Stormyx

Mass Effect: Renegade

@Stormflyx
And I appreciate your effort a lot! I truly do.

The only reason I made this post actually is because I've been talking in PMs with some of the people from your guy's previous group, that expressed concerns about it to me. Agreeing with their points, I felt that I should just address it up front and early so there are no surprises. I believe that everyone actively wants the best for the RP and that everyone wants to write a good story. I just wanted to put it out there so at a later date, if I have to reject an application on this basis, that I feel that I gave a fair warning. Because otherwise I would feel shitty just going nah you can't join because of this or whatever.

It's not intended as an attack or anything. I'm just trying to be as forthright and honest with all of y'all. Because I feel as a GM and as a good person it's my responsibility to at least manage that.

@Xanadu

Aw, well that doesn't make me feel great :( Kinda makes me feel under a bit of a microscope from the get go if I'm honest. That's cool though, and if anyone from those groups wants to talk with me about it I'm always around to reassure them that this is a new page of a new book. I hope that if I have ever given anyone a concern they know they can talk to me about it.

Mass Effect: Renegade

@Xanadu

Speaking on r.e ready-made character since Nairbear is one;

Fair points well made. Having been a player on one end of this situation I certainly strive to be inclusive in my roleplaying style. This means that every iteration of Naryxa gets a change somehow - hence the WIP. Reasons for wanting to play her again - a desire to tell her story. The last two times I have rolled her, the RP has died.

I was just saying to Dervish actually how I'd love to play her for more than three posts! This is a different setting to the last roleplays in which I played her, and the finished sheet will reflect that.

Her personality is also that of being entirely inclusive to others. Overly friendly, loyal, and interested in others. So I can say with confidence that she'll be a fun character in this story, with an arc/relationships etc relative to Renegade from the get-go.

Mass Effect: Renegade

Naryxa WIP

_{N A R Y X A K E S I R
⟁ 281 ⟁ Mono ⟁ Asari ⟁ Adept}

_{A P P E A R A N C E}

---

Typical of her race, Naryxa’s skin tone is a light and muted lilac, her scalp crests taking a much deeper shade of blue towards the tips with the colour seemingly applied in a pattern. She has smatterings of white freckles that frame her forehead, temples, and her cheeks. These freckles help to highlight each individual crest. They also happen to travel down the back of her neck and spine, should one be so lucky to see them. She stands tall and proud at 5'9" and weighs approximately 142lbs.

During her fleeting time as a commando, Naryxa, like many other young Asari mercenaries, took facial tattoos. The bright red, drastic patterning above her eyebrows is always eye-catching to others, especially so when set against her amber coloured eyes. She chooses to further draw attention to the bold colour by painting her lips in a similar shade. The tribal-like curved style and contrasting colour choice gives her an overall sensual appearance on her face, and can appear dominating to some.

Naryxa usually radiates a warm glow when she smiles that puts people at ease rather quickly and disarms feelings of hesitation. It is said that a true smile is given from the eyes, and hers absolutely glow with joy and add to her charm. She carries the same reassuring sincerity in her smile that so many fellow Asari do. That said, her demeanour can quickly shift from that to something more stern when something has displeased her, and the same eyes can become almost feline in their piercing gaze when required.

She has an enviably full and voluptuous feminine figure that years of dancing has given her. When not in armour, Naryxa wears light and loose fitting clothing - opting for a blend of comfort, fashion, and functionality. She is not particularly vain and is relaxed about her appearance, paying little attention to whether or not a garment is expensive. The only exception to this is when she goes out at night, she will wear heavy eye make-up, bright lipsticks, and revealing dresses.

_{B A C K G R O U N D}

---

Naryxa was born in 1898 to an Asari councilwoman, Vaessa Kesir, and a Salarian plant biologist male, Gurok Teran. Naryxa was closest to her father, living with him for her first 22 years, until he passed away at the age of 41. This was not to say that Naryxa did not also love and spend time with her mother. Quite the opposite, she loved her mother deeply but understood that her mother’s position on the council was important, particularly with the ongoing difficulties with the Geth and Quarians that was beginning during the early years of her childhood. Vaessa worked hard during her Matriarch years at the Citadel, and Gurok’s scientific work happened to have brought him to the Citadel - where for the sake of his daughter, he chose to live out his elder years. Teaching Naryxa about plant biology, the planets in the Milky Way, and of planet geography and weather patterns. All of the knowledge that her father gave her, has served her well throughout her entire life.

Saddened by her father’s death, at 22, Naryxa finally left the Citadel on an adventure of her own. Her father had created a dossier for her, listing some of the most beautiful and remarkable plants in the galaxy that could be found on different planets. Armed with the dossier and her mother’s approval, Naryxa jumped from ship-to-ship, hitchhiking her way through the galaxy to see each plant on the list.

Every so often, a plant that she would tick off would unlock a video from her father with a message about the plant, and some words of affirmation for his daughter. Many of his metaphors and words of wisdom are ones that she repeats to herself and others in difficult times. Suddenly, this journey with the dossier became a pilgrimage of sorts - and at each stop, Naryxa found herself engaging with the communities and people, developing, learning, and educating. Spreading her father’s research to the furthest reaches. After 9 and a half years, and 885 plants had been ticked off, Naryxa’s journey was done. Her father had planned out this journey for his daughter, so that she may have more years with him - and more memories that he could never have given her during his short life.

Naryxa then returned to the Citadel, and began working on scientific papers about her journey. For a while, this sustained her, but soon she found herself growing bored and wishing for a new adventure to embark on. Strangely, she found herself drawn, as many Maiden Asari do, to become an exotic dancer - to break free from the shackles of society and live out a life of social interaction on the fringes. So she did this, much to Vaessa’s chagrin. She danced her way around the Milky Way for over 80 years. She saw people come and go, friendships grow and flourish and then wither away almost just as quickly. It was during these years that she indulged in her first romantic relationship with another Asari, Valeen.

Their relationship lasted over 30 years, before Valeen’s lack of ambition seemed to put a wedge between the two. Naryxa was growing bored again, looking for something new - but Valeen enjoyed dancing too much to give it up. Surprisingly, the pair split in an amicable fashion - neither party sad and melancholic over the end of the relationship, but instead grateful and appreciative of the time they had spent together. After all, for many in the Galaxy, a relationship spanning 30 years was practically a lifetime. Naryxa once again found herself back at the Citadel. It was almost like the Citadel was the starting point for each chapter in her life.

She reached out to her mother for advice - who, finally ready to instill her own wisdom to her daughter, suggested that now would be a good time for her to start putting more effort into studying and honing her biotic prowess, commenting that Naryxa came from a good line of strong biotics, while also lamenting her strong disappointment that it was something Naryxa had not really dedicated any time to so far in her life.

So, off Naryxa went to Thessia, to finally dedicate herself full time to train under Matriarchs in Biotics. She found it off-putting and embarrassing that so many of her fellow students were younger than her - practically babies. What made her more uncomfortable was how little they seemed to care, how they were so disorganised and unwilling to follow rules. To make her mother proud, she did it. She studied, and studied, and practiced for many years. Naryxa’s natural talent and determination meant that she mastered the arts relatively quickly - excelling with her Singularity and Pull. The Matriarchs were happy to give her a small role in mentoring younger Asari in the basics. During this time, she taught the young Asari to meditate and tried to teach them to be graceful and elegant, and in methods to calm their emotions. When they had had their fill of that, she took to teaching them about plants, geography, and weather patterns, using her father’s dossier of course. She made sure that the new ‘students’ of biotics were whipped into shape. She developed a little bit of a reputation for being bossy... And she actually quite liked it.

Once more, as had happened before, Naryxa grew bored and tired and longed for something else. Now armed with her powerful biotics, she jumped at the chance to work as a mercenary. She spent a small number of years traveling with her unit of Asari commandos, working her way up the ranks. The thrill of battle was exciting, and leading others filled her with satisfaction - but still her ambition was sitting in her chest - bringing her discomfort. There had to be something more than this in the galaxy.

The year was now 2125CE, she had reached the age of 227 in what felt like a heartbeat, her life already so colourful and full of experiences. She received a communication from her mother, that she would be traveling as a council ambassador to Parnack to open diplomatic contact with the yahg. This contact did not go as was planned by the council, and Vaessa was just one of the Ambassadors who perished in the conflict. As Asari do, Naryxa was able to look at her mother's passing without being too overcome with pain, to think too long on what had happened only brought her distress - to imagine her mother being brutally slaughtered was not how she wanted her to be remembered. Her mother had led a long and beautiful life, had achieved her goals and ambitions in life, and had been an important fixture of the Asari council throughout her Matriarch years. Vaessa had successfully passed on that zest for success to her only daughter.

Now completely parent-less, [----]

During this time of recovery, she chose to stay away from mercenary missions, and the familiar comfort of researching and studying in labs - as well as more frequent meditation and the study of Yoga was enough to help her manage the condition. Slowly over time she began to heal.

It was at this time in her life that she was hoping for a quiet period of reflection, and so she chose to delve back into her scientific pursuits. Naryxa began researching the effects of biotic boosting narcotics (red sand - and others) alongside the Citadel’s medical scientists. While working here, she met a human Doctor, Aaron Swan - with whom she began a purely sexual relationship. She hadn't encountered or formed many deep connections with humans and he was truly enthralled by her, something which brought her a lot of joy. Their 'friends with benefits' arrangement lasted a number of months until it seemed that Aaron was growing more fond of her than she was of him, and she had to break off the tryst to save making their workplace awkward and uncomfortable for themselves and their colleagues.

_{S K I L L S}

---

One could say that there are two sides to Naryxa - a human friend once lamented that the Asari must be a Gemini. Truthfully, she just keeps a very balanced approach to life. While working on a task, in the field and on missions, she is calm under pressure, methodical, and organised. She absolutely requires her strong work ethic to be reciprocated by those she works with, and acts with dedication using a direct and honest manner of communication. Growing up with a Salarian father meant that she, from early childhood, has been used to working at an extremely fast pace. This has served her well, as she is able to think on the fly and make logical decisions at the drop of a hat.

She will often have sage words of wisdom and advice for those she grows close to, speaking in poetic metaphors. When in conversation, Naryxa listens with an intensity and enjoys making people feel special and heard. She tries to view all experiences with a gratefulness - even if it takes her some introspective thinking to reach that point.

- Natural biotic/experienced combatant
- Good leadership skills, focused
- Charming persona, calming energy, good mediator, networker
- Skilled scientist/biologist

_{E Q U I P M E N T}

---

M-5 Phalanx

Preferred weapon of choice

M-15 Vindicator

Tends to use less, and would rather a pistol. Uses when in a tight skirmish and needs fast fire.

Magenta Asari light armour

_{A B I L I T I E S}

---

Singularity
Pull
Shockwave
Nova

_{P S Y C H P R O F I L E}

---

She believes that order must be followed in order for the best outcomes in any situation, and she does her best to adhere to that, putting business first. While very professional in her work - and unafraid to say what must be said, Naryxa is rarely vindictive or mean, and is especially pragmatic and constructive.

Then there is the true side to the Asari - the yin to the yang! Many (usually non-Asari) find Naryxa to be aloof upon first impression, this is merely a byproduct of her age and maturity - past the initial serious surface is a warm and caring individual, who is nurturing and gentle towards those around her.

Despite teaching in meditation and mindfulness - she is not without her own faults and weaknesses, and sometimes finds trouble in managing her own emotions. She can be prone to suffering temporary moments of depression and deep sadness but can usually overcome this by spending time alone and re-energising herself. Failure affects her, and she has a tendency to carry the burden of failure on her shoulders alone, such a strong need for perfection and order is just part of what makes her take it harder when things aren’t perfect, often blaming herself. Naryxa is a great networker who enjoys meeting others, but has strong opinions against nepotism, and is likely to clash with anyone who takes shortcuts through life.

Having such an ambitious personality, and a constant need for improvement makes her restless from time to time. Because of this she is prone to acting on impulse as a way to feed her desires and need for change. She can get bored easily, and has little patience for a lot of activities that are enjoyed by others - such as board games and movies. She will occasionally try to enjoy such activities as a means of bonding with others, but it's really just not her style, and she's at peace with that.

She can be passionate and geeky when it comes to certain subjects, like her scientific studies and she will definitely lecture her peers about plants if given any opportunity to. Whether this is annoying or endearing remains to be seen, but she always does so with a smile on her face and with an infectious spirit that is rare to pull from within her in any other way. She has a slight ditzy-ness about her that has given her an unintentional sense of humour.

_{T R A I T S}

---

Charismatic
Focussed
Intelligent

Emotional
Perfectionist
Impulsive

_{V I C E S}

---

Cat Fancier

She really likes cats. As in she really likes cats and dreams of owning several one day. This love of the Earthern creature came from her many visits to Earth, she recognised how special and majestic the animals were, and would always arrange her schedule on Earth to allow her some time with felines. Until that day, she keeps a folder of over 300 cat images on her own terminal, with a sub-folder 'catsinclothes'. It’s not the best kept secret, she’s rather careless with her technology and even a novice hacker could access her activities and find out more about her strangely eccentric hobby.

Promiscuous

She is incredibly open when it comes to matters of companionship - and has been accused of being overly flirtatious and promiscuous (impulsive tendencies) more than once. She is simply like many Asari, a free spirit who enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, the chase, and connecting with others in as many ways as she can. She is not ashamed of this side of her personality, and while she is not openly lewd and deliberately raunchy with her colleagues, she doesn't feel the need to lie about or hide her enjoyment of nocturnal activities. Naryxa will very rarely engage in these spontaneous activities with colleagues, unless there is a deeper connection there - stating that she would rather not complicate her work environment with no-strings sex; explaining in a far less poetic manner, "don't shit where you eat."

_{H A U N T}

---

Kitchen/Personal Quarters

_{D R I V E}

---

Mass Effect: Renegade

I have an Asari

.... Hi btw

Storm's Vault

<sup>excerpts of things I like, character sheets, poetry, occasional artwork

Themes/things I enjoy writing:
Emotions and their deeper meanings
Exploring emotions with colour // synesthesia
Found family themes
Consequence for power
chronic pain through body horror exploration
Overcoming adversity
Non-toxic masculinity // men written by women
Conversational pieces</sup>

The Elder Scrolls

Raelynn Hawkford - Vengeance of the Deep

Name: Raelynn Hawkford
Race: Breton
Sex: Female
Age: 28
Family Origins: Daggerfall, High Rock - born and bred
Birthsign: The Mage
Playlist

________________________________

Appearance:

Commissioned Art

________________________________

Raelynn is short of height with a waifish figure. She has no scars, something that surprises her - that she has made it to 28 and never received a scar. Her skin is mostly still smooth and soft, a result of having lived a good life with access to oils and herbs that keep one looking beautiful. In recent years she has found that she has begun to weather, but her face shows the subtle and very early signs of aging, lines appear when she makes certain expressions, something that she absolutely abhors.

Unlike the rest of her body, her lips stand out for being full. She has a round, soft face, with high cheekbones. Her ears have that slight signature pointed tip and her eyebrows are arched - both signal to her Elvish ancestry. She has large steel blue eyes, which stand out against her light skin. Her eyes are expressive and to find out how she is feeling, one would only need to look at her eyes to see them bright with happiness, wide with fear, or an eyebrow pointed and raised in disgust.

She keeps her waist length hair tied tightly into braids, with only a few strands framing her face. Raelynn treasures her hair, and keeps it groomed with oils and floral essences at all times. The colour is that of her family - a cool ash blonde.

She wears embroidered mage robes (she never did like the plain clothing required of her to wear at the College). She will wear clothes that are either black, violet, or lavender in hue. She does not always dress in mages robes, and will sometimes dress down into more casual attire. Even her 'casual attire' is more colourful and ornate than others. To Raelynn, looking the part of a Lady is important. She is rarely seen without a jeweled headpiece.

________________________________

Equipment:
[Items kept in a tasteful and fashionable satchel style bag]
Decorative Steel Shortsword
Two Steel Daggers
Small cloth pouch full of dried blue mountain flowers, lavender sprigs, and other flowers
Small knife to harvest plants
3 x Lockpicks
Destruction spell scrolls
Scroll of Chain Lightning
Scroll of Ice Storm
Scroll of Mass Paralysis
Exploding Shock Spider

She always has a pouch full of gold, and tries to carry at least a couple of hundred septims. (218 septims currently)
3 Magicka potions

Misc. Possessions:
She has her notebook filled with her healing tricks and tips, and a journal which she writes in at the end of each day, documenting her whole life and journey for the day she finally sits down to write her memoirs and healing books. This is her secret journal, and she would hate for anyone to read it. Often pouring out her true feelings onto the parchment - whether those feelings are good or bad.

The only other thing she carries is a letter from her parents, wishing her well at the College of Winterhold. Despite being fond of fine things, she travels on a shoestring and only keeps what is absolutely necessary on her person - the rest she keeps in a locked trunk at the College of Winterhold, or has sent to her parents for them to keep safe.

________________________________

Family and Associations:
- Salosoix Hawkford - Father (Alive)
- Roxada Hawkford - Mother (Alive)
- Colette Marence - Teacher/Mentor (Alive)
- College of Winterhold - Ex-Student

________________________________

Favoured Skills:

Highly Proficient:

Restoration: She is an impressive healer, and chooses to use only curative magic - save for the few conjurative spells she keeps up her sleeve for sticky situations.

Alchemy: Healing Knowledge. Raelynn has an advanced knowledge of the various plants and other items that are found throughout Tamriel that can provide healing qualities. She is also skilled with treating wounds that cannot be directly healed with magic. She enjoys brewing herbal teas which have been known to revitalise and 'perk up' some of her fellow adventurers. An 'experimenter', Raelynn has been pioneering her own methods of healing - studying into the mind and mental ailments and ways in which to ease the symptoms through 'alternative' treatments like massage, stretching, and supplements.

Moderately Proficient:

Conjuration: She very rarely uses these spells, and will only do so if she herself is in immediate danger, saving her Magicka for restorative purposes.

Lockpicking: She taught herself to pick through locks to get to the more interesting books in the library of the College. Now, she practices lock picking to find and pocket the best treasures in the dungeons and crypts she has found herself in.

Somewhat Proficient:

Dual-Weapons: Raelynn uses twin daggers together to defend herself if need be. She is not an intimidating size, and so will generally only rely on her daggers if she is in absolute immediate danger and can get the upper hand. (Being small and thin sometimes has a speed advantage.)

________________________________

Spell List:
Fast Healing
Healing Hands
Greater Ward
Heal Other
Close Wounds

Conjure Familiar

________________________________

History:
Born in Daggerfall, High Rock, to wealthy parents. Two respected Breton merchants and traders of exquisite antiquities. Her mother, Roxada, was an excellent craftswoman too - she made the most beautiful clothing for the ladies of High Rock - embellishing gowns with jewels and coloured threads. She had tried to teach her daughter the ways of her craft, but Raelynn had other ideas - she just wanted to dress in the gowns and would rather read books and listen to her father's stories about all of the hidden artifacts around Tamriel - about the magical items and hidden caches of gold littered throughout the provinces.

Raelynn had a comfortable upbringing. She never went without luxuries like great food, fashionable attire, and beautiful jewelry. This is the lifestyle that she grew accustomed too. One day, her Father was holding a golden crown that he had procured for a Lord to present to his Lady somewhere in High Rock. She wasn't really listening, she was too transfixed by the shimmering diamonds set into the crown. Everything fell silent when she gazed upon the treasure. At one point, she even licked her lips. Nothing compared to when she actually held it in her hands. She felt... Power. Her eyes were big as she stared at it, seeing her reflection in those flawless diamonds. She wanted nothing more than to have 100 of these crowns to herself. Her poor Father had to prize it from her hands - when she wasn't holding it anymore she felt an emptiness inside. Suddenly she didn't care what she had to do, how many people she had to climb over and stomp on to get it, she was going to have treasures like this of her own one day.

At night, Raelynn would read books on Tamriel, reading about great mages throughout history who had done amazing things, and of adventurers who fought down beasts and enemies to attain magical prizes, and of the hidden secrets scattered through the world. She wanted to be an adventurer, but she didn't really want to get her hands dirty - or put herself front and centre in battle.

Eventually her parents grew tired of her spoilt ways; and perhaps they both sensed that Raelynn also desired for more. Roxada and Salosoix were frustrated. They had an intelligent daughter with aspirations - that they had spent too long coddling and looking after to the point where she would quite happily stay in the family home forever. It was not an ideal situation - the couple had their own plans for the future too and it was very clear that Raelynn was not going to be taking over either of their businesses any time soon. Not to mention that Salosoix was finding it increasingly more difficult to keep his daughter's mitts off his artifacts. She knew how to press her father, and push his buttons into giving her what she wanted. They were left with no choice, no choice but to shift her out and into the real world.

They wanted to give her a gentle push in the right direction. The two concocted a plan; they spoke with their friends and found that among their circle of acquaintances, there was a couple in a similar financial situation to them with a son named Lazenne. He wasn't the most attractive or interesting young Breton in Daggerfall. So for that reason, he was perfect. There would be no way that their daughter would wed him, and so it might be the trick to getting her out - to get off her backside and to finally be independent and follow her own path - and more importantly it would seem to her like she was choosing her new life and that she had gotten one over on her parents.

When Raelynn met Lazenne, she laughed hysterically in his face. The poor boy had actually thought he was getting himself a prize wife too. There was no way she would be married to such a... weakling. So, following the natural inclination of her race to wield magic, she was finally prompted to request to join a newly 'reformed' Daggerfall Mages Guild when she came of age to begin learning the art of curative and restorative magic.

She had been feeling that this Guild was not for her, and instead chose to leave her home of High Rock forever and attend the College of Winterhold in Skyrim to study her chosen discipline even further (her parents were overjoyed! They would at last have their home to themselves again!) During her time as an apprentice of the College, she faced teasing from her peers for sticking solely to Restorative magic. This made her choose a secondary discipline of magic to study and she chose Conjuration.

She made a friend of sorts in Collete Marence at the College, although Collete did find her quite offputting and brash - and could sense that Raelynn's ulterior motives were not so squeaky clean. She was clearly very talented at her craft, and intelligent too, and it's not as if young mages were flocking to the College in droves to learn how to be healers, so Collete continued to mentor her, trying her best to teach the Breton to be softer, more honest, more sincere.

As with her growing boredom of the Mages Guild, Raelynn got bored of the libraries and four walls of the College after some years. She grew tired of the bitter cold, the terribly plain food, and the putrid smells which wafted through the corridors and congregated in her chamber of all places. She began to dream of practicing her magic out in the field, going on adventures and making gold. With the blessing of Colette Marence, she left the College to travel the rest of Skyrim.

