Despite the threatening state of her disposition, she is very much capable of love and friendship, and her blase' expectation of danger and death around every corner does little to discourage her from engaging with others and looking for companionship. As stated previously, she's familiar with death and understands that it is unavoidable, so it would do her little good as a romantic to fear death or allow it to impede her desire to live life. She'd rather seize the day, which likely has a negative impact on her impulse control and has seen her accused of wanton promiscuity by the mild-mannered people of the world during her travels and introducing her to the brand new realm of sexism that was far less common back home. This is all to say that she'd rather make a new friend than a new enemy, even if her abrasive approach to interacting with other people tends to make enemies all the same. As far as she's concerned, it's not her fault if some people don't have a sense of humor, and humor is an important part of her interactions with others. If you don't know how to laugh at yourself or at all the different ironies that life has to offer, then you're a sorry sod doomed for disappointment. She even applies this philosophy toward her self, though you could well imagine that her confidence is such that she can even laugh off genuine insults.
"Like how neither men nor mer can seem to stomach the Old Ways, I can't seem to stomach the sight of them clutching their pearls."
V E N W E N
"Like how neither men nor mer can seem to stomach the Old Ways, I can't seem to stomach the sight of them clutching their pearls."
══════ C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T ══════
═══════ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y ══════
68 | ♀️ | Bosmer
Jaqspur, Green Pact Fanatic, Adventurer
▼ P H Y S I C A L T R A I T S
► Build - Lithe and lean.
► Skin Color - Pale bronze and freckled.
► Hair Color - A muddy red, like auburn.
► Eye Color - Green.
► Other - Small horn nubs are protruding from the top of her forehead, muddy warpaint swirling around her arms.
▼ D O S S I E R
► Birthplace - Malabal Tor
► Birthsign - The Steed
► Biggest Regret -
► Venwen's Goal -
▼ F A V O R E D A T T R I B U T E S
▼ S K I L L S
► Archery - Expert
► Acrobatics - Expert
► Athletics - Adept
► Stealth - Adept
► Light Armor - Adept
► Pickpocket - Apprentice
► One-Handed - Novice
▼ S P E L L S
► Racial: Forest Coupling
▼ E Q U I P M E N T
► Weapons - A highly decorated Bosmeri bow made of bone and horn, and the bowstring is sinew made of Khajiiti gut. Also a bone-carved shortsword.
► Armor - Stiffened leather strips pleated over one another and stitched over soft hide provides comfortable and lightweight protection for her torso.
► Containers - A quiver made from leather and carapace that carries a variety of arrows, and two small pouches made from hoarvor sacks.
► Food, Drink, Potions -
► Miscellaneous -
══════ A P P E A R A N C E ══════
A delightful savagery envelops the bosmer that is obvious at first glance, reeking of danger (among other things) from the intense focus of her predatory eyes to the wild tousling of her muddy red hair. From point A to point B, her gaze follows you with a familiar smile as if you were prey. While most people have had the pleasure of knowing at least one bosmer, it becomes clear upon meeting Venwen that, from her disposition and striking features to the paler and subdued bronze of her speckled and dirty skin, she's from the deeper and darker thickets of Valenwood's heart and is one of wild elves you might've read about in books. Those who've read of the cheerful ferocity of the Green Pact bosmer can pick out those traits rather quickly in Venwen, who carries herself proudly and casually, while simultaneously stalking -- not walking -- in a perpetual fox-trot and reminding you with her smile that she is religiously carnivorous, as indicated by a showing of half of her teeth that have been filed down to points as sharp as her ears.
However, it can be easy to underestimate Venwen due to her comparatively diminutive stature to other Bosmer when you're standing on the ground next to her. She stands at a meager 5'2" and weighs as little as eight stones, . Her level of fitness is as to be expected of one who lives and dies by their ability to hunt and escape from being hunted. She is tough and sinewy, capable of bounding through the boughs with grace and athleticism with almost unnatural ease for her size, and doing so for days on end with tireless stamina. Even with a lack of toning, watch as she climbs a tree or draws her bowstring to witness the wiry muscles flexing beneath the skin of her arms and back, or as she maneuvers and tumbles through the air with her acrobatics. Short horn nubs have grown out the sides of her forehead, not like a whole rack of antlers as some bosmer are known to possess, but regardless does little to comfort strangers to the Bosmeri and their culture. Even her nails seem to grow with a black keratin. Her big elven eyes are as green as the Green she resided in.
