate with largely wood and vines that wear down over time, plus helping his mother craft jewelry as a youth has given Lurks-at-Dusk quite a bit of knowledge and talent with carpentry and making trinkets.


Novice:
Acrobatics: Although hardly one to be able to walk on his hands or tightropes, Lurks-at-Dusk is a very good climber and chances are if he can grab onto something, he can get on top of it. This is one of those skills that came through practice and experience, as well as a few friendly lessons from a tutor.


Equipment:

"Never bring what you can afford to lose. But if you do, thank you for your generous donation, beeko."


    6x rope and stone bolas

    A leather rock sling

    An assortment of lockpicks, tucked away in folds on his leather armour

    Leather armour, blue and brown in colour to blend into urban environments. The hard bracers and gloves are a stony shade similar to the waves in his scales, partially out of personal vanity and preference, partially so it is easier to see his hands work in the dark of night.

    A lightweight backpack with dividers and filled with cloth to add cushioning and muffle the sound of pilfered goods moving around. It has quick-detach buckles.

    A utility belt with multiple pouches and pockets, often carrying muffle and stamina potions, as well as a healing potion or two in worst case scenarios.

    Smoke bombs: A simple collection of fertilizer, sugar, and firesalt starters, Lurks prepares these in cheap pots to aid in the event he needs to make a getaway.

    Boot dagger: A back-up weapon he keeps strapped to his boot when in leathers that can be used as an absolute line of defense, or for work that may require a cutting edge.


Misc. Possessions:

    An assortment of utility knives: Everything from cutting up a fish for dinner to cutting rope to carving wood.

    A traveling rucksack: Lurks’ entire life goes in here, including camping and cooking supplies and a change of clothing.
    Fire starting kit
    A leather-bound notebook: Other than the piles of ill-gotten goods Lurks is in possession of at any given time, this is the most incriminating thing in his possession. It’s where his observations and plans are jotted down before he springs into action.
    A haj mota wood pendant
    An assortment of stolen valuables and coin

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