She found herself frustrated on her travels. Adventurers didn't pay her all that much for her magic, nor did they ever seem to want to share the spoils. She had to think of something else. She had to take matters into her own hands when those she traveled with didn't get any injuries for her to heal or even want to split anything with her. After all, if she didn't have to patch someone up then she definitely wouldn't be getting paid...

So began her stint of treating adventurers who would stumble into taverns with wounds and ailments. First she would ply them with alcohol and sweeten them up with her charm. She found she was especially successful and buttering up loud and clumsy Nord men. How they loved her petite frame and mane of golden hair. Once they had gotten sufficiently wrapped around her finger, she found it much easier to get them to empty their pockets to her...

During these years, she picked up a few new skills from those she travelled with. Until this point in her life she had not really had a need to learn any offensive combat skills. A traveling companion quickly told her that while a spell may keep disease at bay, a dagger or two hidden inside a cloak is likely to save her life.

In dungeons and crypts, she would always place herself between the two largest members of the party - the ones that would best be able to defend her. She got used to sizing up new comrades. Finding the weakest link in the chain. Spotting the clumsier ones - they were to be avoided. She could also pick out the ones who were most likely to suss her out. It was usually other women.

There was a few times when she found herself in dire situations in the middle of an adventure. One such time stood out to her. Her party became surrounded by Draugr, and something enchanted the room, preventing them from using their Magicks. Surrounded by eight Draugr, she backed up to the wall and let the party fight. The best she could do was throw a rock at the smallest Draugr. She had no use of magic, so could not call upon her familiar to do her bidding. She had been buttering up the Axe-Wielding Nord the night before they entered the crypt - and so the absolute fool got himself in a lick of trouble to stop a bigger Draugr from making a kebab of Raelynn.

The Nord stopped the attack, his armour absorbing the hit but Raelynn heard bones crunching and they didn't belong to the Draugr - she could see that the Nord's shoulder had popped out of place. His adreneline stopped him from noticing right away and he made a mess of the Draugr, before turning to Raelynn with a smile. She was surprised he didn't come out with a "M'lady" for good measure. After that the magicka came back, and she summoned the familiar - but it was quite a bit too late. The Draugr had been bested, and now she had to put her skills to the test to get the Nord back up and running.

She firmly held his upper arm with her tiny hands, placing her heel into his side. She wasn't a strong woman by any means, but she could work with muscle and bone with ease. It was just like slotting something back into place. She told the Nord to count to ten - and on five she pushed and clicked his shoulder back into it's socket with ease. He absolutely felt it. Then came the "M'lady".

During the time of the rise of the Dragonborn, Raelynn found herself amongst the aftermath of dragon attacks rather frequently. She would come across the bodies of the burnt. The sight of their armour that had melded to their skin gave them the appearance of steel men, of crumbled statues. There was nothing she could do help them. Some of the scenes she witnessed absolutely traumatised her, giving her an intense fear of fire and flames. She tries to keep this a secret from those she meets, for fear of showing any weakness and vulnerability.

Following the death of the Dragonborn, and the sacking of Windhelm, Skyrim seemed such a quieter place, she felt almost like she had turned over every stone there. It bored her. In 4E208, she set off on her travels. Her destination of choice was Cyrodiil. For her, it was an unexplored and thus untapped province of Tamriel. Besides, how could she not yet have set foot in the famous Imperial City - a place of great wealth. She had brought with her plenty of gold - excited after such a long time of wearing Skyrim furs and long coats, to get her hands on some new embellished light cloaks...

________________________________

Personality:
To strangers, Raelynn would seem soft spoken and friendly. This is all part of a more questionable mirage to lure in those who would need her help. As a Healer she swore an oath to heal those who were suffering with disease and injuries - and she treats those who come to her with empathy, understanding, and great respect... If they can afford it.

She is incredibly manipulative and calculating in order to get what she wants. She wasn't always this way - at least not so much so. She can weigh people up on the fly, sensing just enough about them to decipher how she should act. Living and traveling in Skyrim of all places has shown her that everyone is out to obtain something, no matter how they present themselves on the outside… Every interaction that she has is pre-calculated, motivated, and for her own gain - to take her one step closer to her goals. The Breton has a remarkable talent at being whoever you want her to be...

Raelynn knows that her value as a healer and her level of skill in the art is worth a lot of gold, jewels, and other rare treasures. After all, what is more valuable to the average man than being able to live another day? Definitely not what he looted on his last adventure, the very trinket that he got injured for.

When she becomes more comfortable around people, she will begin to drop her initial honey-sweet and fake facade, allowing her temper, harsh personality, and snobbishness to appear. She will often become passionate in her speech. In her life, Raelynn has only met a small handful of individuals who have been able to really get past the walls she has so cunningly built around herself. These are usually the people who call her out on her schemes, and are the very few who see through her. She has a somewhat endearing lack of self-awareness and this has found her in spells of trouble, she will frequently accidentally offend other people with her lack of tact and sharp tongue.

She can be impatient and hot-headed, and will scold those she travels with for errors of judgement, even though she is not the kind of person who would step in to prevent them in the first place. She relies on those 'less fortunate' than herself to do the dirty work on excursions. After all, why should she dirty up a robe when the Nord in front is more than willing to do it to win her favour?

Ultimately, Raelynn is on her own journey to fulfill her desire for adventure and to gain power and riches beyond that of normal men, she wants her name to be in books - she wants to be remembered as Royalty. To live as a mere peasant? She would rather die.

________________________________

Miscellaneous:

Raelynn is a terrible, terrible, terrible drunk. Being so small means that even the smallest of amounts of wine, or Nord Ale are enough to tip her over the edge.

She doesn’t care much for animals - and doesn’t understand why people keep them as pets.

She loves all precious jewels almost equally - but the rare and valuable diamond is her favourite. An old companion of Raelynn’s once lamented that “diamonds are Raelynn’s best friend”. She didn’t disagree.

Enjoys Lavender Dumplings, Elsweyr Fondue, and Pheasant Roast.

Fjolte Dhjarikson - Vengeance of the Deep

Name: Fjolte ‘the Fabler’ Dhjarikson
Race: Nord
Sex: Male
Age: 31
Birthsign: The Steed
Family Origins: Nordic - Rorikstead - Skyrim

_________________

Appearance:

Standing proud at 6’5”, Fjolte is tall even by Nord standards. He is well built too, years of keeping himself physically fit has given him a well muscled body. He is absolutely solid, and stays this way by practicing his martial arts, and with acrobatic acts as part of a regular morning routine. He has a typically strong jawline for his race, gifted to him by his father. His eyes are ocean blue and of a thin almond shape. Were it not for his constant smile, they might appear to be intense and overly piercing. He has several thin scars across his face, most noticeably over his forehead, and a diagonal scar across his cheek.

He has bronze brown hair that he keeps trimmed shorter at the sides than on top, and styled with a quick comb each day. Little else is needed. He does not let it grow much longer than this. He keeps his beard trimmed more as subtle stubble under his lower lip to his chin, and over his jawline.

For such a sturdy man, Fjolte has a soft air around him, and a warm smile that could light up a room and is infectious. His fun and easy-going personality takes over his appearance at times and he is not in the least bit intimidating. That said, when it comes to matters of the heart - and when it comes to protecting his friends or standing up for his beliefs, then it can all melt away in a second, and glimpses of Fjolte ‘The Slayer’ can slip through quite easily. These times are extremely rare, and it pains him to ever have to get serious enough to have to rely on pure intimidation.

Fjolte chooses to dress casually in light armour at all times. Opting for a simple cotton waistcoat jacket lined with crows feathers around the neck - were it not for the two polished silver brooch buttons studded with blue quartz, it wouldn’t be remarkable at all. It is absolutely not typical of Nord fashion, and he actually had the jacket made in Elsewyr from a an old cotton shirt of his, and the feathers were collected by Fjolte from the top of a mountain in a nest which he climbed as part of his training with the Whispering Fang monks. The jacket is a reminder of his journey, and thus, is one of his most prized possessions and he feels honoured to wear it.

He has a tattoo over his left shoulder, travelling down his entire chest to his waist. A tribal/abstract depiction of a bird in flight.

Personality:
A braggadocious shit talker. This is how you would describe Fjolte upon first impression. Over the years he has managed to adopt a personality of pure arrogance and overconfidence. He has spent much of his recent years as the de facto leader of his ever changing band of misfits, and this has given him cause to act in such a way - he is an entertaining, charismatic young man who doesn’t take life too seriously, but can’t resist embellishing his achievements to those who will listen. Those who take him at the face value are very often proved completely wrong, given enough time.

He is very extroverted, and finds it natural and easy to communicate with others from all walks of life. The interest that he has in others is genuine and well-meaning, almost to a fault – he can often become too involved problems and his trait of empathy means that sometimes he will mistakenly carry other people's problems and make them his own. More often than not, putting his trust in others has helped them become better people in the end. To help people is something he sees as his duty in life. With that said, he will never push at people when they are not ready, and he knows that some people are beyond his help, by his nature he is not overbearing.

Fjolte can at times be too sensitive, it’s easy for him to take things to heart and feel others problems when that aren’t his own, getting lost in trying to fix them, worrying if he is doing enough. His self esteem has a tendency to eb and flow too, with constant worrying of whether he can live up to his ideals. It hits him especially hard if he fails in a task, more so if it was something meaningful and sentimental in nature. As someone who values relationships and friendship over most things in life, Fjolte finds it near impossible to make tough decisions, especially if he is against the clock, he gets too caught up in weighing up potential consequences that he misses the chance to take action.

Of course, he is incredibly flirtatious, using his charisma to win him over with members of the opposite sex. He takes great pleasure in getting to know new people, and his charisma makes it easy for him to work his way into the lives of those he meets, whether that is in a large or small capacity. He leaves an impression. That’s not to say that he can’t act the dashing rogue to impress however - often reading his would-be suitor and changing his approach on the fly. He loves love, and will do just about anything for it, and hey, if it can’t be love - he’ll take the pleasure too.

Overall, Fjolte is incredibly charismatic- even if that is quite easily read as cockiness, getting to know him reveals his deeper layers. He has endless energy and a vivid imagination which he puts to good use in his storytelling, and of course he cares very deeply about those he travels with, placing time spent with people forming connections and developing relationships as being more important than the task and mission at hand.

---

Equipment:
*Specialist leather fingerless gauntlets.
*Red hand wraps that he wears wrapped around his waist, as a belt when not in use
*Light armour in the form of a crow-feather lined jacket, loose cropped pants with fur trims, and leather boots.
*A leg guard on his left leg to power his kicks.
*Steel Nordic Warhammer - Faithkeeper
*Several necklaces

Misc. Possessions:
* A copper prayer bell
* Incense cones
* A pouch of 'herbs'
* A smoking pipe
* Sleeping Tree Sap
* Coin purse with 84 septims

---

Family and Associations:
*Berek Dhjarikson - Father - Alive
*Yvka Dhjarikson - Mother - Alive
*Helga Dhjarikson - Sister - Alive
*Honon the Fat - Brother-in-Law - Alive
*Astrid and Risica - Nieces - Alive
*Merna Antanius - Sister - Deceased
*Raelynn Hawkford - Friend/ex-Lover - Alive
*Daro’Vasora - ex-companion - Alive

---

Favoured Skills:
Highly Proficient -
Hand-to-Hand

Fighting Style

Whispering Fang - Quick and deadly jabs, swift on his feet, uses his environment to turn the tide of a fight. Fjolte was taught as much of this method as he could learn by Khajiit monks in Elsewyr. His Nord physique made it impossible to fully adopt, since the style relies heavily on the use of the Khajiit’s claws and tail. It was his first foray into Hand-to-Hand style, and became the skeleton to develop his own…

Singing Fist - Using breathing techniques, Fjolte moves defensively to wear out his opponent, powering up his punch to land on specific parts of the body to inflict the most damage and take the least stamina from himself. He doesn’t believe that you should hurt anyone more than is necessary, and his deadly Singing Fist can knock down an opponent in a single hit if he lands it at a particular spot. This technique was developed in High Hrothgar after meditating with the Greybeards, it is perfectly aligned to his body and unique to him.

Steel Fist - Another of his own creations, similar to Singing Fist, but far more offensive and aggressive. He makes use of heavy punches and low kicks, wearing his opponents down by delivering punches to the body and heavy low kicks as well as elbow and knee strikes. This stance places him closer to his opponent, relying more on strikes unlike with his Singing Fist which is very acrobatic and places him away.

Speech

Moderately Proficient
Acrobatics
2H (Warhammer)

Somewhat Proficient
Athletics

---

History:

BASED ON A TRUE STORY - Some of the events in this tale may have been dramatised for effect, and some may be entirely untrue.

I was once a warrior.

A man on a mission for blood like most Nords. I was raised with that warriors spirit. The Spitfire of Skyrim they called me, and even as a tiny tot I was swinging an axe. Of course, back then it was made of some flimsy wood. My father made it for me to play with and keep me occupied in an attempt to stop me from terrorising my sisters and mother while he was away. It wasn’t until I was 5 that I was given my first real axe! I know what you’re thinking, that’s a little old - you’d be correct. Anyway I looked after that weapon as if it were part of me, I chopped all of the firewood for my mother, took care of any rogue creatures that found their way onto our farm... You know, just regular Nord behaviour. I was a large and stocky child and so I was a trusted and vital part of our family unit - I was getting into work as soon as I could possibly do it. I’m a provider you see.

But here is where my story gets interesting… You might want to dim the lights and get real close for this… So I have two sisters - older. Absolute Hagravens the two of them. Helga and Merna, twins! They have 10 years on me, so as you can imagine when I was young they’d already become hormonal and tempestuous as women do. Like I said, Hagravens. Banshees. Demons. But, I did love them and they loved me too. Once I was around 11 years of age I had to protect them from unwanted attention and the like, they were at the marriage age and they had their fair amount of suitors. Us Dhjarikson’s are known for our looks you see. Helga and Merna didn’t really possess any kind of talent or propensity for anything of substance, if you ask me they were both a little bit spoilt and had never lifted one of their delicate little fingers to help in any meaningful way.

Hold up, I may have gotten ahead of myself. You can back up a little - get the lights back up. I need to tell you something else first.

So I was around 11 when I genuinely took up the art of the Two-Handed combat seriously. I trained under my father Berek who was known as a fearsome warrior throughout Rorikstead and the surrounding areas. I loved the weight and feel of a real Nordic Warhammer, and so that was what I trained with. He was a true blue Nord man of honour, and a damn good father too, cared about us all. I couldn’t have asked for better parents if I had tried. Sure, my mother would take her belt off and give me a hiding if I was being a young scamp, which was often… But she loved us. What I’m trying to sell here is a good family upbringing. You’re getting that aren’t you? Good.

So, by 16 I was off trekking with my father - we adventured together and I’ll be honest, it was some of the best times of my life. Cave crawling with ol’ Berek. Brings a tear to my eye to think about it now. I think we take for granted moments like those when we’re in them, it’s not until after the fact that we see them for what they were and find the real beauty. Anyway, I’m getting carried away. I have a tendency to do that… So I like to call this period of my life “The Good Times”. Father and I were making decent coin on hunts and the like, bonding as father and son only can. Must have lasted for about 4 years. 4 years of utter, violent bliss.

By that point, Helga and Merna had both married, Helga bore 2 daughters - my nieces! Astrid and Risica! Two beautiful little girls too, and boy did I spoil them rotten. Bought them all kinds of gifts, would visit and tell them my stories. They love their Uncle Fjolte, let me tell you. It helps that Helga is an amazing cook and she’d put on these huge feasts for our family which allowed us all to get together and reminisce about the old days and make new memories. I still remember Astrid trying her first ale at 8! Helga’s husband was a hell of a man too, he’d join us on hunts sometimes. If you think I’m big… Well, you should have seen Honon the Fat. I said that Helga was a good cook right? Well, yes she was and I suspect that’s why Honon just kept growing and growing and growing. He couldn’t get enough, and you know what? I think Helga loved him more for it. Anyway his appetite was for food and not violence and so he stopped travelling with us after a time. Stayed at home to raise his children. Now there was that unfortunate incident where he did spring a trap in a cave and lost an arm - but no, I don’t think that’s why he stopped.

But Merna… Well her husband was a rake of a man. Lean, with sharp features and dark, gaunt eyes. I don’t know what she saw in him. Oh and get this, he was an Imperial. I know. I know... But we let her do what she wanted. His name was Venato. You’re right, what kind of a name is that? I asked that question myself a few times. What I will say about Imperial’s though - on the whole they’re brave and honourable, right? Well this bastard wasn’t. He was a coward. I think he had been sickly as a child and just grew up without a spine. None of it made sense to me, anyway he wanted to take his wife back to Cyrodiil to meet his family. This is when it gets dark…

So, Merna was 30, had been married to Venato for about 5 years and yet only then did he think it was time to take her to Cyrodiil… I don’t know it made little sense to me at the time. So, he took her and we just… Never heard from her again, no letters, no updates - nothing. Something wasn’t right. My father travelled to Bruma to find her. We were all so worried - it had been months without a word, and I already explained how close of a unit we were, didn’t I? As it turned out, Merna and Venato were raided by bandits on the way to Bruma and she was kidnapped. That damned coward never told us, never fought for her, nothing - he just fled. It still makes me blood boil to think about it….

That’s when my life changed, anyway. I… would not stop searching for her. I spent a long time in a bloodthirsty rage looking for her, it took me two years if you can believe it. Following every lead I could. I believe my mother and father had mourned her but I never did. I was her brother - sworn to protect her from a young age like I was… I couldn’t give up. Gods, I even blamed the Imperials in general - and that’s what lead me to join the Stormcloaks during the rebellion you know. I wanted to get back at those pricks. Every Imperial I brought my Warhammer down on was Venato. Sorry, I’m getting off track...

My search for Merna was fruitless, there are countless bandit groups in Skyrim and Cyrodiil. It seemed each one was worse than the last. Eventually though - I found her, my Merna. She was in the wilds around Dawnstar. I don’t know exactly where, all I know is that she was in trouble and I went through that bandit camp in a berserker’s rage until I met their leader… He was dressed in bear furs - the head of a bear stretched over his helmet. A fearsome fellow…

Logvsim Scar-Fire

He was gnarled with burns, a gruesome individual - and he just… I’m ashamed to say it but he tore through me as if I was nothing but a piece of flimsy parchment. I was so angry and reckless. I didn’t know it then, but that’s why I lost. As I lay in the snow, sprawled and ready for death, my Merna - she gave him a killing blow. Stabbed him in the neck with a dagger. It wasn’t enough though and he instead used his last bit of strength to drop his… He just dropped his axe right through her. The sight still haunts me and I doubt it will ever truly be something I come to terms with.

I killed her, in the end. It was my fault she died - if only I’d mourned her like my parents, she might have still been alive. I wonder sometimes if she was there by choice and if she enjoyed the way of life of a bandit. These are answers that I robbed myself of because of my behaviour, it’s the closure that I’m forbidden from ever having. About 9 years ago now, seems like only yesterday.

So there I was, stumbling towards Dawnstar - bleeding out, life fading… That’s when I met her. Let me tell you, when you’re close to death everything seems so beautiful, and that’s the only word I can use to describe her. Beautiful. A young healer from the College I expect, sat astride a shining black horse. Her hair flowing to her hips, wrapped in fur, and cheeks pink from the cold. She was absolutely glowing. I still remember her first words to me, “what in Nirn did you do? You complete halfwit.” Off she got from the horse, used her magicka to patch me up and gave me a potion for the road. She of course, rode off and left me there. She may have taken my coin purse too - but I didn’t care. Let me tell you, I was completely enamoured.

With my second chance given to me, I continued on with the Stormcloaks - I was still one big angry bastard and I got a reputation for myself. They started calling me Fjolte the Slayer, and I loved it. People feared me. I was in peak physical shape, swinging my Warhammer into all of my adversaries, spraying blood against snow on a daily basis.

I fought at Windhelm… It was an absolute massacre, as soon as Ohdaviing came through - well we knew we were fucked. We still fought on though, I was lucky. I wasn’t touched by his flame, and I made it out with my life. I’m ashamed to say it but I stripped my colours from my body after the Imperial Empire’s victory. I was not without injury, and I stayed to help move some of the bodies - which is when I saw her again, for the second time. I’d recognise her anywhere. Dressed in white like some Priestess, only, she was covered in blood too - and older now, only by a couple of years but I could see it in her face. She was terrified and out of her depth and yet she was trying her best. I helped her out. I think staying by her side as she healed men from both sides was the only reason I didn’t get a sword put through me… She didn’t recognise me as the ‘halfwit’ from Dawnstar, probably for the best. I still remember what she said to me that day too, “get out of my way, you useless oaf.” Poetry, honestly.

It was a while more until I saw her again, I think the next time I saw her she was working in Taverns around Skyrim as a healer. Well, as I do - I got injured again and found my way to her. She didn’t recognise me as the ‘useless oaf’ from Windhelm, probably for the best. But this time we got to talking, she chastised me for carrying so much anger in me. Said it would put me in the grave, and that I had to calm myself down if I wanted to live a long life. She also said that I had terrible posture from carrying my axe the wrong way. I laughed in her face, but she was right. My whole life - I thought I was great with that weapon, turns out I was nothing but mediocre and incredibly lucky. She was feisty and brash that day, but she told the truth and I appreciated her all the more for it. She had looked me up and down and read me like a book. It was the kick up the arse I needed to start over.

That’s pretty much all of the darkness now, you don’t have to worry about any more. Quite a tale though, right?

I took the advice of that mage and I went… Oh, I don’t want to spout a cliche - but I went soul searching. It was in Elsewyr when I stumbled upon a group of travelling Khajiiti Monks, they were masters of the Whispering Fang technique and I was fascinated. I never did figure out why they let me travel with them for so long, let alone why they taught me in the way of Whispering Fang, but they did. I like to think that they just saw a man all alone in this world, carrying a great burden on his lofty shoulders. I don’t have the claws or the tail of a Khajiit, but they taught me all they knew, and for a Nord… Well, to my utmost surprise they said I was a natural at Hand-to-Hand.

They were gentle people, but deadly in combat. They taught me to step softly and gracefully, as well as to fight defensively and swiftly. They had me doing all kinds of things… From front flips, to back flips, to cartwheels, to diving off of cliff faces into cold waters. Sometimes I think I was just a source of entertainment to them, but they taught me a lot. My Khajiit brothers! I toast to them quite often. Why did I leave them, you ask? Well, I felt at that time in my life I had softened and changed. My anger was almost gone - but Skyrim called me back. There is something about Skyrim, isn’t there?