Her attire is notably comprised solely of animal-based material, from leather to bone and fur and wool. Stiffened leather is pleated over soft hide as armor, strictly over her forearms as bracer and on her torso (which goes over her normal wraparound top), leaving her arms bare for freedom of movement and comfort. She is far more comfortable this way, worrying only about protecting vital spots when she worries at all as her first line of defense is the distance she puts between herself and her enemies and her second being her acrobatic ability to deftly dodge and weave. Wearing only else but simple pants and leathers boots to protect her shins and knees, she owns too few possessions to properly accessorize beyond the green shawl gifted to her by family, lovingly stitched with the complex embroidery of floral iconography, which she wears wrapped around her neck like a scarf. The most she'll wear in addition to this could be one of countless patterns of war-paint she'll apply, though whether it is made of mud, blood, or some kind of insect's innards might vary.
═══════ P E R S O N A L I T Y ══════
An Imperial scholar by the name of Flaccus Terentius once described the Bosmer with "cheerful ferocity," and there is perhaps no more appropriate description of Venwen's carpe diem attitude. Ask our favorite bosmer what her greatest strengths are and she'd reply not with any of her skills, but her optimism and confidence. Her personality bleeds into her appearance quite a bit considering how she carries herself, so her complex dichotomy of intensity and chipper can-do spirit can catch most people off guard. She asserts herself as a hunter and a predator with a huge grin on her face and relishes in the possibility of conflict like any good adrenaline junkie would, and witnessing such an event has been compared to manic dancing amidst chaos. If you can't help but wonder whether the madness of Sheogorath has taken hold, either rest assured or with great anxiety according to your preference that Venwen is entirely lucid in these cases.
The differences in culture has resulted in many misunderstandings and miscommunications between Venwen and others. Most certainly Venwen, in fact almost specifically Venwen, for the culture inherited from her tribe differs even from greater Valenwood. She is a Green Pact hardliner, holding fast to antiquated traditions as far back as the Second Era such as the consumption of fallen enemies and family members, Mourning Wars, and taking it upon herself the burden of punishing apostates. So while she was raised to live in harmony with nature, violence is as much a part of the natural order as harmony, if not more. Naturally, the young tribal bosmer would be raised to become accustomed to violence and death, and suddenly what came across as sociopathic before begins to look more like a survival instinct. The belief of being returned to the Green to join their kin closes the distance in Venwen's relationship with death, which plays as much a part in nature as life. This cycle, as she sees it, brings her comfort and has made her close friends with death.
A surefire way to get her fuse running, however, would be to call into question her loyalty to the Green, her integrity as a bosmer, and her devotion to her religion. Pride is certainly her greatest vice and would be the most likely culprit of her undoing. As far as she's concerned, she has bled and given up as much as anybody else for the Green Pact to which she's devoted, and she's faithfully adhered to every one of its tenets and mandates. She has come to know and love every inch of the Green as far as she's concerned, and would probably rather die than to live as anything other than a sap-blooded bosmer. She wouldn't go so far as to be violent in the face of insult or disagreement, but it should be known that she is fiercely protective of her homeland and any transgression against it ought to be responded to in kind. There's only been one philosophy that's never failed her in dissuading those who would bring harm to her territory: a bone broken for each twig snapped underfoot.
═══════ B A C K G R O U N D ══════
Y'ffre, the Storyteller, is the Spirit of the Now, and from his Earth Bones came the bosmer. To know origin of the Green Pact is to know the tragedy of the Houndsmen.
Y'ffre, Z'en, and Baan Dar were the three of the Bosmeri pantheon the tribe worshiped most. Y'ffre was their patron deity, Z'en was the God of Toil, and Baan Dar was the trickster spirit of thieves, and as one of the remote tribes of Valenwood, their traditions remained insulated from the influences of the outside world and every bloody facet of the Green Pact was upheld. What made the Houndsmen unique among the tribes however was the addition of their worship of Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt -- and Venwen was one of these wild elves. Their worship of Hircine went as far back as the Second Era, and even through the ups and downs of their tribe with their precarious involvement with Daedra worship, they managed to survive. Most other bosmer acknowledge Hircine if nothing else, for his spirit and influence could be felt in every hunt. While many do not actively seek out his favor, they seek not to upset him lest he decide to starve the bosmer. The Houndsmen Tribe were one of the exceptions who, before each hunt, sung the Invocation of Hircine to guide their arrows into the hearts of their quarries. Venwen was, and still remains, no exception.