I bid them goodbye, and closed that chapter on my life. I was now 27 years old, with a new life ahead of me. There was one thing on my mind - the woman. Now, I’m not going to over-embellish. I was not the powerful Monk you see today back then, sure - I had some tricks up my sleeve and a powerful punch, but I wasn’t fully formed. I returned to my family! Helga, and her children were excited to see me and hear my stories of the world, my mother was too. But Berek… My father, well I could see in the way that he deflated that he was ashamed of me for burying my hammer, leaving the Stormcloaks and… well, fleeing. That’s what he saw. He saw a deserter. He could no longer see that I was a proud Nord. He just saw a travelled man who had shed his own heritage. I don’t blame him, I too used to take things at face value.

I doubt our relationship will ever be repaired. He tolerates me at best for the sake of keeping our family together, especially in the face of the tragedy of Merna. We barely share a word with each other at the feasts, but I pay it no mind. I still love him, and always will. I do not let his presence deter me from making my nieces, sister, and mother happy either. Of course, Honon the Fat is always overjoyed to hear my latest stories. In fact, it was the Fat Man himself who gave me my latest nickname - Fjolte the Fabler! I’m known throughout the lands for my tales of bravery.

Some people call me Fjolte, some call me Fabler - there are a few that still call me Slayer but they are few and far between. It’s not how I choose to live my life, I’m a lover not a fighter. Which of course brings me almost to the joyous climax of my story.

So I had known this woman for a few years now. Or well, I had encountered her a number of times already. This time, I would encounter her as a changed man! I chased the tales of the Witch Bitch of Riverwood, and I knew that was her. I knew it. I found her there, even more radiant and tempestuous than I had remembered. She didn’t recognise me, probably for the best. I exchanged some coin for her to check me over, let me tell you - she gave every rippled muscle an in-depth examination. I finally learned her name this time too, Raelynn. A name truly as beautiful as she was. Yet, she still admonished me - still she saw that I was arrogant and was holding tension through my whole body. She said I hadn’t let go of something yet, well I didn’t know what in Oblivion she was talking about, and that meeting did not end as I thought it would, but yet again she was right.

It made me angry, actually. Do you want to know what I did? I starting running up the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar. It felt good. That cold wind in my lungs the higher I got? Exhilarating. Dodging the Frost Troll towards the apex? Terrifyingly fun. So I met the Greybeards, anyway. Not surprising that they were still kicking around even after the Dovahkiin had nicked off elsewhere you know? But I started spending time up there. Practicing my arts in the courtyard, meditating with them.

They even taught me to shout, but honestly I was that good at it in the end they had to request that I never do it again or else it may rip a hole through all of Tamriel. Fair enough right? No, don’t ask me to demonstrate it, please, I made a promise.

I took the principles of the Whispering Fang and I moulded it to what I knew about being a Nord, aligned it to my body - made it mine. I don’t have a name for it, but if I did it would be the Singing Fist, with my secondary stance being the Steel Fist. Not that I’ve thought about it at all or anything.

I started paying attention to everything around me, found faith especially in Kyne. Sky, Air, Wind… You know what it is right? It’s breath, it’s life. It was learning to breathe again that allowed me to exhale all anger and hatred from my body. The cold air of High Hrothgar? It was her grace. But oh of course, I do worship the Divines now. I pray and meditate on them - they keep me on my path, they help me in my duty to get others on their path too. I was given so many chances and it brought me to this road. The least I can do is share my story - inspire, and… help others to find the light and to find fulfillment and happiness as I have.

Yes, it’s true - I took up treasure hunting in order to keep food in my stomach and a roof on my head most nights. It’s not a noble profession, but… I need to keep food in my stomach and a roof on my head. So I trawled Skyrim with my group, what a bunch of lads we were, looting through the day and knocking back ale through the night. We had such a camaraderie. You know, there was Ravar the Altmer mage, Ri’isa the shy and unassuming Khajiit - but if you got a drink down her she was as rowdy as us boys and told the dirtiest jokes! I travelled with an Argonian too, his name was Weeleel and he liked to tell riddles to occupy our minds on the long hikes. I met so many people from every walk of life imaginable.

There were those who would come and go too. I met a sassy young Khajiit woman called Daro’Vasora and she helped me out of a spell at one point, and the two of us celebrated that one after a few ales. Headstrong that one, I like that in a woman. Then Raelynn would sometimes come with us - shit, wait! Put a pause here.

So after I’d become a new man, again, I went back to Riverwood to see Raelynn, only she wasn’t there anymore, she’d moved on to greener pastures - literally! She was working in Riften. Well, I had to go and see her. I actually really did too because I’d finally found myself square on with that damn Frost Troll. I had an ice burn on my shoulder that I’d left unattended. Still have a slight scar you know, I’ll show you later. So the Frost Troll and I duked it out, I ended up landing a deadly punch on his nose that sent him flying off the edge of the mountain and tumbling down. It was a difficult fight, but he wasn’t really a match in the end once I hit my stride.

She scolded me for my stupidity and patched me up which at that point I’d recognised was par for the course with her, but when she was tending to me this time there was something warm about her - she even smiled at me a few times, she also laughed at my jokes and listened to my stories. I think she only rolled her eyes once. We may have gotten closer that night if you know what I mean...

So, back to camaraderie and treasure hunting! So Raelynn would join us every so often. She demanded a pretty price though, we all learned why she was known as the Witch Bitch… Difficult, spoilt, always ready to shove someone else in front of the trouble. But she was my friend, she’d helped me on my path so I let her get on with it.

I think that was my favourite part of it all. It wasn’t scoring the loot, it wasn’t the thrill of the hunt. It was the late nights around a campfire throwing back ales and eating our provisioned food - just talking. The brotherhood of it all. There were a lot of other women who came along with us too, each one found me charming and that was the other thing that I enjoyed so much - chasing the women. Each one a challenge in her own way. What can I say? I’m a lover, not a fighter.

I didn’t just booze up over a campfire either, I must have hit every tavern in Skyrim at least once. I’m no bard but I’m very partial to belting out my own songs, shuffling my way over the floorboards in a series of whirling dances. The ladies love it. So, my dancing may have been a bit suggestive for some of them, but for plenty it did the trick.

I was living the dream - had a good group of friends and comrades by my side and then it seemed like the world was plunged into chaos overnight when the Dwemer arrived. It seems like a complete blur to me how I wound up in this prison, in Hammerfell of all places - but I know that we fought like true Nords when we were apprehended in the western mountains. I really suppose that’s how I found myself here… Thrown in chains on a cart and dragged from place to place until they finally threw me in this cell. And for what? I’ll never know.

Some people would say I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but me? Well my brother, I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Kynareth herself blew me this way for a reason, and I guess we’re about to learn why...

Fjolte Soriksen - Fjolte 2.0

Name: Fjolte Soriksen
Race: Nord
Age: 30
Birthsign: The Steed
Family Origins: Rorikstead - Skyrim

Appearance:

Standing proud at 6’5”, Fjolte is tall even by Nord standards. He is well built too, years of keeping himself physically fit has given him a well muscled body. He is absolutely solid, and stays this way by practicing his martial arts, and with acrobatic acts as part of a regular morning routine. He has a typically strong jawline for his race, gifted to him by his father. His eyes are ocean blue and of a thin almond shape. Were it not for his constant smile, they might appear to be intense and overly piercing. He has several thin scars across his face, most noticeably over his forehead, and a diagonal scar across his cheek.

He has bronze brown hair that falls to his shoulder blades and is worn tousled and thrown back, the sides either shaved down and clipped short, or braided and adorned with copper rings and beads of various shades and styles. He has been frequently likened to a lion, his size and overt energy doing very little to discourage the comparison. He keeps his beard trimmed more as subtle stubble under his lower lip to his chin, and over his jawline.

For such a sturdy man, Fjolte has a soft air around him, and a warm, infectious smile that could light up a room. His fun and easy-going personality takes over his appearance at times and he is not in the least bit intimidating. That said, when it comes to matters of the heart - and when it comes to protecting his friends or standing up for his beliefs, then it can all melt away in a second. These times are extremely rare, and it pains him to ever have to get serious enough to have to rely on pure intimidation.

Fjolte chooses to dress casually in light armour at all times. Opting for a simple cotton waistcoat jacket lined with crows feathers around the neck - were it not for the two polished silver brooch buttons studded with blue quartz, it wouldn’t be remarkable at all. It is absolutely not typical of Nord fashion, and he actually had the jacket made in Elsewyr from a an old cotton shirt of his, and the feathers were collected by Fjolte from the top of a mountain in a nest which he climbed as part of his training with the Whispering Fang monks. The jacket is a reminder of his journey, and thus, is one of his most prized possessions and he feels honoured to wear it.

He has a tattoo over his left shoulder, traveling down his entire chest to his waist. An abstract depiction of a bird in flight.

Personality:

A braggadocious shit talker. This is how you would describe Fjolte upon first impression. Over the years he has managed to adopt a personality of pure arrogance and overconfidence. He has spent much of his recent years as the de facto leader of his ever changing band of misfits, and this has given him cause to act in such a way - he is an entertaining, charismatic young man who doesn’t take life too seriously, but can’t resist embellishing his achievements to those who will listen. Those who take him at the face value are very often proved completely wrong, given enough time.

He is very extroverted, and finds it natural and easy to communicate with others from all walks of life. The interest that he has in others is genuine and well-meaning, almost to a fault – he can often become too involved problems and his trait of empathy means that sometimes he will mistakenly carry other people's problems and make them his own. More often than not, putting his trust in others has helped them become better people in the end. To help people is something he sees as his duty in life. With that said, he will never push at people when they are not ready, and he knows that some people are beyond his help, by his nature he is not overbearing.

Fjolte can at times be too sensitive, it’s easy for him to take things to heart and feel others problems when that aren’t his own, getting lost in trying to fix them, worrying if he is doing enough. His self esteem has a tendency to eb and flow too, with constant worrying of whether he can live up to his ideals. It hits him especially hard if he fails in a task, more so if it was something meaningful and sentimental in nature. As someone who values relationships and friendship over most things in life, Fjolte finds it near impossible to make tough decisions, especially if he is against the clock, he gets too caught up in weighing up potential consequences that he misses the chance to take action.

Of course, he is incredibly flirtatious, using his charisma to win him over with members of the opposite sex. He takes great pleasure in getting to know new people, and his charisma makes it easy for him to work his way into the lives of those he meets, whether that is in a large or small capacity. He leaves an impression. That’s not to say that he can’t act the dashing rogue to impress however - often reading his would-be suitor and changing his approach on the fly. He loves love, and will do just about anything for it, and hey, if it can’t be love - he’ll take the pleasure too.

Overall, Fjolte is incredibly charismatic- even if that is quite easily read as cockiness, getting to know him reveals his deeper layers. He has endless energy and a vivid imagination which he puts to good use in his storytelling, and of course he cares very deeply about those he travels with, placing time spent with people forming connections and developing relationships as being more important than the task and mission at hand.

Equipment:
*Specialist leather fingerless gauntlets.
*Red hand wraps that he wears wrapped around his waist, as a belt when not in use
*Light armour in the form of a crow-feather lined jacket, loose cropped pants with fur trims, and leather boots.
*A leg guard on his left leg to power his kicks.
*Several necklaces

Misc. Possessions:
* A copper prayer bell
* Incense cones
* A pouch of 'herbs'
* A smoking pipe
* Sleeping Tree Sap
* Coin purse with 84 septims

Family and Associations:
*Berek Soriksen - Father - Alive
*Yvka Soriksen - Mother - Alive
*Helga Soriksen - Sister - Alive
*Honon the Fat - Brother-in-Law - Alive
*Astrid and Risica - Nieces - Alive
*Merna Soriksen - Sister - Alive
*Raelynn Deserine - Employer

Attributes
Major: Speed
Minor: Endurance

Favoured Skills:
Highly Proficient -
Hand-to-Hand
Fighting Style:

Whispering Fang - Quick and deadly jabs, swift on his feet, uses his environment to turn the tide of a fight. Fjolte was taught as much of this method as he could learn by Khajiit monks in Elsewyr. His Nord physique made it impossible to fully adopt, since the style relies heavily on the use of the Khajiit’s claws and tail. It was his first foray into Hand-to-Hand style, and became the skeleton to develop his own…

Singing Fist - Using breathing techniques, Fjolte moves defensively to wear out his opponent, powering up his punch to land on specific parts of the body to inflict the most damage and take the least stamina from himself. He doesn’t believe that you should hurt anyone more than is necessary, and his deadly Singing Fist can knock down an opponent in a single hit if he lands it at a particular spot. This technique was developed in High Hrothgar after meditating with the Greybeards, it is perfectly aligned to his body and unique to him.

Steel Fist - Another of his own creations, similar to Singing Fist, but far more offensive and aggressive. He makes use of heavy punches and low kicks, wearing his opponents down by delivering punches to the body and heavy low kicks as well as elbow and knee strikes. This stance places him closer to his opponent, relying more on strikes unlike with his Singing Fist which is very acrobatic and places him away.

Acrobatics

Moderately Proficient:
Athletics
Speech

Dro’Sintaba

Name: Dro’Sintaba
Race: Khajiit - Cathay-raht
Age: 52
Birthsign: The Shadow
Family Origins: Riverhold, Elsweyr

Appearance:

When stood upright, Dro’Sintaba reaches an unnerving 6’7”. Paired with his strong physique and incredible musculature, he is a sight to behold in his complete glory, and yet the Cathay-raht carries himself in a slouched posture and stoops ever so slightly —as if he is weighed down by something heavy. Despite this, he still manages to move with an impressive and intimidating gait - his stride powerful and confident. His habit of walking in this way has caused him to have been mistaken after dark for a werewolf more times than he would be keen to admit, and his jet-black fur does little to disarm this notion. Upon closer inspection, (if he lets you close enough), one can make out the faint traces of rich charcoal markings amongst the black fur, most prominently across his forehead over the bridge of his nose, under his eyes.

Dro’Sintaba’s eyes are an unusually bright and piercing green, that on a kinder face would be considered breathtakingly beautiful. On him, however, they just burn and simmer slowly with an indomitable intensity. It has been said that he can look right through a person in a single glance, and those who have met his eyes on a dark day can attest to this. In contrast, when engaging in his quieter pursuits - Dro’Sintaba wears a pair of bespoke spectacles that were made for him by a jewel smith and old flame. They fit him perfectly and frame his eyes in such a way that they shrink the menacing aura he carries. Occasionally there is a softness to his eyes - usually when he is relaxed, and especially when he is tired and in need of sleep. Carefree and calm is a mood that comes to him so seldom that when reaching it, his entire physique, (especially his expression) does seem to change.

He is made of solid corded muscle that defies his age and he dresses his body well. The Khajiit is particularly fond of his smart woolen overcoat, in a striking umber shade that is lined across the shoulders with the fur of a black bear. His colour of choice is green, and when not in his coat, he can be found to be wearing loose and light tunics and scarves that cover a spectrum of green hues. There is an air of stylish sophistication to him, a regal quality of masculine confidence. He wears the clothes, they do not wear him.

His voice is a low grumble, a growling and forceful whisper most of the time. In his moments of quietude, he can speak with the inflections that allude to his deep intelligence and wisdom, choosing his words wisely as a philosopher of old might. He can be a soft and purring gentleman when relaxed - but the gravel still remains, constraining the power of an explosive roar that reverberates in his chest when unleashed.

In vulnerable moments, he likes to think he is simply Sintaba. The once ambitious and scholarly Cathay-raht, who was always smiling and proud, gentle and optimistic of his future. An astute eye would observe in the lines of his brow, and the softness of his relaxed gaze that a humble gentility still sits there, and that all has not yet been drained and squeezed from him.

---

Personality:

Quiet, contemplative, kindly. Three simple words that he wished would be the first that would be used to describe him. Instead, he is usually described as menacing and severe. Such descriptors are not entirely false either, as Dro’Sintaba has an enigmatic intensity to his personality that makes him notoriously difficult to get to know, worsened only by his size and appearance. He is the book that is judged by its cover, and he tends to hold most people that he meets at an arm's length. To save them from discovering the weary man that he really is.

The cover is not the book, only the shield.

Dro’Sintaba is not without a degree of charisma, however, and he is not always beholden to his personal demons. Beneath his initial harsh exterior, there is a genuine empathic and natural leader who works tirelessly for others to keep them safe. To those he does let in beyond the walls - they will never know a more loyal friend. Often times he has shelved his dream of returning to his own family in order to save yet another helpless soul. As such, he has lived a very humble life away from his home in Elsweyr, and he possesses very little - despite having the means to afford much of whatever he’d like.

The Cathay-raht tends to hide behind his sharp intelligence and wit, deflecting those that dare to question him by finding their weaknesses and pointing them right back. Friends, colleagues, and foes have thus far all been held in much of the same regard by him. Just temporary acquaintances that will soon become ghosts to his memory when he moves on again.

As much as he clutches to the memories of his wife and their happy marriage, to the idea that he is the perfect husband and family man, he has not been able to resist the temptation of adultery throughout the years. It is something that brings him a deep shame, and he won’t discuss it openly but he has had flings and minor relationships during his marriage and separation from Ko’Ahanna. He is drawn like a moth to a flame to the opposite sex, knowing that they are just as drawn to him. After all, he is an enigma. An exotic adventure to later become a story to tell - dangerous and fearsome but with a mellow side far beyond that of most thugs.

Above all else, he is pragmatic and incredibly intelligent with an exceptional cunning streak that has given him something of a reputation as both a dirty fighter and strategist rolled into one. He is certainly not above using corrupt tactics to win, for he is a man who must win. There are few that know of him that will challenge him to an intellectual debate or even an argument. His intelligence shines when discussing his quieter passions, and his guard drops significantly. He finds a great amount of comfort and joy in music and literature. Dro’Sintaba can hold honest and meaningful conversations for hours about novels he has read, of music he has heard, and of paintings he has seen. It is not entirely unusual for him to be moved to tears by good music, or by characters written on the pages of a book.

---

History

History:

Born simply as Sintaba in 4E161 to poor Khajiit farmers in Riverhold, he was not given the best of starts and his family were hardly affluent amongst the clans. Even so, Sintaba knew even when young that he wanted to provide for his parents and give them a life they could never have achieved for themselves. That mindset alone was a clue to what they would later discover was a rather prodigious intelligence in their son. With a sprinkle of luck, and more importantly, a lot of hard work, they were able to pay for their son to receive a formal education. By formal, of course, meaning they were able to pull enough coin to hire him a private tutor and give him lessons in reading, writing, and spirituality with other members of the community. He was sociable, altruistic, and traditional in his ways - as a Khajiit of Anequina should be. His parents could not have been prouder, or felt any more blessed to have received him as their only son.

Sintaba was certain that he was not destined to be a farmhand, and through his tutelage his confidence only grew and he found he was especially fond of politics, history, and cultural studies. He had managed to build a solid reputation for himself as an affable and confident young Khajiit - with enough charisma to keep those younger than him entertained. He took on work as a tutor to the children of more affluent families in Torval, leaving Riverhold behind him for a new life. It was in Torval that he accepted more tutelage, of sorts, from the Mane. By that, he never met him, but learned much from the way of life that he observed and imagined him having. There may have also been several experiments with Moonsugar. In Torval, Sintaba found himself living a far more spiritual life than he could have imagined possible for himself. He was at peace with himself, and with all that was around him.

It was when he was 26 that Sintaba met the woman who would soon become his wife. Her name was Ko’Ahanna, a talented mage of Torval who specialised in healing. She was graceful,beautiful and from the day that she entered his life, he knew and felt that a space in his heart had been carved out just for her. They courted for some months, and after a year they married. Two years after that, she gave birth to their first child, a son, Kesdar. Raising him was an adventure, no two days were the same - and Sintaba felt yet another hole in his heart fill after his arrival.

After 4 more years, Sintaba’s daughter came along too, Ranja. While Kesdar seemed to have taken after his father, Ranja was the image of her mother and he was surely as in love as he had ever been with anything else. He was completely besotted with Ranja, and applied all of the lessons he learned while raising Kesdar in raising her. Unsurprisingly, he discovered that there were more lessons to learn, and together Dro’Sintaba and Ko’Ahanna made possibly even more mistakes the second time around. Girls were harder.

But it was when Ko’Ahanna was pregnant with their third that everything changed. The Dominion came knocking at their door - and Dro’Sintaba answered. He was a Cathay-raht, and a fearsome looking one at that; he was hardly an inconspicuous individual. In him they saw an opportunity to continue to remain uninvolved in Khajiit affairs by training their own to handle them. And so they whispered into his ear tales of becoming a hero, fighting for the future of Elsweyr and protecting the lives of his children. That was the only string they needed to have tugged at.

What followed was a series of agonising years away from that Sintaba spent away from his family. He was moved around Elsweyr, slowly moulded into a warrior— fighting and violence was never the way in which he had wanted to express himself, but he still felt that he was putting himself to good use. He believed he was doing the right thing, making an impact. He was Sintaba, the lover of music and writer of poetry! He was a romantic, a family man; he was a good husband and doting father. He was not some… enforcer for the Dominion. And yet, that was exactly what he was becoming - strange still, he was beginning to enjoy it...

”This is not forever” he told himself, praying to Alkosh that this would be over soon. This was temporary. This was him giving a service - bringing peace to clans by removing those who brought trouble to the doorsteps of good, honest people. People like his parents. People like his wife. People like him. Soon they would let him be free again to the life that he wanted, he just had to make enough of a difference first. It was just a series of lies he told himself to deny the plain and simple fact he was good at what he was doing.

When it came to learning in combat, Sintaba had the idea that he never wanted to be a man who held a blade and knew how to use one. A sword felt like a commitment, like an item that travelled at your side and spoke volumes about who you were and gave an enemy an immediate glimpse into how you would fight. A sword was predictable and easily countered by a smart enough opponent and Sintaba did not want to commit to a life by the blade. In that regard, he had to be resourceful and teach himself something, and that something was to simply use whatever was available to him. Over the years he has made himself an expert of making a weapon out of anything. A chair leg, a plate, a curtain, a book. In his hands – anything in the room could become an instrument of death. Sometimes, words are simply not enough…

When it finally felt as though he could put it behind him, and there were no excuses left in the barrell, news travelled fast of a man named Ulfric Stormcloak. That he had usurped the throne in Skyrim. Civil War broke out, and Sintaba’s work with the Dominion continued, and this time, he was sent away from Elsweyr as an enforcer with more Khajiit like him, other fearsome warriors who could get the job done. It was during this time that he earned his honourific “Dro”, when they appointed him as their leader. It was a bittersweet feeling.

Dro’Sintaba never went back to Elsewyr when the war ended. There was too much left to do, and by now it had been too long - he had managed to fully convince himself that Ko’Ahanna had remarried for a safer, more comfortable life. His children would have forgotten him. His third child never to have seen his face. He felt like a shadow of himself too, he wasn’t the soft man he had once been. His hands were bloody now… Ko’Ahanna would know that. She’d look into his eyes and see only what was absent - his warm and innocent heart, his honesty and his honour. It was all just another level of denial that placed the blame on someone else, instead of him just admitting that he was Dro’Sintaba now.

Perhaps with the war over, it was time for Dro’Sintaba to do some good instead of the bidding of Mer. It seemed however, that for every good deed he attempted, there were always two bad deeds that followed. So began a life of one set forward and two steps back. He danced on the lines of morality and mocked the concept of good and evil. He became something else entirely, a shadow of his old self. Sometimes, when he catches his reflection, he sees a glimpse of Sintaba. A man who only ever wanted to help people and be the smartest man in the room - but the sullen and permanent image of Dro’Sintaba erases him. The bitter face of a man who turned his back on his family under a false promise, a man who can never go back - for what is there left to return to after seventeen years?

Now, Dro’Sintaba travels to Anvil, and then on to the Imperial City with a companion whom he is escorting as a bodyguard of sorts. An Imperial woman named Ms. Vasellius. Her refusal to reveal her full name is only one of the things that has so far annoyed him about the woman, and yet was part of the allure to the job in the first place…

Biggest Regret: His biggest regret of course was ever leaving Riverhold. If he could do it all again, he wouldn’t answer the knock that brought him to his life of violence, life away from his family. He regrets never meeting his third daughter, and he regrets leaving Kesdar and Ranja behind.

Dro’Sintaba‘s Goal: To return at last after seventeen long years to his family. To finally meet his daughter. To try to make amends with his wife and have something of a normal, quiet life - even if he knows that dream died long ago… Part of him knows this, and yet there is a part of him that simply won’t let go and move on.

---

Skills:

Expert:
One-Handed (Blunt), Hand-to-Hand - Dro’Sintaba marries the ability to handle actual weapons with his brutal and unique hand-to-hand style. He is unpredictable, frequently dirty, and especially dangerous. His mind is sharper than any blade could be, and whether he is holding a string, a teacup, or his trusty club - he will find a way to inflict some level of pain with it.

Adept:
Speech - Many of the practitioners of speechcraft are those who lend a listening ear and offer the exact words to a hurting individual to heal them of their pain, or give them an encouraging boost - not Dro’Sintaba. Surely, he could, if he dug deep enough into himself to find the hopeful and optimistic soul he once was. No, his speech is reserved for powerful acts of intimidation - for the upbraiding of his enemies. Hell, sometimes even a friend. He is a master of interrogation, and very little slips past him. He is not afraid to talk down to anyone.

Sneak - Whoever had decided that a 6’7” Cathay-raht should be so adept at sneaking had a dark sense of humour. Afterall the man does not need anything else to make him any more fearsome, yet years of walking in darkness - both literal and metaphorical have granted him such an ability. To be able to approach others undetected when the need calls for it. His dark fur blends perfectly into shadow and many have only spotted the green lights of his eyes when it was too late...

Novice:
Illusion - This was a skill Dro’Sintaba learned only to boast that he could perform magic. His spells are not exactly exciting, but in his youth got a kick out of performing magic for his parents, at least. Nowadays, Fear becomes the cloak he wears when necessary to incite terror, hopefully to scare someone enough that actual violence need not be used.

Spells: Clairvoyance, Fear, Courage

Equipment:

• A short club, made to be used with one hand - stowed away and out of sight;
• A steel dagger in a leather sheath hidden in his boot;
• Hunting pouch containing two utility knives and a small whetstone. Hidden in an inside pocket of his coat;
• A vial of Restore Health.

Misc. Possessions:

• A pouch of moonsugar in his trouser pocket;
• Bespoke spectacles, carried in the front breast pocket;
• Waterskin, attached to his belt;
• A pouch of dried meats;
• A sealed letter, addressed to Ko’Ahanna, in the breast pocket;
• A journal with a weathered leather cover, behind his hunting pouch.

Relyssa Deserine - Fruits of Contention

Relyssa Deserine

Female Breton | 30 | The Mage
Relyssa's Playlist

Birthplace
Daggerfall, High Rock

Appearance

Relyssa is short of height (approx 5’2”) with a waifish figure. She has no scars, something that surprises her - that she has made it to 30 and never received a scar. Her skin is mostly still smooth and soft, a result of having lived a good life with access to oils and herbs that keep one looking beautiful. In recent years she has found that she has begun to weather, but her face shows the subtle and very early signs of aging, lines appear when she makes certain expressions, something that she absolutely abhors.

Unlike the rest of her body, her lips stand out for being full. She has a round, soft face, with high cheekbones. Her ears have that slight signature pointed tip and her eyebrows are arched - both signal to her Elvish ancestry. She has large steel blue eyes, which stand out against her light skin. Her eyes are expressive and to find out how she is feeling, one would only need to look at her eyes to see them bright with happiness, wide with fear, or an eyebrow pointed and raised in disgust.

She keeps her waist length hair tied tightly into braids, with only a few strands framing her face. Relyssa treasures her hair, and keeps it groomed with oils and floral essences at all times. The colour is that of her family - a cool ash blonde, that is almost silver in tone.

She wears embroidered mage robes (she never did like the plain clothing worn by most mages). She will wear clothes that are either black, violet, or lavender in hue. She does not always dress in mages robes, and will sometimes dress down into more casual attire. Even her 'casual attire' is more colourful and ornate than others. To Relyssa, looking the part of a Lady is important. She is rarely seen without a jeweled headpiece.

Personality

As a first impression to most, Relyssa would seem soft spoken and friendly. This is all part of a more questionable mirage to lure in those who would need her help. As a healer she swore an oath to heal those who were suffering with disease and injuries - and she treats those who come to her with empathy, understanding, and great respect... If they can afford it.

She is incredibly manipulative and calculating in order to get what she wants. She wasn't always this way - at least not so much so. She can weigh people up on the fly, sensing just enough about them to decipher how she should act. Living and traveling in Skyrim of all places has shown her that everyone is out to obtain something, no matter how they present themselves on the outside… Every interaction that she has is pre-calculated, motivated, and for her own gain - to take her one step closer to her goals. The Breton has a remarkable talent at being whoever you want her to be...

Relyssa knows that her value as a healer and her level of skill in the art is worth a lot of gold, jewels, and other rare treasures. After all, what is more valuable to the average man than being able to live another day? Definitely not what he looted on his last adventure, the very trinket that he got injured for.

When she becomes more comfortable around people, she will begin to drop her initial honey-sweet and fake facade, allowing her temper, harsh personality, and snobbishness to appear. She will often become passionate in her speech. In her life, Relyssa has only met a small handful of individuals who have been able to really get past the walls she has so cunningly built around herself. These are usually the people who call her out on her schemes, and are the very few who see through her. Relyssa also has a snarky and sarcastic way of talking, and remains unbothered about crossing lines and offending people with her lack of tact and sharp tongue.

She can be impatient and hot-headed, and will scold those she travels with for errors of judgement, even though she is not the kind of person who would step in to prevent them in the first place. She relies on those 'less fortunate' than herself to do the dirty work on excursions. After all, why should she dirty up a robe when the Nord in front is more than willing to do it to win her favour?

Ultimately, Relyssa is on her own journey to fulfill her desire for adventure and to gain power and riches beyond that of normal men, she wants her name to be in books - she wants to be remembered as Royalty. To live as a mere peasant? She would rather die.

Background

Relyssa was born in 4E175, Daggerfall, to wealthy parents. Two respected Breton merchants and traders of exquisite antiquities. Her mother, Elayne, was an excellent craftswoman too - she made the most beautiful clothing for the ladies of High Rock - embellishing gowns with jewels and coloured threads. She had tried to teach her daughter the ways of her craft, but Relyssa had other ideas - she just wanted to dress in the gowns and would rather read books and listen to her father's stories about all of the hidden artifacts around Tamriel - about the magical items and hidden caches of gold littered throughout the provinces.

Relyssa had a comfortable upbringing. She never went without luxuries like great food, fashionable attire, and beautiful jewelry. This is the lifestyle that she grew accustomed too. One day, her Father was holding a golden crown that he had procured for a Lord to present to his Lady somewhere in High Rock. She wasn't really listening, she was too transfixed by the shimmering diamonds set into the crown. Everything fell silent when she gazed upon the treasure. At one point, she even licked her lips. Nothing compared to when she actually held it in her hands. She felt... Power. Her eyes were big as she stared at it, seeing her reflection in those flawless diamonds. She wanted nothing more than to have dozens of these crowns for herself. Her poor Father had to prize it from her hands - when she wasn't holding it anymore she felt an emptiness inside. Suddenly she didn't care what she had to do, how many people she had to climb over and stomp on to get it, she was going to have treasures like this of her own one day.

At night, Relyssa would read books on Tamriel, reading about great mages throughout history who had done amazing things, and of adventurers who fought down beasts and enemies to attain magical prizes, and of the hidden secrets scattered through the world. She wanted to be an adventurer, but she didn't really want to get her hands dirty - or put herself front and centre in battle. Such an introverted lifestyle caused her to grow up without very many friends - this was her choice. She didn’t have time for it, there was so much to learn and do instead.

Eventually her parents grew tired of her spoilt ways; and perhaps they both sensed that Relyssa also desired for more. Elayne and Alastaire were frustrated. They had an intelligent daughter with aspirations - that they had spent too long coddling and looking after to the point where she would quite happily stay in the family home forever. It was not an ideal situation - the couple had their own plans for the future too and it was very clear that Relyssa was not going to be taking over either of their businesses any time soon. Not to mention that Alastaire was finding it increasingly more difficult to keep his daughter's mitts off his artifacts. She knew how to press her father, and push his buttons into giving her what she wanted. They were left with no choice, no choice but to shift her out and into the real world.

They wanted to give her a gentle push in the right direction. The two concocted a plan; they spoke with their friends and found that among their circle of acquaintances, there was a couple in a similar financial situation to them with a son named Lazenne. He wasn't the most attractive or interesting young Breton in Daggerfall. So for that reason, he was perfect. There would be no way that their daughter would wed him, and so it might be the trick to getting her out - to get off her backside and to finally be independent and follow her own path - and more importantly it would seem to her like she was choosing her new life and that she had gotten one over on her parents.

When Relyssa met Lazenne, she laughed hysterically in his face. The poor boy had actually thought he was getting himself a prize wife too. There was no way she would be married to such a... weakling. So, following the natural inclination of her race to wield magic, she was finally prompted to request to join a local Synod Chapter in Daggerfall, where she began learning the art of curative and restorative magic.

She had been feeling that this Synod was not for her, and instead chose to leave her home of High Rock to attend the College of Winterhold in Skyrim to study her chosen discipline even further (her parents were overjoyed! They would at last have their home to themselves again!) During her time as an apprentice of the College, she faced teasing from her peers for sticking solely to Restorative magic. This made her choose a secondary discipline of magic to study and she chose Conjuration - even if she never particularly paid attention.

She made a friend of sorts in Collete Marence at the College, although Collete did find her quite offputting and brash - and could sense that Relyssa's ulterior motives were not so squeaky clean. She was clearly very talented at her craft, and intelligent too, and it's not as if young mages were flocking to the College in droves to learn how to be healers, so Collete continued to mentor her, trying her best to teach the Breton to be softer, more honest, more sincere.

As with her growing boredom of the Synod, Relyssa got bored of the libraries and four walls of the College after some years. She grew tired of the bitter cold, the terribly plain food, and the putrid smells which wafted through the corridors and congregated in her chamber of all places. She began to dream of practicing her magic out in the field, going on adventures and making gold. With the blessing of Colette Marence, she left the College to travel the rest of Skyrim.

She found herself frustrated on her travels. Adventurers didn't pay her all that much for her magic, nor did they ever seem to want to share the spoils. She had to think of something else. She had to take matters into her own hands when those she traveled with didn't get any injuries for her to heal or even want to split anything with her. After all, if she didn't have to patch someone up then she definitely wouldn't be getting paid...

So began her stint as a Tavern Healer. She would treat adventurers who would stumble into taverns with wounds and ailments. First she would ply them with alcohol and sweeten them up with her charm. She found she was especially successful and buttering up loud and clumsy Nord men. How they loved her petite frame and mane of silver hair. Once they had gotten sufficiently wrapped around her finger, she found it much easier to get them to empty their pockets to her...

During these years, she picked up a few new skills from those she travelled with. Until this point in her life she had not really had a need to learn any offensive combat skills. A traveling companion quickly told her that while a spell may keep disease at bay, a dagger or two hidden inside a cloak is likely to save her life.

In dungeons and crypts, she would always place herself between the two largest members of the party - the ones that would best be able to defend her. She got used to sizing up new comrades. Finding the weakest link in the chain. Spotting the clumsier ones - they were to be avoided. She could also pick out the ones who were most likely to suss her out. It was usually other women.

There was a few times when she found herself in dire situations in the middle of an adventure. One such time stood out to her. Her party became surrounded by Draugr, and something enchanted the room, preventing them from using their Magicks. Surrounded by eight Draugr, she backed up to the wall and let the party fight. The best she could do was throw a rock at the smallest Draugr. She had no use of magic, so could not call upon her familiar to do her bidding. She had been buttering up the Axe-Wielding Nord the night before they entered the crypt - and so the absolute fool got himself in a lick of trouble to stop a bigger Draugr from making a kebab of Relyssa.

The Nord stopped the attack, his armour absorbing the hit but Relyssa heard bones crunching and they didn't belong to the Draugr - she could see that the Nord's shoulder had popped out of place. His adrenaline stopped him from noticing right away and he made a mess of the Draugr, before turning to Relyssa with a smile. She was surprised he didn't come out with a "M'lady" for good measure. After that the magicka came back, and she summoned the familiar - but it was quite a bit too late. The Draugr had been bested, and now she had to put her skills to the test to get the Nord back up and running.

She firmly held his upper arm with her tiny hands, placing her heel into his side. She wasn't a strong woman by any means, but she could work with muscle and bone with ease. It was just like slotting something back into place. She told the Nord to count to ten - and on five she pushed and clicked his shoulder back into its socket with ease. He absolutely felt it. Then came the "M'lady".

During the time of the Dragonborn, Relyssa found herself amongst the aftermath of dragon attacks rather frequently. She would come across the bodies of the burnt. The sight of their armour that had melded to their skin gave them the appearance of steel men, of crumbled statues. There was nothing she could do help them. Some of the scenes she witnessed absolutely traumatised her, giving her an intense fear of fire and flames. She tries to keep this a secret from those she meets, for fear of showing any weakness and vulnerability.

It was these events that tainted Skyrim for her, witnessing the carnage and aftermath of Dragon attacks in 4E201 that left an incredibly sour taste in her mouth for the wilds of the province. She’d witnessed so much pain and bloodshed that she knew she needed a break from it. And so, she returned to High Rock and spent four years working as a Merchant with her father, Alastaire . Here, she was able to spend quality time with her parents and learn skills that she hadn’t used before - in particular her speechcraft. At the same time, she continued to practice as a healer in the back room of her father’s shop - trading the taverns for something more comfortable and permanent, and battle bloodied-nords for posh Breton’s with naught but grazed knees and minor illnesses. It wasn’t long until her greediness and power-hungry nature got the better of her, and she started working behind Alastaire ’s back to procure more dangerous items. Hiring mercenary groups to do the dirty work for her and deliver her artifacts, forbidden tomes, and enchanted weapons.

Presently, Relyssa is on the brink of her next big adventure - A little bird had informed her that a guest at a banquet in the Kingdom had in his possession a piece of very valuable jewellery that had once belonged to her family. Using her silver tongue, she found herself a way to get to the banquet to procure it once more, and has hired the help of a new mercenary group to obtain it.

Capabilities

Attributes

Major: Intelligence
Minor: Personality

Skills

Expert - Restoration (Healing)
Adept - Medicine, Alchemy, Speech, Conjuration
Novice - Lockpicking, Dual-Wield (Blade - dagger)

Weaknesses

Physically Weak
Relyssa is by no means a fit and strong woman. She has never needed to be, with the ability to manipulate others into taking on responsibilities for her. She cannot fight against enemies in a way that a trained fighter can. She has daggers for desperate situations, but she prefers to never have to be in a desperate situation. Such low strength also means that Relyssa’s stamina leaves little to be desired. She is barely athletic and so can be outrun by pretty much anyone.

Pyrophobia
She has a phobia of wild fire, and will shrink in the face of destruction mages and be unable to act - reminders of Dragon attacks hold many traumatic memories for her. She can sit around a campfire, and feels safe by a hearthfire - but fire Magicka scares her terribly.

Abusive Bigmouth
She’s a gossip, basically. Her words will often come back to bite her, and yet she continues to play people - it’s in her nature. But she will often have to face the consequences of her mind games. Such a personality trait means she can have difficulty forming genuine relationships and being trusted by others.

Pride Before a Fall
Relyssa is the very definition of Pride. She is entirely preoccupied with herself and would cut off her nose to spite her face. She is incredibly vain, and will opt to forgo armour and practical clothing if she can get away with it.

Spells

Fast Healing
Healing Hands
Greater Ward
Heal Other
Close Wounds
Grand Healing

Conjure Familiar

Tactics

Relyssa is an incredibly skilled healer who has developed her own methods using lesser known techniques like meditation and deliberate breathing to be precise in her control of her Magicka. Despite her greed surrounding much of her motivations as a healer - she takes incredible pride in her work and will never let anyone leave with a scar or without being in the finest health. She is arrogant in her abilities too, she knows that she is the best at what she does and has the skills to back it up - and she will let you know that too.

She will stay out of the line of fire, retreating to the back and giving out Wards to those in front. In dire circumstances she will conjure her familiar, the Wolf, who acts in tune with her emotions. If she is scared, the Wolf will be far more aggressive and direct in its attack, if she is hurt or injured it will move to a position of strong defense. As well as her conjuration, she carries on her person spell scrolls of Destruction for situations in a pinch. She would have people believe otherwise, however. That they are to sell and make a profit from.

Relations & Affiliations

- Alastaire Deserine - Father (Alive)
- Elayne Deserine - Mother (Alive)
- Colette Marence - Teacher/Mentor (Alive)
- College of Winterhold - Ex-Student

Opinions

Inventory

Cash

178 Septims

Keys & Lockpicks

3 x lockpicks

Tools & Crafting Materials

Small Knife and Bowl

Clothing & Armor

Casual
A deep violet boned sleeveless jacket of embroidered jacquard streaked with golden thread. Worn with a pair of gold and cream cropped trousers. A ruby amulet around her neck, and a headpiece with a ruby set into the centre. A pair of two-pronged heeled metal sandals that would be entirely impractical for anything other than indoor work.

Armour *Light Armour
A black tunic dress held in place by a thick leather belted corset, with a fringing over the short skirt to cover her thighs. The dress is worn off the shoulder, but has long sleeves tucked into gloves. Leather thigh high boots complete the simple look.

Weapon & Ammo

2 x Steel Dagger

Potion & Arcane Supplies

2 x Potion of Minor Restoration
1 x Potion of Minor Magicka

Destruction spell scrolls
Scroll of Chain Lightning
Scroll of Lightning Bolt
Exploding Shock Spider

Jewelry & Valuables

Amulet of speech
Silver Ruby Ring
Ruby Crown/Headpiece

Books & Documents

Letter from parents
A basic alchemy journal

Food/Drinks/Ingredients

Small cloth pouch full of dried blue mountain flowers, lavender sprigs, and other flowers

Load Bearing Equipment

A leather satchel, medium sized

Other

A journal in which she writes her thoughts
Quill and ink

---

The Witcher

Averina Vexx - Dance of the Cobra and the Wyvern

Name: Averina ‘Avery’ Vexx
Age: 73
Gender: Female
Birthplace: Silverton, Novigrad
Profession: Sorceress and Advisor

Appearance:

Avery stands tall and proud at 5’7 and weighs approximately 140 lbs, she has an enviable curvaceous physique which sets her apart from many of the more dainty and demure women of the Lord’s courts. She has pale skin bearing peach undertones that she highlights with light sweeps of bronze makeup around her sharp cheekbones. She has fuller lips, but unevenly so - with the upper lip being thinner with a well defined cupid's bow. Despite her overall fondness for make-up, she prefers not to wear lipsticks unless it’s a special occasion. When she smiles, it is clearly a mischievous one that reflects her mind at work - brimming with ideas.

Her thick and angular brows provide the perfect frames for her unusual eyes. The Sorceress is well known for her heterochromia. Her right eye is the colour of amethyst, and the left an emerald green, under normal circumstances the colours individually are not particularly special - but she has a habit of using her magic to enhance their brightness and make them appear far more enchanting. This is usually as an aid to hypnotise or lure people to her. Said eyes are darkened significantly with further makeup and a soft black kohl lines her them and she applies a soft, glittering copper powder to her lids. One further detail of note around her eyes is a large freckle just beneath the right - it is unknown whether or not she was born with this complimenting imperfection.

She has rich brown hair, the colour of chocolate, that falls in soft layers to her collarbones. Very few know this, as she opts to keep it well-groomed in a mid-set bun or a chignon - only well styled strands are left to frame the angles of her face. It is very rare that the Sorceress will let her hair down, and there is often some kind of bejewelled hairpin holding everything in place. One such piece that she owns, is a very ornate, coiled golden snake with rubies beset into it as eyes, which she will occasionally wear wrapped around her bun with the face staring out behind her almost menacingly. Some have whispered that this is so that Avery can have eyes in the back of her head if need be, and on days where she is said to be wearing it her peers will avoid walking behind her.

Sorceresses are known to take pride in their wardrobes, and Avery is no exception to that. She opts for colourful garments in warm hues and shades of purple that show off her svelte figure. She has a preference for monochromed cigarette trousers, and loose fitting, low cut tunics in silks and chiffon, and will always choose clothes that are practical but somewhat strange and out of place. Clothing can be a way to stand out in a crowd and she is not afraid to do that, and in fact almost relishes in it. She appreciates detailing, and while some of her clothes appear simple, one would notice upon close inspection that her buttons are etched into miniature copper roses, or that the hand-stitching was done in golden thread - there is always an extravagant detail, even if it happens to be small.