She become proficient enough with the use of a bow as a young teen to join her tribe's hunting parties, and it was from this age that she not only tracked down and killed large game, but defended the forest edge from would-be invaders. It is said that to be acknowledged as adequate ranger, that wood elven children are allegedly expected to be able to travel through Valenwood while blindfolded. Venwen claims this to be true, even if for no other person than herself. She'll tell you many tall tales about Valenwood myths and folklore and oftentimes the stories keep on changing, but one she'll always swear by and keep consistent is her claim of practicing for many years to always know her way through Valenwood with her eyes closed. True or not, it is hard to deny his familiarity with the Green and her aptitude for traversing it. It is a little wonder why then she was acknowledged by her tribe as a jaqspur many years younger than the average archer, learning to shoot far distances with a single flowing motion from her quiver to releasing the bowstring. Eventually, the need for a quiver became optional. As any good archer may only need to carry what they can hold in their hand.
Venwen's view on Hircine was like that of the Houndsmen Tribe for many generations prior, that the Huntsman ought to be treated like any beast: respected from a distance. But over the many years of bounding through the grahtwood boughs, she didn't notice the gradual change in her tribe's culture on the ground, where they were slowly offering themselves into the beast's maw. Harmony with nature was no longer at the forefront of their minds, and all else including the Green Pact was becoming secondary to the hunt. Just like in the days of old, the Houndsmen Tribe were reaching another low point in their history as they began to embraced their origins from the Second Era. It might've been spurred on by the development of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Valenwood purges throughout the Green, some of which Venwen had fought against, always ready and able to protect her culture. Thinking back on it now, she might not be able to bring herself to blame them, but they crossed the line when they threw themselves wholly and willingly to the Huntsman's hunger.
When they uttered their words of sacrilege, spoke of their sacred and God-given forms as the shackles of Y'ffre and compared themselves to caged beasts, their final and most blasphemous act of defiance were to desecrate their own bodies with foul and accursed were-touched transformations. Venwen was the sole member of the tribe insulated from the Daedra's influence by the distance she put between herself and any single location. One could say it was because she was so free-spirited that the trappings of a tribe could never tie her down long enough for their influences to take hold. However, now she was presented with an ugly reality and an impossible decision: everyone she's ever been close to had broken the Green Pact, their most sacred oath, and were now apostates. She could turn her back on them and allow them to run rampant and unchecked through Valenwood, or deliver this news to Silvenar and put an end to this madness once and for all.
As Venwen now says, mostly as a deflection, that it wouldn't have made for nearly as exciting a story if she had chosen the former. She returned to Malabal Tor backed by a squad of Vinedusks to hunt down and kill the rest of her tribe. That she is still standing today speaks of her success, but it is not a story that she tells fondly or often. It was her first experience with death that had actually shaken her, and it was because with every werewolf that she dropped, she'd see them returning to normal -- a face that she recognized with a name that she knew, and she could watch the light leave their eyes. It was a pain made even worse with the knowledge that they were going in death where she could not and would not follow. As with any bosmer who broke the pact, they would return to the Ouze, separated from the Earth Bones and the rest of the bosmer for eternity. That was the price they chose to pay in exchange for power.
She had since received an invitation to join the Vinedusk Rangers for her skill, service, and sacrifice for Valenwood and the Green Pact, but after such a painful ordeal, she decided it might've been better for her to leave for a while and explore Tamriel outside of Valenwood. She did intend to return at some point, but only after her heart had healed from what her hands had committed. As hurt as she was, she also felt intense anger and rage, as well as betrayal. To think that her own tribe would go and do something so ridiculous and so stupid that would force her to take the blood-stained burden of responsibility for them was worse than anything she could think of. The thought that she could've been one of them, a traitor to the Green Pact, was beyond her imagination. When she left Valenwood through the northern treeline and took her first steps into Cyrodiil, they were her first steps into a brand new world. A world that'd send her to High Rock, through Skyrim, into Morrowind, and cutting back through Cyrodiil to reach Elsweyr. Only now, after many years of travel, exploration, and adventuring, has Venwen decided that she was ready to return home.
"You call that disembowling? You ladies couldn't disembowl even if you -- oh! God! My bowels!"