Personality:

Upon a first impression, Avery seems to perpetuate the Sorceress stereotype - aloof, cunning, and concerned entirely with her beauty and youth. She carries herself with an almost quiet charisma and charm, she is not particularly extroverted, but instead has a certain je ne sais quoi, a cool effervescence that is hard to define. However, there are more layers underneath her deliberately constructed surface - often contradicting with one another.

She acts in an advisory position to political figures despite having a natural disliking for authority, choosing to remain neutral and only ever really living by the laws of her own whims. In her profession, she has an honest, direct style of communication that isn’t held back by perceived social roles or expectations. This is something that most of those that she advises do not appreciate, but when Avery is right, she’s right - just try and convince her otherwise. She can be pragmatic and despite her own personal feelings around politics she will genuinely give the best advice that she can. In some ways, she takes her role as an advisor as if it’s her own way of keeping those in charge in line.

She has built a good reputation for herself in her work, in that despite her sharper edges she is of sound mind and has a level of wisdom and political nous about her that is not commonplace, and usually only found in Mages. For this, she is very valued where she is. Avery does not settle into submission easily, and can be very intransigent - keeping most people at a decent arms length from her. She does not blindly follow precedents and so called rules, and she dislikes authority figures who uphold them without room for critical thinking. That said, she knows her audience, and as a natural empath with proficiency into magic of the mind, she is incredibly shrewd and can read people quickly and knows how to act and treat them depending on what she may want from them. She can agree to disagree if it benefits her later down the line to do so...

Being respected by those in high places has allowed Avery a certain advantageous freedom to pry into the lives of others, and conduct her own business almost completely under the radar. While she remains somewhat formal on the surface - it is mostly to keep people at quite a distance from her and protect her own emotional energy. Behind closed doors she has her own ways of enjoying herself, and she is perfectly capable of switching from a passionate, driven idealist to an imaginative and enthusiastic free spirit. She delights in causing playful and (mostly) harmless chaos - behaving in a mischievous manner to toy with people that she believes should be brought down a notch. She can easily use misdirection and cunning manipulative tactics to protect herself from being discovered as the source of such devilry.

While people in general annoy and drain her, (save for a few select individuals), she has a great amount of compassion for animals - with cats being a particular favourite. She enjoys their nature, finding them in a way familiar to herself. She gravitates toward more introverted, intelligent people when seeking friendships and relationships. She has very little patience for shallow individuals, even less so for lewd ones.

She has a strong belief that her position as a Sorceress coupled with her appearance attract the sort of men whom she does not find interesting on anything other than a superficial level. She has no desire to be a notch on a bedpost or the simple, exaggerated subject of a story between drunken men as they brag about conquests with each other. It may well be rooted in arrogance, but Avery is waiting for someone different than the usual crowd - someone worthy of her time and affection. Paradoxically, growing up, she was never shown much love or affection by her family and so has always felt somewhat unworthy of it in the first place. It is a concept she is wholly unfamiliar with, and she will avoid discussion of it for the most part. What Avery does know about love, romance, and affection has been learned through reading very unrealistic depictions in romance novels. She has never been fully intimate with another person, and it is perhaps her deepest secret. The very fact that she does not shy away from acting seductive, and her habitually immodest appearance has so far kept people from discovering her abstinence.

---

Skills:

Specialty - Telempathy
A natural empath since childhood, now amplified by magic, Avery is able to feel into the emotions of those around her. At one time, this process was entirely involuntary, which caused her a great deal of emotional distress as a child. As she developed, so did her ability to drown it out and even begin to use it for her own advantage by manipulating individuals based on the way they are feeling. Using this information, she can create illusions of the mind. Sometimes this presents as showing someone their greatest fear, or pacifying them with beautiful imagery or a memory.

Magic

Offensive
For what is a Sorceress without the power to decimate her enemies? In Avery’s case, her element of choice is Air, and she favours the use of storm magic and aerokinesis when in battle, whether that be by bringing in cloud cover, creating a thick fog, or literally wielding lightning in her palm. As well as air, she uses Geokinesis quite often, and in creative ways to excellent effect. The illusions and conjurations that Avery specialises in have also been known to attack an enemy more than any flesh wound, but these require time that isn’t always afforded in the heat of battle.

Defensive
Because Chaos doesn’t always have to be chaotic, and can in fact be incredibly useful in dangerous battles. Avery can create shields and barriers that can hold off vicious attacks for a limited time. It has saved her from great injury many times.

Alchemy
Avery’s knowledge of alchemy is far more basic than she’d like, she chooses to spend her studying time in spellbooks to make her spells more potent, precise, and effective. That said, she is smart enough to realise that potions and alchemical creations are incredibly useful in a pinch... And she can make her own beauty products.

---

Equipment:

- A small messenger style bag;
- Foragers knife, rolled parchment, a quill and ink, and select alchemical goods;
- Pouch of sugared almonds to snack on, a handful of sugar cubes;
- Pouch of small animal bait (cats)
- A small compact mirror
- A vial of perfume

-Jewel embellished dagger; An ornate steel dagger with a bronzed hilt, beset with emeralds to the pommel which is engraved like a rose. Hardly threatening and rarely used, but nice to carry around all the same.

-Megascope; She keeps a Megascope in her quarters, packing it away to use only when needed, as Winifred in particular is fond of climbing on it and swatting at the crystals on each stand.

Misc:

Owns three cats. Cordelia (a grey ragdoll with blue eyes), Winifred (hairless), and Lorne (black short haired with green eyes).
She enjoys fictional romance novels, and has a bookshelf in her quarters filled with them. The trashier, the better.
She is very sweet toothed, and can’t resist anything sugary. It is one of the few well known facts about her. She always carries a small bag of sugared almonds on her person. To sweeten up Sorceress Avery’s mood, one need only bring her something with sugar.
Despite having no talent or natural aptitude for it, she has an almost extreme emotional resonance with certain music, it is one of the few things that can bring her to tears in public spaces.
Considers herself to be a nocturnal creature and will sleep in to the early afternoon frequently, having stayed up until the early hours of the morning. On many an occasion, important meetings have been rescheduled or postponed because of her unpredictable hours.

---

Mass Effect

Naryxa Kesir

Naryxa Kesir

Race: Asari
Gender: Mono-Gendered
Age: 286 - 1898CE
Class: Adept
Homeworld: The Citadel

---

Appearance:

Naryxa is a typical Asari in appearance, her skin tone is a light and muted lilac, her scalp crests taking a much deeper shade of blue towards the end with the colour applying in a pattern. She has white freckles that frame her forehead, temples, and her cheeks. The strips of freckles help to highlight each individual crest. The same bright freckles travel down the back of her neck and spine. She stands tall and proud at 5'9" and weighs approximately 142lbs.

During her time as a mercenary, Naryxa, like many other young Asari mercenaries, took facial tattoos. The bright red, drastic patterning above her eyebrows is always eye-catching to others, especially so when set against her amber coloured eyes. She chooses to further draw attention to the bold colour by painting her lips in a similar shade. The tribal-like curved style and bold colour choice gives her an overall sensual appearance on her face, and can appear dominating to some. She has no other tattoos or unusual markings, however she does have a scar from a battle in which she took a clipping shot from a Batarian sniper on the outside of her upper right arm.

Naryxa usually radiates a warm glow when she smiles that puts people at ease rather quickly and disarms feelings of hesitation. She carries a sincerity in her smile that so many Asari do. That said, her demeanour can quickly shift from that to something more stern when something has displeased her.

She has a full and voluptuous feminine figure that years of dancing has given her. When not in armour, Naryxa wears light and loose fitting clothing - opting for a blend of comfort, fashion, and functionality. She likes clothing that allows her to stretch during yoga. She is not particularly vain and is relaxed about her appearance. She doesn't feel the need to be overly vain, and pays no attention to whether or not a garment is expensive. The only exception to this is when she goes out at night, she will wear heavy eye make-up, bright lipsticks, and revealing dresses.

---

Psychological Profile:

One could say that there are two sides to Naryxa - a human friend once lamented that the Asari must be a Gemini. Truthfully, she just keeps a very balanced approach to life. While working on a task, in the field and on missions, she is calm under pressure, methodical and organised. She absolutely requires her strong work ethic to be reciprocated by those she works with, and acts with dedication using a direct and honest manner of communication. Growing up with a Salarian father meant that she, from early childhood, has been used to working at an extremely fast pace. This has served her well, as she is able to think on the fly and make logical decisions at the drop of a hat. She has a strong dislike of any kind of incompetence, dishonesty, and laziness from subordinates or people that she works with, and she will make her displeasure known.

She believes that order must be followed in order for the best outcomes in any situation, and she does her best to adhere to that, putting business first. While very professional in her work - and unafraid to say what must be said, Naryxa is rarely vindictive or mean, and is especially pragmatic and constructive.

Then there is the true side to the Asari - the yin to the yang! Many (usually non-Asari) find Naryxa to be aloof upon first impression, this is merely a byproduct of her age and maturity - past the initial serious surface is a warm and caring individual, who is nurturing and gentle towards those around her. She will often have sage words of wisdom and advice for those she grows close to, speaking in poetic metaphors. When in conversation, Naryxa listens with an intensity and enjoys making people feel special and heard. She tries to view all experiences with a gratefulness - even if it takes her some introspective thinking to reach that point.

Despite teaching in meditation and mindfulness - she is not without her own faults and weaknesses, and sometimes finds trouble in managing her own emotions. She can be prone to suffering temporary moments of depression and deep sadness but can usually overcome this by spending time alone and re-energising herself. Failure affects her, and she has a tendency to carry the burden of failure on her shoulders alone, such a strong need for perfection and order is just part of what makes her take it harder when things aren’t perfect, often blaming herself. Naryxa is a great networker who enjoys meeting others, but has strong opinions against nepotism, and is likely to clash with anyone who takes shortcuts through life.

Having such an ambitious personality, and a constant need for improvement makes her restless from time to time. Because of this she is prone to acting on impulse as a way to feed her desires and need for change. She can get bored easily, and has little patience for a lot of activities that are enjoyed by others - such as board games and movies. She will occasionally try to enjoy such activities as a means of bonding with others, but it's really just not her style, and she's at peace with that.

She can be passionate and geeky when it comes to certain subjects, like her scientific studies and she will definitely lecture her peers about plants if given any opportunity to. Whether this is annoying or endearing remains to be seen, but she always does so with a smile on her face and with an infectious spirit that is rare to pull from within her in any other way. She has a slight ditzy-ness about her that has given her an unintentional sense of humour.

She is incredibly open when it comes to matters of companionship - and has been accused of being overly flirtatious and promiscuous (impulsive tendencies) more than once. She is simply like many Asari, a free spirit who enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, the chase, and connecting with others in as many ways as she can. She is not ashamed of this side of her personality, and while she is not openly lewd and deliberately raunchy with her colleagues, she doesn't feel the need to lie about or hide her enjoyment of nocturnal activities. Naryxa will very rarely engage in these spontaneous activities with colleagues, unless there is a deeper connection there - stating that she would rather not complicate her work environment with no-strings sex; explaining in a far less poetic manner, "don't shit where you eat."

---

Equipment:

M-5 Phalanx

Preferred weapon of choice

M-15 Vindicator

Tends to use less, and would rather a pistol. Uses when in a tight skirmish and needs fast fire.

Magenta Asari light armour

Abilities:

Singularity
Pull
Shockwave
Nova
Passive - Barrier

---

Background:

Naryxa was born in 1898 to an Asari councilwoman, Vaessa Kesir, and a Salarian plant biologist male, Gurok Teran. Naryxa was closest to her father, living with him for her first 22 years, until he passed away at the age of 41. This was not to say that Naryxa did not also love and spend time with her mother. Quite the opposite, she loved her mother deeply but understood that her mother’s position on the council was important, particularly with the ongoing difficulties with the Geth and Quarians that was beginning during the early years of her childhood. Vaessa worked hard during her Matriarch years at the Citadel, and Gurok’s scientific work happened to have brought him to the Citadel - where for the sake of his daughter, he chose to live out his elder years. Teaching Naryxa about plant biology, the planets in the Milky Way, and of planet geography and weather patterns. All of the knowledge that her father gave her, has served her well throughout her entire life.

Saddened by her father’s death, at 22, Naryxa finally left the Citadel on an adventure of her own. Her father had created a dossier for her, listing some of the most beautiful and remarkable plants in the galaxy that could be found on different planets. Armed with the dossier and her mother’s approval, Naryxa jumped from ship-to-ship, hitchhiking her way through the galaxy to see each plant on the list.

Every so often, a plant that she would tick off would unlock a video from her father with a message about the plant, and some words of affirmation for his daughter. Many of his metaphors and words of wisdom are ones that she repeats to herself and others in difficult times. Suddenly, this journey with the dossier became a pilgrimage of sorts - and at each stop, Naryxa found herself engaging with the communities and people, developing, learning, and educating. Spreading her father’s research to the furthest reaches. After 9 and a half years, and 885 plants had been ticked off, Naryxa’s journey was done. Her father had planned out this journey for his daughter, so that she may have more years with him - and more memories that he could never have given her during his short life.

Naryxa then returned to the Citadel, and began working on scientific papers about her journey. For a while, this sustained her, but soon she found herself growing bored and wishing for a new adventure to embark on. Strangely, she found herself drawn, as many Maiden Asari do, to become an exotic dancer - to break free from the shackles of society and live out a life of social interaction on the fringes. So she did this, much to Vaessa’s chagrin. She danced her way around the Milky Way for over 80 years. She saw people come and go, friendships grow and flourish and then wither away almost just as quickly. It was during these years that she indulged in her first romantic relationship with another Asari, Valeen.

Their relationship lasted over 30 years, before Valeen’s lack of ambition seemed to put a wedge between the two. Naryxa was growing bored again, looking for something new - but Valeen enjoyed dancing too much to give it up. Surprisingly, the pair split in an amicable fashion - neither party sad and melancholic over the end of the relationship, but instead grateful and appreciative of the time they had spent together. After all, for many in the Galaxy, a relationship spanning 30 years was practically a lifetime. Naryxa once again found herself back at the Citadel. It was almost like the Citadel was the starting point for each chapter in her life.

She reached out to her mother for advice - who, finally ready to instill her own wisdom to her daughter, suggested that now would be a good time for her to start putting more effort into studying and honing her biotic prowess, commenting that Naryxa came from a good line of strong biotics, while also lamenting her strong disappointment that it was something Naryxa had not really dedicated any time to so far in her life.

So, off Naryxa went to Thessia, to finally dedicate herself full time to train under Matriarchs in Biotics. She found it off-putting and embarrassing that so many of her fellow students were younger than her - practically babies. What made her more uncomfortable was how little they seemed to care, how they were so disorganised and unwilling to follow rules. To make her mother proud, she did it. She studied, and studied, and practiced for many years. Naryxa’s natural talent and determination meant that she mastered the arts relatively quickly - excelling with her Singularity and Pull. The Matriarchs were happy to give her a small role in mentoring younger Asari in the basics. During this time, she taught the young Asari to meditate and tried to teach them to be graceful and elegant, and in methods to calm their emotions. When they had had their fill of that, she took to teaching them about plants, geography, and weather patterns, using her father’s dossier of course. She made sure that the new ‘students’ of biotics were whipped into shape. She developed a little bit of a reputation for being bossy... And she actually quite liked it.

Once more, as had happened before, Naryxa grew bored and tired and longed for something else. Now armed with her powerful biotics, she jumped at the chance to work as a mercenary. She spent years traveling with her unit of Asari commandos, working her way up the ranks. The thrill of battle was exciting, and leading others filled her with satisfaction - but still her ambition was sitting in her chest - bringing her discomfort. There had to be something more than this in the galaxy.

The year was now 2125CE, she had reached the age of 227 in what felt like a heartbeat, her life already so colourful and full of experiences. She received a communication from her mother, that she would be traveling as a council ambassador to Parnack to open diplomatic contact with the yahg. This contact did not go as was planned by the council, and Vaessa was just one of the Ambassadors who perished in the conflict. As Asari do, Naryxa was able to look at her mother's passing without being too overcome with pain, to think too long on what had happened only brought her distress - to imagine her mother being brutally slaughtered was not how she wanted her to be remembered. Her mother had led a long and beautiful life, had achieved her goals and ambitions in life, and had been an important fixture of the Asari council throughout her Matriarch years. Vaessa had successfully passed on that zest for success to her only daughter.

Now completely parent-less, Naryxa continued her work with her unit until around 2174CE, where she retreated back to the Citadel following an injury she had sustained in the field. It had been a mission like any other, they were out in the far reaches taking down a rogue Batarian slave gang that had attacked a human colony, and all was going well. She and her team of fellow Asari had gotten into the field, and were scoping out the surroundings when one of her comrades was taken out by a sniper. The Asari in question was a young Maiden - who had been foolish enough to step out into an open area, but the shot was still a surprise to the team. A group of Batarians, including a Rocket Soldier, the Sniper, and several Shock Troopers came down upon the unit - releasing varren in the field to draw out the Asari. The group were able to push back with biotic barriers and eventually took the group out. Naryxa took a shot from the sniper which was thankfully, non-fatal, but the bullet did clip through her right arm quite viciously.

Her unit made it out, fractured and frightened, but they cleared it and completed the mission. The slaves were freed and brought to the Citadel for medical treatment. The mission deeply shook Naryxa's confidence in battle, and she began to display symptoms of PTSD. Suffering with recurring nightmares of the event frequently, and she was experiencing pains in her arm. Even in everyday life she was not without stress, loud clashes and sounds would frighten her, and she would suffer from panic attacks. During this time of recovery, she chose to stay away from mercenary missions, and the familiar comfort of researching and studying in labs - as well as more frequent meditation and the study of Yoga was enough to help her manage the condition. Slowly over time she began to heal.

It was at this time in her life that she was hoping for a quiet period of reflection, and so she chose to delve back into her scientific pursuits. Naryxa began researching the effects of biotic boosting narcotics (red sand - and others) alongside the Citadel’s medical scientists. While working here, she met a human Doctor, Aaron Swan - with whom she began a purely sexual relationship. She hadn't encountered or formed many deep connections with humans and he was truly enthralled by her, something which brought her a lot of joy. Their 'friends with benefits' arrangement lasted a number of months until it seemed that Aaron was growing more fond of her than she was of him, and she had to break off the tryst to save making their workplace awkward and uncomfortable for themselves and their colleagues.

In 2183CE, of course, Sovereign attacked the Citadel - and Naryxa’s home was all but destroyed in the process, she later found out that Aaron and many of her friends had been killed in the conflict. This time, unlike the other deaths she had witnessed in her life, there was certainly something different. Before, death was either a natural end of life (like her father) or a tragedy (her mother), but this - this was a needless violence that went beyond tragedy. It was as if the people were just fodder to a power greater than she could imagine. For the first time, Naryxa truly feared for her own life - that such chaos could be brought to The Citadel - her safe haven was a terrifying concept to her. She had never before felt unsafe in her own home.

---

Fueled by fear, and her laboratories all but destroyed, Naryxa retreated elsewhere on the Citadel, and began writing again and publishing articles on her studies. But for the first time in what has seemed like her whole life, she feels a new kind of unrest within herself which is much less like a natural curiosity, but fear. A fear that plucks away at the PTSD she had thought had healed over time even despite being mostly out of combat. Having lost her people in such a difficult and terrifying time has left her with trust issues, both in others and in herself.

The Asari fled to Omega after learning she was accused of a crime, a crime so terrible it has caused her to be wrongfully exiled from her home - the one place that she loved and has been her constant throughout life. The place where she was raised by her father... The workplace of her respected mother... The whole thing is wrong and casts a shadow over her spirit.

For now, Omega is her home. But she needs answers, she needs to put this right...

---

Strengths:

Biotic force; - a skilled and confident biotic user, there’s very little she can achieve on the battlefield with her array of abilities, and she is strategic in using them too.

Flexible/acrobatic; - years of dancing and more recently, Yoga, has given Naryxa a strong body that can get her out of all kinds of situations, and into some others.

Problem solver/analytical mind; - the fast and ever running mind of a Salarian is written in her, and her sharp eye for detail gives her the ability to solve problems on the fly.

Calm under pressure; - she does not easily crack under pressure. Whether through age and experience, Naryxa’s view on everything gives her a unique perspective in which during stressful situations she remains calm and does not act impulsively. Her PTSD can sometimes waiver this, however.

Good reputation; - Naryxa is known as a dedicated hard-worker, and both of her parents were known figures of their respective fields.

Weaknesses:

Trigger shy; - she’s an Adept, which means while she is comfortable carrying a gun and firing it, it’s not her strong suit, and she is much better utilised for her biotics than for her gun-toting ability.

Lingering PTSD; - more recently, there’s an unrest in her that makes her a touch more unstable than usual, and if she gets scared or fearful that things may not go well she may have emotional outbursts amongst other symptoms.

Close combat is a no-go; - she may be flexible and athletic but will suffer in hand-to-hand, close combat if she isn’t careful. She is not as physically imposing as she would like to believe.

Easily bored; - also known as, the 70-year itch. Ambition was contagious, and Naryxa wants to achieve everything she possibly can which makes it difficult for her to stay in one place for too long.

Overly focused perfectionist; - sometimes she will get far too caught up in the detail and take longer than is necessary with a task to make it ‘perfect’. It is both a hindrance and help.

Where did I leave my thing-a-ma-bob?; - frequently misplaces her belongings and occasionally will lose something of great importance.

Bad reputation;- being openly promiscuous is not looked on highly by everyone and her reputation has a habit of following her around which can put her in bad stead with people from the get-go.

Misc:

She really likes cats. As in she really likes cats and dreams of owning several one day. Until that day, she keeps a folder of over 300 cat images on her own terminal, with a sub-folder 'catsinclothes';
Practices yoga frequently;
Still dances whenever she gets the opportunity;
Prefers to be barefoot whenever possible;
Likes to give nicknames, and uses terms of endearment regularly;
Naryxa has little to no talent with technological/computer sciences. She knows enough to get by, and because of this, she is impressed by those around her who can seemingly bend it to their will and create/improve systems using technology.

---

Fallout

Dr. Kinsley, Harper

Name: Dr. Harper Diane Kinsley

Date of Birth: 13-07-2241 (43 years old)

Sex: Female

Appearance:

Dr. Kinsley stands at an average height of 5’4 with a thin and borderline scrawny build. Her skin is pale, and not in an attractive porcelain way, more that the colour has been drained from her - through lack of sleep, and poor nutrition, constant worry and a general feeling of indifference to really take care of herself. Despite all of this, she is no old looking woman, quite the opposite in fact - her good and healthy methods earlier in life have left her skin in good shape and she has only a few wrinkles - most prominently around her eyes. At first glance, it is easy to pass Harper off as having always looked dishevelled, but once a person looks hard enough, they can see that a beautiful and happy woman once lived inside of the cracked shell.

The clues are in the way she does sincerely smile - it’s the smile that used to light up a family home, and her laughter was the music. Her body was once more womanly; she carried and bore a daughter, gave life and love in abundance, but such selflessness has been stripped away, taking with it streaks of auburn from her hair - leaving behind framing strands of grey. Her hair falls to the middle of her back in loose waves with a side swept fringe.

Whatever authority and confidence that Harper once spoke with, like much of the rest of her attributes, has withered. She is now incredibly soft spoken, speaking quietly most of the time. One would be a fool to think that she is soft at heart, however, for what her voice lacks, her eyes make way for. Her blue, wide eyes can very quickly command the energy that does not project in her voice - and many have learned this the hard way, that fire can indeed take hold of water.

Chowder

---

Place of Birth: New California Republic

Path: Scribe

Rank: Senior Scribe

Equipment:
Chowder
Clothing
Weapons
Roll of Surgical Tools (Inside satchel)
First Aid Kit (Inside satchel)
Bottles of Sterilising Equipment (Inside satchel)
Mysterious Vial

Notable Talents:
Medical Hero

For all intents and purposes, and quirks aside, Dr. Kinsley is in fact an incredible doctor. Having been taught in human biology from a young age. She was something of a prodigy even as a trainee in a New California clinic where she spent her twenties practicing, before travelling out with her husband and the Followers of the Apocalypse. She took her clinical mind to the outside world, to real and instant trauma. She learned quick and fast during that time, before returning to her neurological research. It’s safe to say that in Dr. Kinsley’s hands, you’ve little to worry about.

Everyday I’m Puzzlin’

She has an incredibly logical mind, and is a fantastic problem solver. She enjoys intellectual puzzles, particularly linguistic or mathematical ones. Solving puzzles is one of the few things she presently takes joy in, and her skills translate beyond being able to figure out the answer to a riddle - but in the real world too. She can make logical decisions with ease, without being too tangled up in emotional aspects. She excels in analysing connections, linking together seemingly unrelated factors in a way that might confuse someone else.

Smart Cookie

Dr. Kinsley has a vast knowledge of the world around her - perhaps a combination of her age and experience, and her naturally quick mind for absorbing information. She is well versed in history and politics, in geography and how the land physically works, of animal species, and of course, human biology. She’s smart as a tack, and she isn’t afraid to let people know this.

Laughable Failings:
Unfiltered Honesty

Harper says what she thinks with ease. She doesn't sugar coat her words, and she's not the kind of person you'd go crying to, unless you wanted brutal honesty. None of it comes from malice, just from her own pit of hopelessness. The lack of filter slips over into what appears to be a lack of interest in others personal lives.

Hard of Hearing

Got too close to a gun firing off once, and it’s left her a little hard of hearing on her left side - not to mention the near constant ringing of tinnitus plaguing her. Both of these things tend to tick away at her patience. This is a more recent ailment she’s been afflicted with since travelling with the Brotherhood of Steel. People have learned to speak up when talking to her, and to understand that she’s not the best courier of messages… They often tend to change on their way.

Insomniac

Dr. Kinsley’s mind is too active, too turned over with pain to ever really allow her to sleep fully. She gets a few hours here and there, but for the most part, she tosses and turns, or simply gives up and goes for light night adventures. Usually pacing back and forth, relaxing in a chair, or completing even more puzzles. She doesn’t really seem to care that she sleeps in short bursts. Her pacing and chuntering late at night might well bother others, however.

Personality:
A natural intellectual, her way of thinking offers a lot of insight into the world around her, but for the most part, Dr. Kinsley sees that world as an intrusion to her innermost thoughts. She is guilty of absent-mindedness when her interest is captured, usually by a puzzle of some kind, she can forget where she is entirely to the point of rudeness. She is private, withdrawn, and shy and so very little is known of her, just that she is good at what she does and does it without much of a fuss.

What is known, however, is that she is direct in her communication, and does not mince her words. It is not too much of a secret that Dr. Kinsley sees the world as meaningless, her eyes are often glazed over with gloom and that transcends in her social interactions. When one is so indifferent to the world around them, it can be liberating in that one can say what they like without fear of consequence. It is less appealing to those around her, even if in a way, her downhearted comments and topics of conversation are somewhat endearing.

Her honesty can also be refreshing, between the lines of melancholy, there is often genuinely helpful nuggets of wisdom that most certainly come from the warmth that she does have left, particularly for those who make an effort to get to know her beyond her outward quirks.

Life isn’t all a spiral of darkness, and there are brief moments where Dr. Kinsley will light up with joy, and smile from her heart. In those moments, colour seems to momentarily return and she possesses a maternal grace that hasn’t completely left her. But yes, those moments are fleeting and rare — but the longer she spends with people, being useful, the more such moments beat back the darkness.

Short Background:

First Day - 2260

Ummm, hello! It’s me, Harper Howard, and today is my first day practicing medicine!

Really practicing. Not just reading books, but actually being amongst patients and senior doctors. I wanted to start this diary… To keep, and remember everything. To record the things that I do and learn, things that I achieve. To keep and preserve it. Preservation is important, after all.

But I don’t know. It feels silly talking to myself - or to you, this thing… Maybe if you’re someone listening to this in the future, it's because I was a famed surgeon! That I saved so many lives - maybe this is used in your school. If that’s the case… Good luck doctors of tomorrow! Or, maybe in the future these recordings are just… stashed in a drawer somewhere - gathering dust… Oh my. I can’t really say, but to the topic at hand…

It’s my first day in the clinic. Dad got me my tools for the occasion. They’re so proud, Mom and Dad. I hope they stay proud.

Oh, please don’t let someone die on me on my first day…

Alex - 2264

I met someone today.

His name is Alex.

He’s another Doctor, but he travels with the Followers of the Apocalypse. I’ve heard of them, I’ve seen them occasionally but not this… close up I suppose. Anyway, Alex… He came to the clinic and we talked a little, he didn’t stay for long but he left me with a crossword for some reason. Some strange puzzle. It was ridiculously easy to complete.

I actually finished it so quickly that I had time to draw a puzzle of my own to give him. That’s if he comes back.

If he wants to come back, I mean. Why would he do that though it’s not like he showed any signs of liking me or anything… Not that I like him! I’m putting it on record that I don’t like him.

I don’t like him.

In news more relevant to my recordings, I successfully took several skin grafts for a patient today. My stitches are perfect, and Dr. Wilson said that I can start looking to an area of research I’d like to do; of course I want to look at the spine, the nervous system. It’s ambitious, but there’s so much opportunity there. We know so very little about neurology, really. There’s… still discoveries to be made.

I know it.

Unknown - 2265

I am now Mrs. Harper Kinsley…

Flower Arrangement - 2269

I had a death today.

I got too arrogant that it hadn’t happened until now. I was flying on wings of hubris and I messed up. Alex told me that these things happen. But the very reason I’m doing this is so that people don’t have to die. I do this because I want to save people. If I can’t, then what is the point?

Still, there’s so much to be learned. Her tumour… It was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. Spread across her frontal lobe like a flower arrangement. Advanced astrocytoma to a glioblastoma. One of the worst I’ve seen, but I just… I had to try.

I had to. She had months, if that. Her tumour had reached the optic chiasm and was affecting her vision.

I thought I could remove it. I’d drawn it, dreamt it. Everything I looked at was that damned tumour. I thought to just dismantle it. Several approaches all at once, but I was wrong. It was impossible.

Magnificent - 2270

Good morning world! Whoever is listening to this recording, you're in for something amazing today! You might be wondering who this handsome sounding man is, that’s right - it’s Dr. Alex Kinsley, husband of Dr. Harper Kinsley…

No recording from my wife today - but I’m watching her right now as she finishes up in surgery. She’s removing a hemangioblastoma, initially we thought she would have to cut the spinal cord to paralyse the patient and cut off its blood supply… But not my wife.

We’re approaching hour seventeen and she’s still going.

My magnificent wife is going to make a man walk again.

Expecting - 2271

I’m halfway through my pregnancy now. I’ve been so emotional, this last month, it’s a beautiful gift. I feel so strong and powerful creating this life, this perfect life inside of me. I haven’t stopped working - and of course people advised against it, but having this miracle inside me just gives me more drive. I want to make a safe world for my child, I want to discover everything there is to discover. I don’t have time to rest, and as always, Alex is on my side.

I caught him the other day singing a lullaby, practicing a song for our baby.

I feel so lucky. Even in this world of nothing, of horrors… I can just look at Alex, think of what we’ve achieved, the lives we’ve saved… How could that world be so bad?

We’re going to name a girl after my mother. Victoria. But if we have a boy, then after Alex’s father, Joseph.

I feel like she's a girl though. I just... With every kick she feels like my Victoria. Like a best friend just waiting to be brought into the world. I already love her so much, and I didn’t think it was possible to be so full of love - to the brim of my cup and over, to a puddle at my feet that is warm and real and right there.

I always thought my destiny was to be a doctor, a surgeon - to save lives but maybe being a mother is my destiny… Creating this life. Or you know, it can always be both. Destiny is limitless. Opportunities are endless.

Wow, I told you I was emotional...

Man’s Best Friend - 2273

We got a dog.

Or should I say, Alex and Victoria got a dog. For some reason, the dog doesn’t seem to like me as much as he likes Alex and Victoria. We’ve had him for eight months now, and he just destroys all of my things— all of them! And yet none of theirs. I think I’m just not really a dog person, but that’s okay because Victoria is.

The two are inseparable. They’re best friends. Chowder sleeps at the bottom of her bed, and the first thing she ever wants is her puppy, and the last thing she wants at night is her puppy. Gone are the days when she just wanted to be held by her mother. Now she just wants to hold her dog.

Oh, and I know, I know. It’s a dumb name, but that’s for some reason, what Miss Victoria picked to name him and… Honestly? He suits it.

He’s a good dog, I’m glad that they have each other.

Sick - 2281

Alex and Victoria are sick.

They’re really sick, actually. They’d been out together and they came back sick. Temperatures are way down. They’re malaised, coughing and wheezing. Occasional bleeding from the face - notably around their gums. The blood instantly coagulates. Their eyes are red, they’re in and out of consciousness.

I thought it was pneumonia. But the bleeding, and then the rashes. It’s more than pneumonia. They’re confused, slurring. I don’t have the supplies out here to help them, and I don’t think I have time to collect anything — I don’t even know what this is.

Parasitic pneumonia? Uniquely infects people of their blood type, because I’m fine, and I’ve been exposed to them for hours.

Why don’t I know what to do? Why can’t I figure this out?

-

-

I spent my career studying tumours. Fucking tumours. I should have been studying disease, haematology - God, anything but fucking tumours. Studying disease would have been smart. I just thought I was special, that it was my purpose to personally cut fucking tumours out of peoples bodies.

I wanted to be special. I should have been doing something important. I thought I knew everything… If I’d studied disease then I could figure this out. What if I can’t save them?

What if I can’t protect our little girl?

Alex would know how to fix this.

Unknown - 2281

I buried my baby today. Next to her Father.

She’s gone, she… She just didn’t wake up.

I fell asleep and when I woke up... She was gone.

I buried my little girl.

God damn it Chowder, shut the fuck up!

Promise - 2281

I’m here.

Just me and Chowder now. I can’t cry, because he cries louder.

His little girl is gone and I can’t explain to him that she’s not coming back. I can’t translate death into a concept that this dog can understand.

She was my little girl too.

I have to look at this damn dog everyday, knowing that he just wants her. All I want is her too. I got all this love, and nowhere to place it.

That’s grief. Grief is the love left over that has nowhere to go.

I have nowhere to go.

But I promised her I’d look after her dog.

I have nowhere to go until he’s gone.

He has to go back to them before I can.

The End - 2282

This is my last entry.

I used to think these recordings were important. Turns out this entire tape is just a mausoleum.

I helped out some kid with the Brotherhood of Steel today. Patched him up and got him on his feet. Chowder seemed to like him. His group asked if I wanted to travel with them. Helping someone felt good, I suppose.

They don’t seem to mind the dog, or that I look like shit. They just need a scalpel, and I have one.

Maybe travelling with this faction will get Chowder in some action and wear him out for his sleep.

And then I get to follow him, back to them.

One last good deed to say goodbye.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Sky Belongs to Us

- with the dazzling @Hank

14th Sun’s Height, Morning

---

The chaos and squall had been chasing at her heels like hounds of hell. Adjusting and playing out so ominously to her every move and reaction of fear in a destructive dance of consternation. But now, the storm was buried within for she had taken that chaos into her bare hands and choked the essence from it. It was now silenced and quelled entirely. In the place of rolling thunder, a precious heartbeat.

The eye of the hurricane was quiet for miles around. Quiet and as still as deep and untouched waters hidden somewhere far in the heart of a forest at the edge of the world. That was the silence that occupied the mind of Raelynn now. Where so recently, there had been a field of tangled thorns, each kissed with red hot blood, now there just empty plains awaiting life. Plains that lead to the edge of the world, to the silent and serene space of her mind. To that well of deep water where she nourished life, alone, and in secret.

Daro’Vasora still slept, and as the Breton looked over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth quirked up. At last their fearless leader had slept through the night, and all it had taken was to cuddle beside a friend. She almost felt smug about her abilities to bring the Khajiit to a deep sleep just by being around her, but respect and admiration soon swept that to one side. She’d needed it.

Raelynn’s hand flourished over the parchment, the gentle scratching of the tip of the quill cutting through the delicate and soft breathing of Sora. She had finished her list, and carefully she tore the page free from her journal and gave a gentle blow against the still drying ink, before folding it perfectly in half. Across the fold, there was the slightest tinge of oil from her thumb that scented the parchment with the faint and mellow aroma of daisies.

Outside of the tent it smelled of rain, and the light that poured in when she parted the fabric of the doorway was not the amber orange that she had grown accustomed to in the desert, but once again the bright and striking grey of the wilds. The sky was mottled today, with an array of blackened clouds, smoky wisps, and swirls of white. If it weren’t for the cracks between them showing the azure hue behind, it would have looked far more aggressive. It would take but an hour and the clouds would surrender to the wish of the morning and move on.

Raelynn placed her hand against her forehead to shield her fresh eyes from it, as she stared heavensward in awe. This was her sky. The one she had lived under for so many years, despite any unknown dangers of the Reach, she was on the fringes of her home once again. It brought her a sense of calm that she had needed.

As she brought her eyes back down from the sky, they fell onto a recogniseable figure sat beneath a tree, his cloak peppered with the falling pine needles of the conifers that had grown strong in the conditions of the Reach, from sapling to the magnificent watchful guardians of the mountains. How long have you been there? It brought a smile to her eyes to see him, even as melancholic as he was. She drank in the image as if she were painting it to her memory, noting every colour - with Gregor in the centre, as silent and still as the trees too.

Knowing that she couldn’t just observe for too long, steadily she made her way to him, hands at her front, ashen hair tousled and more voluminous than ever. She had about closed the distance when she tilted her head the side, her eyes brightened. “Good morning…” She said in a voice as soft as a whisper in his direction.

Roused by the warm fragility of Raelynn’s voice, Gregor looked up to see her. Merely the sight of her, of her eyes and her hair and her impeccable outfit ruffled somewhat by sleep, appeared to breathe life back into him like a statue touched by magic. “My love,” he responded, his voice rough with disuse and muffled within the confines of his helm, and he extended a hand to her. “Sit with me.”

She gracefully took hold of his hand as she lowered herself to sit beside him, being sure to brush a hand down the back of her cloak, carefully clutching the excess of fabric to the side so it would not crease. As she came to her sitting position, she let go of his hand and began to brush away at the fallen needles that had managed to land on his own clothing. The image of them raining on him was both amusing to her, and in many ways sad. It was how he was now, deep in pensive thought, near silent, undeterred by his surroundings. She noticed his sword and whetstone. He hadn’t given up his ritualistic behaviour in it all, that was for sure. “Have you been here all night?” Raelynn asked as she leaned against him and let her hand rest on his forearm.

It wasn’t until Raelynn took it upon herself to relieve his cloak of the needles that had drifted down from the surrounding trees that Gregor even noticed them, and an audible chuckle resonated from behind his visor. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. “Is it dawning already?” He looked up at the sky to see that it was, indeed, sunrise. “I was keeping watch,” he added and moved to tuck the whetstone away in the bag by his feet.

He stopped and paused, motionless for a few seconds, before he straightened back up and looked Raelynn in the eye. “That’s not true. I was thinking.” Gregor took one of Raelynn’s hands in his own and his gaze darted around the camp, as if he was searching for something to give him strength.

“Fjolte and I made progress with my memories,” he blurted out suddenly, uncharacteristically fast for him in his new condition. He slowed down and squeezed Raelynn’s hand. “What I said to you in our tent, before I left… I meant none of it. That wasn’t me.” He hesitated before he lifted his hands to remove his helmet, revealing the paleness of his visage, dark hair spilling out and falling around his shoulders. There was more than just the lights that danced in his eyes -- there was sincerity and regret, and his face was carved in a mask of pain. “I’m so sorry, Raelynn,” he said softly and placed his helmet on the tree beside him before he grabbed hold of her hand again. “Do you believe me?”

Her brows knitted and she turned away. He’d seen it, then. That moment which she had considered to be one of her greatest humiliations, and a fraction of that same feeling returned to her now as she squeezed her eyes shut and pinched at the bridge of her nose.

Raelynn had known that the day would come where they would have to speak about this, and still, she wasn’t ready - nor had she prepared in any way for it. That sickening feeling soon turned to a painful regret as she too, retraced the steps of that memory in her mind. Her frantic pacing, mumbled words. That she had slapped him. The hand slipped from her nose, to cover her mouth as if to hide the shuddered breath she released. Again, it moved down to her neck, her fingers pinching and hovering over the place where his hand had been. Then to her chest, where she had been told to feel it. Every step was painful, but so perfectly shaped for her to step back in at any time, fresh and raw.

The Breton was speechless while he spoke, and speechless for longer too until her eyes reopened - pointed at the dirt and grass. Grey and green in a blurred wash until focus returned. “I think that people normally discuss plans for the day first thing of a morning…” Raelynn replied sorrowfully, with a meek and mirthless laugh to follow. He was trying, at least.

She sniffed and breathed in sharply, straightening back up again. “I know that it wasn’t you. I know that you didn’t mean it,” she admitted, turning to look at him - grateful that he had removed the helm. She could see his eyes properly now that they weren’t basked in the darkness of visor. She blinked quickly, a guiltiness present. “I didn’t know who was going to come back, Gregor.”

Guilt-stricken as he was, Gregor was relieved to see that Raelynn believed him. He knew that she had forgiven him either way, or she wouldn’t have been so kind and loving to him ever since, but it still meant the world to him that she knew. The memories of her begging him not to go had been almost unbearable otherwise.

Her words that followed confirmed another realization that had come to him during their recent travels. “Is that why you brought your sword?” Gregor asked, his eyes searching her face for her response, but his voice was not accusatory.

There was no hesitation. “Yes,” her tone was quiet and hollow. Raelynn’s shoulders tensed. “I was convinced that I had to stop you.” She did not avoid his eyes, in fact she met them with her own but her gaze and shrunken posture was like that of a frightened rabbit.

“Heavens above,” Gregor breathed and rubbed his forehead without thinking, an old instinct that made him look a little more human and alive. He didn’t fail to notice how Raelynn looked at him. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he whispered and the expression on his face was one of quiet desperation. “He didn’t come back. I did. Just me.” Despite himself, the ghost of a smile tugged at Gregor’s lips. “Just Gregor.”

That made her relax, and she nodded in response. She had known almost immediately that it had been Gregor who had returned. The shame hadn’t left her though, at least not until now as she exhaled it in one, long breath and her shoulders relaxed with it too. “You’re more than just Gregor to me,” Raelynn mumbled, smiling shyly in his direction. “My everything came back, and that’s… That’s all I need.”

A genuine laugh escaped Gregor and he suddenly took Raelynn in his arms before planting a kiss on her forehead. The moment his lips touched her skin he felt something like an electric shock run through his body and he almost flinched. “Woah,” he muttered and leaned back to inspect Raelynn, an inquisitive look on his face. Without offering an explanation, Gregor tugged at the fingers of the gauntlet of his left hand to remove it and brushed the bare skin of his exposed fingertips against her cheek. It was almost… warm.

“I felt something,” Gregor said and cupped her cheek with his hand proper. He laughed again, timidly, like a man unsure of whether he can accept what he’s seeing. Her eyes were so light, so bright, and she almost seemed to glow in the shadow of the pine forest. “Did you become even more beautiful when I wasn’t paying attention?” he asked, his voice barely more than a murmur.

Whatever it was that Gregor had felt, she had not - and for a brief moment a girlish fear and instinct had kicked in and she’d wondered if a bee or a spider had stumbled upon their meeting to elicit such a reaction from him. Raelynn cleared her throat and quashed that foolish notion. She brought her fingers to brush away at the front layers of her hair that framed her face, tucking them behind her ears. The bouncy waves pushed back and the strands fell again. She had to think of something quickly, his compliment was lovely… It was also strange to hear, actually - her heart fluttered in her chest and a faint blush crept to the apples of her cheeks.

“Well… I think it’s just the air of Skyrim… Different clothing... Grey compliments my skin tone,” she muttered back, looking to the side as her fingers now began to wind around the tips of her hair. She was trying her best not to smile fully.

“Look at you, being all bashful,” Gregor said with a half-cocked smile. He moved his hand from her cheek to the back of her neck and his thumb gently caressed the skin just below her hairline there. “I’m glad the air is doing you well. I had hoped it would be good for everyone to get out of that heat,” he continued and looked out over the camp. There was almost nobody out and about and those that were up and present weren’t looking in their direction. If only for a moment, it was just the two of them again.

Glancing sidelong at Raelynn, he extended his arm so that his hand was on her shoulders and he pulled her a little closer to him. “So, what are your plans for the day?”

Her brows fell to a playful furrow when he teased her with his words. Even if it was just that, that small gesture was some of the real Gregor breaking through the melancholy, albeit fleetingly. Her eyes closed slowly at the sensation of his skin on the back of her neck. These things… She had almost forgotten them, small acts of intimacy that only he was allowed. “I am sending Fjolte and some others out to scout the area. After that, I will make use of the last of my supplies, I shall meet with Daro’Vasora to discuss some things…” She was speaking slowly, and she huddled against Gregor, placing a hand on his lap. “I shall pray that nobody scrapes a knee or catches a cough, there is studying to be done…” A thoughtful expression befell her features before she looked up at him, “Just a few things. I suppose you’ll be watching over the camp, won’t you?”

The conversation and the little moment of closeness that they shared had finally weakened the paralysis that had ensnared Gregor since the trial enough for him to shake his head at her question. “Not just that. There are some people I should speak to. I have gratitudes to express, apologies to offer. It’s been weeks,” he said. “It’s time.”

Gregor rested his head on top of Raelynn’s and pulled the cloak around her shoulders too, enshrouding her within the fabric that had been his retreat for so long. Only she could be so close to the man inside the darkness. “And I think I need to learn how to fight again,” he added, his voice betraying that he himself was still wondering exactly how he was going to do that. “My body isn’t what it used to be, for better or for worse.”

“Take it slowly, don’t rush for their forgiveness. Accept that many may still need their space. I haven’t been able to even look at Judena,” she expressed with a sigh, instinctively wrapping her arm around his waist now that she was beneath his cloak. Searching for comfort there. “First thing of a morning she smiles at me, wishes me a good day -- and then she remembers.” Raelynn nibbled at her lip nervously, holding tighter to Gregor still.

There was a silence for a while after that, as she swallowed back the lump in her throat and finally brought herself around to Gregor’s second task. “I may have something to help you,” a smile crept across her lips and her face softened, “I bought a book back in the Alik’r. It’s only a story but… Well, reading helps too. Helps us up here,” her finger found his temple and she touched him so gently there.

Gregor hummed softly in acknowledgement of Raelynn's words of warning, his chest reverberating against her. "I will."

As for her suggestion, Gregor smiled at the thought. He'd never learned swordplay by reading a book before, but it couldn't hurt to try. "Thank you. I'll make sure to read it. I've no shortage of time, after all," he quipped. The lich suddenly realised he didn't know what Raelynn had been up to all night. "Where were you before, anyway? I hadn't seen you since you were talking to Fjolte."

“I actually spoke to Sora…” she replied, “I believe that she and I are going to start putting everyone to good use, she needs help to stay on track but the time for action is now.” Raelynn’s words came out in a blunt fashion, as if she were a commander looking down over a war table in a castle fortress. She realised it too. “I mean,” she began again, softer this time with a breathy chuckle to shake it off, “I have offered to study the Dwemer Lexicon. Fresh eyes might offer new answers afterall, and we talked for a while about… Just things, and it got late and we slept in her tent. She hasn’t had a lot of rest as of late…”

"I can imagine," Gregor said sympathetically. "She's been through a lot and carries so much responsibility." He lifted his head back up and looked down at Raelynn with one raised eyebrow. "You and her are going to put people to use, eh? Am I going to have to call you Commander Hawkford soon? Has a great ring to it, I have to admit," the Imperial said. He surprised even himself with his good humour. There was something about Raelynn today that made it easy to forget everything. Gregor had no idea what, but he wasn't about to complain.

“Don't be silly,” she laughed, pulling herself from the embrace to shake her head playfully at him. “I'm just Raelynn,” she continued in a honeyed voice, reaching out to him to brush back his hair from his face. Then, then she just looked at him. He seemed almost happy, there was a glimmer of life behind his eyes and it was difficult to look away from them. Her hand moved to her thigh, where she squeezed just enough to stop her from leaning in to kiss him. Instead, Raelynn returned to his side and placed her head on his shoulder. “I love you,” she commented quietly, as if it was a secret she was whispering in his ear, it was just for him.

"I love you too," Gregor whispered, "with all my heart, my little sparrowhawk," he added and kissed Raelynn's forehead again. This time he relished the sensation it sent through him. "The sky belongs to no one but you." He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.

“No,” she said back, feeling so close to Gregor again. It was as if the distance between them closing at last, like snow touched by sunlight it was melting away. “It belongs to us.” While he was holding her, she placed her hand on her stomach, smiling into his neck. “It's ours.” Her happiness was bewildering, but as comforting as the arms he'd wrapped around her. Once again, she’d found with him another moment to cherish.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

Apologies, I am admittedly very caught up in GMing another RP and the deadline for this one completely slipped my mind. Where do the days go?

I am wondering right now if there is perhaps a slice or two too much on my plate, even if this rp is slower and is generally less time consuming. I will see how I go but I do struggle sometimes in writing Aeryn so maybe I need to shake some things loose and reignite the fire, so to speak.

I will get something up before mid week, and if I am to be late in future I will be sure to mention it.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

Constellations.

Greenie & Stormy

13th Sun’s Height

---

From the blistering desert, to the significantly less blistering mountain range of the Reach - it seemed that the journey had been endless. While most had their complaints, there was at least one who felt completely at home. The newcomer Nord, the one that most were still unsure of. He had only just been freed from a prison after all, and then had immediately volunteered to be the caretaker to the recently transformed Lich, Gregor. If he had wanted to make an impression… He had certainly succeeded in that regard.

But this was his home, his temple - the wilds of the world, the roads less travelled were of great comfort to him. The open sky and open arms of Nirn were inviting and nothing felt more freeing to him than the familiar embrace of complete and utter freedom. So, out of everyone in the party, Fjolte was probably smiling the most.

The Nord was changing too, access to food and real activity had brought his body back from the brink - and his spirit. There was also the matter of his beard though, that was growing back at a rapid pace. He looked more disheveled than he had when they had left the Alik’r. Not only the beard, but his hair too. Maybe it was the world's way of telling him he should grow it out for a change.

They were setting up their camp for the night, and, well - not ever wanting to stick himself in a tent, the Nord had already rolled his bed out for the night and was ready to stick in and help whoever else needed it. When Fjolte caught a glimpse of Meg pottering around, he decided that person could be her. He shrugged and slid himself off the rock he’d been sitting on, and with a relaxed pace he headed over, realising he hadn’t really said an awful lot to her yet - despite knowing her from some years ago.

“Scraps!” he said with his usual carefree and toothy grin. “Staying out of trouble this evening I hope?”

"Now tha's somethin' I ain' heard in a very long time." Meg had her arms filled with her bedroll, but she was quick to let it drop on the ground as she turned around to face the Nord man who was nearly a foot taller than her, returning his grin with one of her own. She had definitely noted his presence around the camp, but with the situation as it was and the graveness of Gregor's condition, she hadn't thought it would be a good idea to disturb the monk. Truth be told, she had been in her own contemplative mood for most of the journey, her thoughts and emotions a ball of yarn in her mind that she was trying to sort out.

That being said, every day meant they were nearing Skyrim, and so every day she found her mood lightening from the previous day, and it was apparent from the way she was actually making an effort to look pleasant and take care of herself. The dark marks around her eyes seemed to have receded, and her hair, though messy for the most part, seemed almost on purpose.

"Talos, sure is good t'see y'again, though I didn' think you'd've remembered that name!" Chuckling, she reached over and gave the large man a friendly hug. Even such an action made her nostalgic, reminding her of the people she would interact with back home. It was comforting in a way. "Trouble fin's me, not the other way 'round, y'know." She stepped back and looked up, taking in his scruffy look so unlike what she remembered from five years earlier. "Y'sure look differen' from there. So. Wha' 'bout you, eh? Don' tell me ya jus' ended up in the desert on an adventure or sommat."

A hug! Now that was something that made him smile in his heart, so excited he was that someone gave him such a greeting, that he squeezed Meg as his huge arms enveloped her, and lifted her up with the sheer force. It was then that the Nord realised that probably made the poor girl uncomfortable, so he put her down softly, with a glowing grin.

“Strange how the wind blows old acquaintances back together eh? And yeah, tell me about it troublemaker! How could I forget you?” he said with a laugh as he placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “It’s been a strange trek hasn’t it? Can’t remember travelling with such a large group…” His voice trailed off as his eyes followed around the camp slowly, taking notice of everyone individually and how they appeared to be settling in, or in some cases not quite so much. He sighed in a carefree manner and let his grin return, thinking of how to explain his adventure to Meg…

“Well you see…” he began, his eyes moving from left to right, voice lowering as if this was a great secret. “I was looking for something, something valuable… something dangerous. Up in the mountains that border our homeland…” He drew closer to Meg, his voice quieter still (for a change), “I had set up camp for the night. Just me and my trusty steed… Joben. I had followed a map to a secret cave there were I was to retrieve the famed sword of the great warrior Diana Prionsa. Such a legendary sword is this one, it is said to be able to slay a God…” He paused, to gauge Meg’s reaction at his tale so far…

Meg's eyes were wide, arms loosely held to her sides as she watched the Nord, laning a little closer as his voice quietened, though she really needn't have; it was as much for effect as well as her truly being engrossed in the story. She knew he told fantastical tales, yet this one sounded something that could very well have been the truth. Besides, it seemed he was as good at weaving stories as he had been when she had first met him. That had been a fun day indeed, now that she thought of it. A fight or ‘scrap’ with a couple of idiots who didn’t know better, and then drinks and banter with a friendly stranger to soothe the burn of the wounds. What else did a Nord girl need, really?

"A legendary sword, eh?" She grinned, her smile bright as she recalled her little misadventure in Gilane. "Soun's like we got somethin' more in common than bein' Nord. I went on some treasure huntin’ back in Gilane, for Raelynn’s Pa. But that’s nothin, you’re the only tellin’ your tale. So?" She prodded his arm and nodded encouragingly. "Then wha' happened? Don' just leave me hangin' here." With no further thought, Meg plopped herself down on top of her bedroll, sitting cross legged with her hand under her chin, green eyes staring at Fjolte expectantly.

“Aye, legendary indeed. But it wasn’t to be, Scraps. I got myself ambushed by a damned Dwemer patrol. Reckon they were looking for the sword too.” He shook his head slowly, eyes veering off over the distance to the right of him, an annoyed huff escaped his lips. Even his hands balled into angry fists as he plopped himself down onto the ground beside Meg. “Didn’t go down without givin’ them a good fight though, I tell you that much. Must have taken out about eight of them with my bare hands before they took me down. Well, then I ended up in the prison o’course.” After that he simply shrugged. “Gotta say though, everything happens for a reason. Wouldn’t be sittin’ pretty with you tonight if I hadn’t been in the right place at the right time now.”

"Yer righ'," Meg agreed with a smile. If she thought about all the troubles they had to go through to reach this point, then maybe she could think about all the good that had happened during the time as well. "Y'wouldn' be here an' we wouldn' be talkin', an' how sad would tha' be, eh?"

Treasure hunting for Raelynn’s Pa? That was of interest to him, and so as he relaxed into sitting he looked at the Nord with a curious smirk. “Treasure hunting in Gilane? Well actually I’d say that’s about everything I want to hear about right now…”

"Aye, aye!" Unable to do anything other that grin at the smirk, Meg's legs immediately began to jiggle about as they normally did when she was excited. "Haha, are ya sure though? I'm bettin' y'got much more interestin' stuff t'talk abou'..." She paused a moment before sitting still, bringing a fist to her mouth and mock coughing, as if clearing her throat. "Fine, I'mma tell ya 'bout tha' then."

She pursed her lips, sifting through memories that seemed a lifetime ago yet were only a little over a month old, truth be told. “I needed septims, an’ Raelynn’d mentioned her Pa migh’ have some work for someone with my er… talents.” She looked a hint of sheepish but mostly proud. “Dunno if y’remember, but I’m pretty damn good at huntin’ down treasure. Soooo I went t’their place, an’ I’mma tell ya, tha’ place was grand, got me worried if I was t’touch sommat, it’d get dirty.”

Fjolte watched the Nord with an intensity he rarely showed outside of his work, a seriousness to his eyes that suggested that Meg was the absolute focus of his attention. He remained silent for the most part, occasionally the corners of his mouth would turn to a smile. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and that joy radiated over to him where he sat.

Scratching at her head for a moment, she continued onward. “So, her Pa had this sword, an’ wanted t’complete the pair, ‘cept the sister sword belonged t’another merchant who was ‘bout t’leave for the desert. So I had’ta sneak into his place… climbed a tree an’ jumped into the garden. There were three wagons there an’ ‘course I checked the wrong ones firs’...” She chuckled, though she didn’t seem embarrassed by her tale- while it lacked the flair with with Fjolte told his stories, Meg was clearly enjoying retelling her adventure to the tall Nord. “When I got t’the righ’ one, the wagons started off. I managed t’pick the lock an’ found the sword. A bow too, sold tha’ though. Had t’use it t’get away from the caravan an’ ran like my ass was on fire ‘til they were outta sight. I got paid good though! Bought sweets an’ clothes an’ drink with the gold.”

He was silent for a moment, and after that moment he laughed from the bottom of his stomach at the story. It was a fantastic one. “Oh Scraps,” he said through chuckles, “you sure showed them. Man…” he sighed almost wearily, “it’s good to have escapades like that, keeps a fire in you. Sounds like the sweets, clothes, and drink were well earned if you ask me.” It had been a long time since Fjolte had bought something like that, he was so used to just making do with what the land provided. The clothes on his back were old, and had been repaired and remade more than once. “Can’t even remember the last time I made a septim, y’know? All I want is all around me, don’t need much else.”

He’d recalled Meg having kept to herself somewhat on the trip, he wondered if something had been bothering her but he dare not ask in case it ruined the happy mood. It wasn’t his place to pry, either, so he held back any thoughts he was having of poking and prodding at the girl. “Good to see you again, y’know? Despite everything you’ve probably gone through you look stronger and more spirited than ever.” He gave a soft chuckle again, and nudged her in the arm with his elbow gently. “Always been a good egg, haven’t ya?”

"Maybe jus' a l'il rotten," Meg jokingly replied, returning the nudge with one of her one. Her grin simmered down to a smile as she thought over what he said. It was a relief if she was being honest with herself. "All tha' travelin' gave me lotsa thinkin' time, y'know? It... it's been an adventure but also a whole lotta hard shit..." She looked a little guilty as she cast a glance at him before her eyes shifted to the dirt between her boots. "I feel kinda bad sayin' tha', ain' like ye've been sittin' in a tavern this whole time." One glance at the man was enough to show that he'd seen more than his share of strife, from his clothes to his hair to his general disheveled state of being. Yet somehow he'd managed to retain a smile on his face and a happy tone for others.

"How'd ya do it?" she asked after a moment of lingering quiet. "Bein' back here, Skyrim, tha's what's gettin' me happy again, but b'fore tha'... it's like if I didn' ignore shit, it'd just make me sad an' upset. But you've been cheery since I saw ya after the prison." She finally looked back at him, still smiling though the questioning look in her eyes was clear.

“I have faith,” he began with a smile and a loose shrug of his shoulders. “Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. I spent far too much of my life being angry, being sad…” He absent mindedly began to pluck at a loose thread on his shorts, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger as he gazed out across the camp. “It fucks you up, it fucks others up. I mean, it’s okay to feel like that once in a while if that’s how you feel. You just can’t set up camp and live there y’know?” Within the silence, his smile faded and the light went out in his eyes - as if he was thinking on memories from years ago.

“Being good, being nice, caring - all that’s easy I suppose. Rather see people smile and laugh than not. I’m not stupid, I know people see me as a bit of a joke y’know? Always been that way even when I was a soldier.” He paused again, blinking before he grinned and sat up straight with another laugh, “so hey, if I get to make everyone feel a bit better about their own shit for even five minutes because I’m the joker, well so be it. I’ll wear that badge with pride!” He beamed, and snuck an arm around behind Meg carefully while she had been listening, raising his hand to ruffle her hair. “Nothing to feel bad about Scraps, don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind for fear of offending me. I’m unoffendable.”

"I don' think yer a joke," Meg replied with a shake of her head before casually leaning against Fjolte- after nearly a month of keeping to herself, it felt nice to share a moment, and who better than with someone from home? "Hones'. I kinda wish I could be like you', y'know? I wanna be like tha', t'not take things t'heart so much tha' I just end up in..." Her forehead creased as she tried to think of a good description. "Like bein' stuck in a room with no light, no windows an' no door."

She paused once more, trying to gather her thoughts. "I hate thinkin' people see me as a kid, bu' maybe tha's how I acted." Smiling ruefully, she shook her head. "There're always signs pointin' to the truth, but I'd just... push ‘em away an' not take heed. I couldn' do that anymore when... well... the whole Gregor thing. Things were out an' there was no turnin' back. I drank a shi'load tha' night, like an idjit." Sighing, Meg looked at her hands that had been busy fiddling with the dark green and black trim on her new tunic. "Haven' since then though... was told it ain' gonna solve anythin'."

Looking up at Fjolte once more, Meg couldn't help but feel guilty yet again. "Sorry! Didn' mean t'make things all, er, gloomy an' such! I'm doin' okay now, really."

“People think you’re a kid? Or do you just think that’s what people think? Don’t know that anyone can say that about you after all you’ve gone through. I mean… Not that I know what has happened to you all… Save what I’ve overheard that is.” Fjolte looked down on Meg with his carefree smile again, letting his arm wrap around her as if to scoop her up and make her feel comfortable and safe from her own sadness. “Not a bad thing to take things to heart either - means we still have one y’know?” The Nord slapped his chest with the flat of his palm, the happy, toothy grin lighting up his expression alongside the sincere sentiment.

The crackling of the campfire, and distant chattering was the only sound for a while as he let Meg just breathe. He needed to as well, to take in the surroundings they had been blessed with - he filled his chest with the air and exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. “You want a drink? You have one. You want to go thieving swords for gold? You go do that too. Do what you want, Scraps. Ain’t nothing wrong with just being who you are. Willin’ to put a septim or two on it that’s why all your friends here love you.”

"More'n I think it... Honestly, I don' actually figure others do..." Meg was mumbling a little, the realization of her words striking her. "More what m'noggin' likes t'make me think." She couldn't help but smile though, feeling a little lighter as she quietly listened to the monk. It was strange that there was a substantial amount of years since they had seen each other yet it was still as friendly, easy and comfortable as the first time. The man knew how to make people feel at ease and almost at home.

She followed suit, breathing in deeply, taking in and enjoying the familiar scents, the warmth of burning wood and the crisp mountain air. She breathed out, a soft sigh, and continued. "Not gonna lie... I like carin' 'bout things. I like feelin', well, feelin's. An' yeah... I do love 'em all too." Her smile broadened once more, not a grin but seeming much less solemn than before. "We've been through a lot... I've been with 'em since, well, it's been three months? Maybe more, or less, I can' quite remember, but since the beginnin’. Everyone's like m'family really. Even you." She nudged his side with her arm before letting out a giggle.

"Say. D'ya really think y'should be tellin' me t'go an steal things?" She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Are y'really a monk there?"

“Sounds like you need to tell your own noggin’ to pipe down a bit then eh? There’s a great deal o’power in just being content in being you y’know? Means that nothing anyone says can bother you.” Thinking nothing of it, the Nord hooked his arm a little tighter around the Nord and pulled her closer with a content sigh. He’d be damned if this didn’t feel like just a nice, natural moment to be enjoyed.

“That caring that you do? It’s rare to find that in people. Don’t let anyone tell you to stop being that way. Especially not your inner saboteur.” He stretched out a leg, the other remaining bent at the knee and pointing upwards, his free hand flat on the ground beside him. Fjolte tipped his head back to gaze up at the sky. “I… Guess I’m not really a monk like my mentors were, but I try to live as closely to that as possible.” His head turned back to face Meg, expression unusually neutral, “I’m as close as I can be though, and if I say it’s alright for you to go steal a few things from some filthy rich merchants then you best believe I’m the damned authority on it, Scraps!” He almost sounded genuinely cross, and as if he was actually delivering holy commands to the woman beside him - but his eyes were filled to the brim with mischief and mirth.

Meg blinked a few times, a little surprised by the tone with which Fjolte spoke. Her mouth opened to apologize, but then her green eyes caught his blue ones and his intention was clear as crystal to her. “That so?” she replied with a giggle. Then she stiffened, her own expression one of solemnity as she raised her hand in a salute as she’d seen the habit of Imperial soldiers. “Well I guess I best be takin’ yer words t’heart too then. I’mma go lootin’ the next fat merchant I see an’ if tell ‘em it’s with the blessin’s of the Fabler!” Salute done and over with, she broke into another laugh before relaxing her stiffened stance as she shuffled closer, letting out a happy sigh as she leaned against the Nord, humming under her breath.

“Y’know what’d really make this like ol’ times?” she commented after a little moment. “Mead. Feels like ages since I drank any.” Her eyes shifted to her pack but she restrained herself- she’d keep it only for a special occasion, she really didn’t want to fall into her bad habit all over again. “An’ maybe seein’ yer hair back t’how it used t’be. Though, yer lookin’ pretty good as is.” She pursed her lips in thought before smirking, reaching up and gently tugging at his beard. “Y’plannin’ on keepin’ this?”

His eyes widened in surprise when she came for the facial hair, and it elicited a long laugh from him that had caught him off guard in a not unpleasant way. “Dunno. It doesn’t really feel like me to grow this out too much. Joked in the prison I could make a braid and bead the shiting thing before long… Reckon it’d make me look a bit wiser or something? Bit more serious? Or would I start looking like an old codger?” His laughter died down, and he stretched his other leg out, the warmth of the campfire reaching the two of them as they huddled together on the outskirts of the camp.

A drink would be good too, godsdamned good in fact… “So let’s share one then! Don’t tell me you’re holdin’ one out on me? I haven’t had a mead in…” Fjolte took in a breath and his eyebrows lowered, nose scrunched as he actually thought about the last time he’d actually enjoyed alcohol. “Fuck if I know, before I got locked up. Didn’t have any in the desert.” He could see from her expression that it bothered her, and he’d remembered her sharing a bad experience. Getting drunk to avoid feelings. He narrowed his eyes, and brought a hand up to his chin, stroking his fingers through his beard. “Y’know, drinking doesn’t have to be about getting blitzed. You shouldn’t go soaking yourself alone to bury sadness and anger - but there ain’t a damn thing wrong with sharing a bit of drink with a friend to celebrate, wouldn’t you agree?”

"Wise lookin' with wisdom," Meg replied, a teasing lilt to her words though she had to admit he was right. She didn't think she had enough self restraint to keep away from drink forever, but in good company with good words, perhaps she could learn some control. "Yer righ'." She smacked her thigh lightly before easily standing up in a single motion. "Ain' no better time than now, celebratin' bein' back, celebratin' good times with a friend." She gave him a grin before picking up her pack, unbuckling it and peeking inside. "There y'are." Pulling it out, she carefully set the bag back down -she didn't want to break the inkpot stowed within- and quickly returned, settling down next to the man as if she'd never left to begin with.

"Here ya go," she offered, holding out the bottle for him to partake. "Hard t'believe I got this in Gilane an' never even opened it. Huh, mayhaps the gods were waitin' til now. Seems about righ' though. Go on then, first one's on ya."

“You’re looking wise and mature yourself Scraps, that hair, the clothes. You mean business, bet you’d even kick my ass.” He laughed, taking the bottle carefully as if it was a source of contraband that might be confiscated at any time. He looked around shiftily before taking the cork from the top, and lifting the bottle to his lips. Taking a large mouthful, he savoured the taste for a few seconds before gulping it down, followed by a loud sigh. “S’good stuff that.” The Nord held the bottle in his huge hand before passing it back to Meg. “Bet some of the others wouldn’t mind a sniff of this either.” He tittered under his breath like a young boy up to no good. “Trust a Nord to find another Nord to down a mead with, that’s what I say!” He smirked boyishly, and took a look up at the stars again.

“You know, this is about my favourite thing to do? Just be out in the wild and look up at the sky.” He grinned and pointed to a set of stars to the right of them, “that set over yonder there looks like my brother Honon’s dismembered leg.” He commented with a loud laugh, his head tilted to the side so much so that it brushed against hers. The mead already had made him feel a warmth inside that the campfire simply couldn’t have done.

"Ya think?" Meg was still the smallest bit hesitant as she took the bottle, pausing to look up at the stars as well. She couldn't help but laugh- anyone else would have pointed out some profound constellation rather than the likeness of their brother's missing leg. She then pressed the bottle to her lips and took a small gulp. As she felt the drink go down her throat, she couldn't help but sigh happily, the familiar taste nostalgic. "Didju know I used t'be hired t'protect the Honningbrew's merchandise when I was younger?" She took another tentative sip before setting the bottle on his lap, keeping her hand around it so that it wouldn't topple over. "I might've... er... lost a few… in my tum."

He could definitely picture Meg as a guard at the Meadery, it didn’t take a whole heap of imagination. It didn’t take a whole heap of genius either to know it would probably have been quite a boring shift, so it was of little surprise to him that things went ”missing”. “Aye well, happens to the best of us. We can’t protect them all,” he said with a playful wink in her direction.

She rubbed her nose sheepishly before pointing up at another cluster of stars. "Those stars there, make me think of sweet rolls. Pa used t'buy 'em for me lots when we moved t'Whiterun. Thought it might sweeten my mood." She chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. "Poor thing. He did loads for me, by himself. I hope he's doin' a'ight." She turned her head, bumping her forehead against the large Nord's head. "What 'bout you? Y'got family back home?"

“My parents, my sister and her husband, and my nieces,” Fjolte said quietly, thinking about the two girls. It had been months since he’d seen them last. He knew how quickly they grew at their age and so he couldn’t help but think about how much bigger they might have gotten in that time. “Good strong Nord family us Dhjariksons,” he said in a voice soft as a whisper. He sniffed, bowing his head from the stars, he could make out the shapes of Meg’s face with her this close, pressed against him, it was almost enough to turn his thoughts away from his family. He hoped they were safe. He had been praying for them every day.

His hand balled into a soft fist out of sight of his companion, but he soon relaxed and began to pluck at the blades of grass beside him instead. “I’m sure your Pa is doing well, Scraps. Us Nords are hardy folk, don’t take too well to invaders now do we?” His arm curled around her again, and he gave her an almost comically strong squeeze - as if to remove all of the worries from them both in the moment. He smiled down at her again. “A sweetroll constellation eh? Makes sense to me that’s what you’d see,” he chortled before pointing to more. “If that isn’t a fucking chicken right there…” The Nord waited for Meg to comment on his observation, and he grinned up at it, proud as punch for having made out its form - his hand gently caressing her arm as he continued to hold her close.

"Hm... yeah, yer righ' 'bout that... though Pa ain' a Nord... but he's been in Skyrim plenty long 'nough t'be mistaken for one." She smiled, thinking back to when she was just a rebellious teen with a temper that needed to be quelled. "He taught me t'fight with m'sword an I ain’ too shabby, so I'm sure I'mma see him soon 'nough, pro’ly beatin’ some bandit ass. An' I'm sure you'll see your family soon as well." It was much easier to think that her Pa was still somewhere in Whiterun, or Riften, or maybe even Riverwood, alive and thriving, than to think the dwemer may have gotten him.

Once the conversation shifted back to the stars though, Meg couldn't help but laugh out loud. "A chicken?" She shifted slightly, and with Her legs now folded comfortably to the side, she was very much at ease, enjoying the warmth she felt from the closeness to her companion; it was hard to sit still and not snuggle. "Huh, y’may jus’ be righ’ ‘bout tha’. Well, ya jus' havta make sure y'don' kick it, the guards sure's oblivion don' like people messin' with 'em."

“Ha,” he laughed out at her, a short sharp exclamation in response to Meg’s humour, “they sure do, you’d think the chooks were royalty in some parts eh? Dunno what’s worse. Kicking a chicken up the arse or lollygaggin’.” Fjolte reached over to pick up the bottle to knock back another swig. She seemed in good spirits again, at least. He handed the bottle back, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

She snickered at her own silly joke for a little bit too before quieting, her mind returning to previous thoughts of family. "When this's all done... what d'you think you'll be doin'? Back on the road, adventurin'? Or maybe jus’ spendin’ time at home… Rorikstead?"

“Rorikstead aye, the whole group should come to my home! My sister Helga throws the most amazing feasts! God’s, the thought alone makes my mouth water something fierce. Pig on a spit, fresh bread, dumplings, stews, hams, cakes… The whole damn lot,” he sighed. “We have a race, and whoever wins gets to blow the Dhjarikson ceremonial horn and have pick a’the pig,” he explained with a proud grin, waving his hand in front of him to demonstrate the enormous size of the hog. “Course, we don’t do it so much now that Honon can’t run, on account of him only having the one leg. Seems like he’d be at a disadvantage really…”

“Now I just show my nieces how to do some tricks. Handstands and backflips y’know? Taught little Astrid to do some - tell you what though, Risica is more interested in learning how to fight. She’s a bit like you actually, scrappy little thing. Can’t tell her shit!” Fjolte laughed, picturing them both in his mind. “What about you? Gonna go back to guarding old Honningbrew’s?”

Meg took a gulp of the mead, this time with no hesitation, smiling once she finished the mouthful. "Gods no," she replied, shaking her head. "Tha' sorta thing was fine for a while, but, I got my Ma's need t'travel an' go places. I mean... never thought I'd be goin' out all the way t'Hammerfell, I liked Skyrim plenty 'nough, but y'could say my fancy's been tickled- it'd be nice t'see more of Tamriel without havin' t'run for my life. At least, that's what I'm hopin' anyway."

"It would be fun t'be home for a while too though," she admitted, smiling softly. Fjolte's enthusiasm for his family brought up memories of Whiterun with her father, when it was simply the two of them. "We never had feasts like your home; sounds almos' like Sovngarde. T'was just me an' Pa for the longest time; we'd go to the tavern an' just sit an' chat with the others there. That sorta thing stopped when he married though. I have a li'l brother, Sylven. He's pro'ly like... this high now?” She brought up her free hand to show how high. “Five years old." She smiled wryly before continuing. "I kinda left home once he came along, though' maybe I was gettin' in the way of Pa an' his new family."

Taking another sip, Meg handed the bottle over to Fjolte once more. "Treasure huntin', maybe. Or... maybe somethin' else, like the Companions. Tha'd be nice, eh?"

The Nord moved his hand again, this time to her lower back, and he shuffled around some to face her more. “Well you know, you’ve an open invite to one of our feasts! Anytime!” His fingers gently danced over the small of her back now as they talked, his voice abnormally soft (by his standards), and gentle.

“I think I know what you mean, and you’re still young too. Could easily carve out a good life for yourself, doing whatever it is you want. Should always follow where your feet and heart want to carry you,” he remarked, joy and contentment glowing in his eyes, their colour highlighted and brightened by the big moon that was on display. “When I was in the prison, kind of got me thinking about what’s important to me. I’ve travelled and wandered a lot in my life. Maybe if Kyne grants me enough grace to make it through all of this chaos alive - might be time to set some roots down y’know? Least, start thinking about it.”

A shame, that the moon was so bright - had it been total darkness surrounding the two, the sudden blush of crimson on his cheeks might have gone unnoticed. He leaned into it anyway, giving the back of his neck an awkward rub, his mouth turning to a mock grimace. “Never really admitted that out loud til now…” His gaze shifted from left to right until he eventually stuck a finger up towards the sky again, blurting very quickly, “looks like a quart of a wheel of cheese! Holes and all.”

Grinning, Meg tapped at the amulet of Mara peeking out from under her green and gold trimmed scarf. "Maybe yer the one who should be wearin' this then?" she teased, prodding him with a loose fist, finding it endearing but also amusing that for once, she wasn't the one red in the face. "Cheese, is it? Y'sure about that? I dunno Fjolte, looks very much like another amulet jus' waitin' for ya to grab it."

“Hey there now,” he interrupted, his voice jokingly stern. “I mean I just wanna be there for my family, be a good uncle more than anything. Be in the girls lives, take care of my own Ma and Pa. Not getting any younger, the two of them.” His eyes did linger over the amulet, and the thought of settling down with, well, with someone gave him pause. He let Meg continue...

Chortling, she couldn't help but poke him once more before relenting. "I'm just jokin' with ya, honest." Her grin wavered slightly though for the most part remained intact. "Guess when yer in that sorta... situation, y'get t'see what life's all really about, what's most important to ya." And what's important to me? That was a question she had no answer to yet. Bits and pieces floating about, waiting to be put together. "Y'know, I wanted it too, for the longest time. Love an' all that." She gave him a sidelong glance before continuing. "But when the chance was there I... I couldn' take it. It wouldn' have been right or fair, t'me, or t’him even. Still, had me miserable." A half smile had now replaced the grin. "Bein' back here's made it easier."

He was incredibly curious in whatever it was that had happened, but as he had done earlier - he warned himself against prying, at least not right now. “Well honestly, Scraps, that’s big of you. Smart too, even if it was hard.” His shoulders shrugged but his smile was warm. “I don’t think that when you’re ready again to look for it, you’ll have much difficulty either. Damned beautiful woman like yourself, by the time that all comes around you’ll have beaten that negative voice in your own head that stands in your way y’know? Once you love yourself first and foremost, love’ll find you.” The monk gave a big stretch, removing his hand from Meg’s back, shifting his weight to the side where he lay down. With a sigh he rolled onto his back. “How’d you fancy finding more shit in the stars with me for a bit?”

For a little while Meg remained quiet, seeming deep in thought. "Well, I'mma take Fjolte the Fabler's word for it, seein’ he’s the authority ‘round here." She smirked down at him before nodding, and then easily reached out and grabbed her bedroll, plonking it down behind her. In no time she was laying down on her back, head resting on her makeshift pillow as she stared up at the stars with a smile on her face. "Sounds like a plan t'me, I can already see... ah yes, lookie there, looks kinda like- no, wai', tha's your brother's leg again."

He drew his stare from the skies back to Meg with another of his loud laughs. It really was Honon’s leg up there, down to the toes and everything. As she made herself comfortable beside him, a thought crept into his mind that he couldn’t rightfully ignore. It practically opened his mouth for him uncontrollably, he sat upright again. “Y’know, this here makes a pretty good pillow too…” His lips curled at the corners into a boyish smirk, and he flexed his right arm - his bicep bulging impressively. “Just sayin’” The tone was roguishly bold, but effortlessly charming all the same. He gave his eyebrows a quick wiggle - as well as a gentle nod of his head, awaiting her response. At the end of the day, he was but a man alone with a woman, afterall.

Meg blinked at Fjolte before letting out a giggle, the expression on his face too much for her mirth to be contained. That being said, she easily scooted over to his side because yes, his arm did seem a very nice pillow substitute indeed. "Well, if yer offerin', who'm I t'say no?" He was clearly flirting, and if it was a month ago she would have probably declined, but right now she was happy to share a silly yet touching moment with someone who reminded her of everything she was familiar with.

He could barely contain the feeling of delight that came over him when she took him up on the offer. It had felt like forever since he’d been close with a woman even like this, and unsure as he was on whether this was something he wanted to pursue further than tonight, further than a cuddle beneath the stars - this was special either way. It was more than just a hug, it was acceptance. Slowly he placed his arm outstretched for her to rest on, finding himself once more on his own back, fighting to stop himself from smiling ear-to-ear - still wishing to play it somewhat cool. “Pretty nice way to finish the night,” he commented quietly - looking at the details of her face again, her eyes - as green and shiny as emeralds, and her lips... They appeared so soft and alluring as she lay there at his side. “I’ll be your pillow whenever,” he whispered flirtatiously, turning back to the stars again.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

The Dirge of Dusk, The Ballad of Dawn

---

13th Sun’s Height.

I fear that the Reach is too dangerous. That we’ve simply taken an exercise in readying the parameters for our tombs, who knows what will happen to us here? We must find good food, clean water - for dysentry will annihilate us all faster than any Dwemer ambush will. Why does it continue to feel as though the world is turning upside down?

It’s perhaps time to step up and evaluate the situation for what it is at last, we are now beginning the march to where Daro’Vasora claims it all began. If what she says is true, I will need to work harder, be better, be stronger. We will need potions, I must be diligent in my work. It is past time to replenish my supplies. I must send out a group. I can’t carry on acting skittish with the group, it is time to step up. Has enough time gone by for them to see past my sins?

I continue to think about my father, my mother. Of Daggerfall. I wonder when it will be that I see them both again. Is my father still at sea? Who is taking care of my mother in his absence. Is she lonely? Does she worry for me? I must write her a letter as soon as I am able.

I have much more to fear - and yet so much more to be joyous for, the hope that I prayed for...

---

The weeks of trekking had not been easy on any of them, between lack of sleep and lack of food, little time for true rest, tensions and tempers flaring from time to time… It had felt like a long journey to reach here. In some ways, Raelynn wondered if she had felt it the most. The eyes of the party on her, the whispers and conversations of her companions that her mind tricked her into believing were about her and her alone. This of course, was not the truth in the slightest, but training with Jaraleet on top of everything else had left her feeling more exhausted than she should have let herself be.

She had ceased their training for some time now, and it was clear that Jaraleet was slightly chagrined by this. But the Breton had taken ill, she had become prone to headaches, and there had been several occasions of vomiting in private. Much of her withdrawal had been attributed by the others to the changing climate, her training, Fjolte and Gregor’s activities... It had not been easy for her, or any of the travellers, but now there was some kind of home camp being set up. Maybe now they would all get suitable rest before moving on again.

“You alright there blondie?” Came the voice of the rambunctious Nord, the newest arrival to their group, Fjolte. He swiftly took a seat in a lazy slouch on the log beside Raelynn. The apple that he was working on was a little overripe, but he wasn’t about to pass up on it. He’d already scarfed off his stew, everyone else needed the seconds more than he did. He too, had noticed Raelynn’s retreat from the group now that they had stopped.

“Yes, I’m quite alright, actually…” she said truthfully, smiling at him, even if her forehead had the obvious crease of worry sitting there. “How are you fairing? I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with the others on this trip.”

He laughed roguishly, running a hand through his disheveled hair which had seemed to have had a healthy spurt of growth, despite only just having had it trimmed. His beard too, had reached past the point of being neat stubble. “You know me, I like to keep spirits up and make friends… And sing crude ditties obnoxiously loud of course. Make my presence known, you know?” He paused, looking at Raelynn, at her eyes. What was she thinking? He observed the way she occupied silence just by being, sitting still with her journal held open over her knees. One hand was on her lap and the other on her stomach - the fabric of her cloak being rubbed between her thumb and forefinger. “How are you and Just Gregor?” He asked, straight into the meat of it.

That gave her reason to look at him again, and all she did was smile and give a small nod. She rarely gave anything away - her countenance often inscrutable. “We’re in a good place, if that’s what you want to know.” Her fingers pinched tighter at the fabric, and she lowered her head bashfully.

“Yeeaaaahhhh…..” Fjolte replied before taking another bite of the apple. “Glad to hear it then.” He wanted to probe into their relationship more, but decided against it, seeing that she was quite content there. “I might have been making friends, but you’ve been keeping to yourself. Just you and Scales, and when I’m not the one bothering Gregor, it’s just you and him. You avoiding us all or what?” The Nord displayed as much of a smile as he could, unlike the Breton, his expression was easily read - and it was laced with concern. He’d seen the Argonian and Mage come and go, each time Raelynn looking more worse for wear. Bruised, hunched, sometimes bleeding. Always muddied and exhausted, only to be fine to try again the next day, and the next day, and the next day...

Now, both of her hands sat in her lap against the pages, and her smile faded - a look of shame came to her. “It’s hard to be around everyone,” she admitted frankly, sapphirine eyes scanning the camp. Hovering for a second on each individual. “I don’t like them to look at me, not after everything. I fear what they think of me, what they see…Who they see, so I stay in shadow until I am needed...”

He listened carefully, and could hear a note of pain in her admission - she had always been such a closed book to most in the time he’d known her, and yet here she was, admitting her feelings. “Friends always need each other Raelynn. You need them and they need you, I’m willing to bet when they see you, they just see how hard you are on yourself.” Compelled by the emotional turn in the conversation, he put his arm around Raelynn’s shoulders and pulled her closer to him much to her surprise. Then, much to his, she let him. “You’ve barely said a word to Sora. You should. You should go and see her.”

“Thank you friend,” she replied in kind, resting her head on his shoulder to look up at him with a smile. “I’m glad you’re here, I’m very grateful for what you’re doing.” If she was to be honest with herself, it was nice to have the comforting touch of her old companion. Despite what they may once have been and had, there was nothing but a platonic affection and mutual respect now and she needed it. “I’m proud of who you turned into,” she said with a quiet laugh, “you don’t go running into danger anymore. Not on purpose, anyway.”

Fjolte beamed down at her, “and then there’s you, who seems to be the one running into it headfirst. How the tides have turned eh?”

“Indeed…” she replied with something of sigh before she removed herself from him, almost hesitantly. She caught herself glancing at the soft apple in Fjolte’s hand - she shuddered at the thought of it. “Fjolte,” she began, pulling out of their embrace, “don’t eat those apples anymore - they’re bad. I’m afraid, actually,” she quickly paused and turned to a blank page in her journal with a huffed sigh. “I’m afraid that we need to find better supplies - and quickly. Real food. Fruits, not just meats. Clean water… A source for washing, a source for drinking. I need herbs to make medicine. If someone takes ill...” The words rattled from her at an increasing pace as her worries took over. Finally Fjolte took her hands and pulled her back to the present moment.

“I’ll go scouting - look for whatever we need. Believe it or not I’ve spent plenty’ time out in the wilds to know how to find an apple or a carrot. If it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll go on a provision run. Besides, might come over well with the women if I rock up with a cart full of proper grub eh?” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye and he winked in Raelynn’s direction.

“It’s no joke,” she chastised seriously, “you should take at least someone with you. Zaveed is good at provisioning, as is Mazrah. It’s dangerous out here. I’ll make a list of the items you must return with, if you can find them then I’ll feel much more at ease.”

The Nord just listened, and once she was done he gingerly lifted the bottom of the cloak to observe her feet, giving a nod, raised eyebrows, and a long sigh in quick succession. Raelynn, on the other hand, looked entirely confused by it and felt the need to even give him a sharp kick for it until he spoke. “Aye, there we have it - some good old bossy boots. If I’d known you’d put them on today I’d have kept a distance.”

In response, the Breton narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips until she broke down and started chuckling. “It seems I did…” she admitted, flushed and awkward. “Sorry Fjolte… I just don’t think I’m going to find much reason to smile if sickness spreads through the camp because we slack on simple hygiene and keep eating rotten apples…” She raised her hand to knock the cursed fruit from his palm to the ground. “Don’t you bloody well dare…” she warned him, with a glaring heat in her eyes as she observed the Nord follow it with his own, clearly and absolutely thinking about it.

“Eh, if it’s all the same blondie, I like you in the bossy boots. Gettin’ involved, giving orders. Never thought I’d see the day you gave so much of a shit. You suit this, you’re from Daggerfall mind, this is what you were born for - bossing others around.” He let go of her hands and scratched the back of his neck with a smile. “So you bring me that list, and I’ll see who I can rope into going for an adventure with me.”

“And then I’ll do as you said, talk to Daro’Vasora that is.” She sighed, remaining in her position for a while as she once again looked over the camp. What would she even say to Sora? Had things blown over between them? They had always said they trusted each other… But the gathering had been awkward, emotional, and ugly. She groaned and eventually rose from her seat and gave Fjolte one last look. “I’ll be seeing you.” With that, she made her way off to the place where the Khajiit was working.

Fjolte gave her one last smile while watching the sway of her hips. He also admired the shape of her bottom as she made her departure, and with a content sigh he whispered under his breath “some things stay the same…” With a slight tilt of his head, and a squinting of his eyes he observed further, “maybe get a little bigger...”

---

“Daro’Vasora…”

Raelynn stepped near silently towards her, hands at her front and concealed past her elbow in black velvet gloves. Her grey cloak was exquisitely lined with fox fur around the shoulders, the length to her knees. The Breton’s hair was wound in a tight braided knot, separated into two distinct strands that hung to her chest on either side of her head in her trademark gentle waves. “Thank you for your words,” she remarked sincerely with a smile.

“Raelynn.” Daro’Vasora replied, turning to face her friend with a warm, albeit tired, smile. She stepped forward to place her hand gently upon Raelynn’s arm. “It’s always been remarkable to me how you manage to look resplendent even so far from running water and a tailor.” she remarked with a light chuckle before her expression grew somewhat more somber. “Which words in particular? My practice at inspiring speeches, or from an earlier time?” she asked, reflecting how they hadn’t had much of a chance to speak in private since the trial.

That made her laugh, “you just seem to have a way with them when we find ourselves on a new part of this journey. To put everyone at ease, I suppose. As for me? Well… Thank you for that but I assure you it’s just a lot of time, magic, and potions…” The way that her expression changed did not go unnoticed by the Breton, and she sidestepped the Khajiit to take a seat on a nearby rock. “Are you well? Have you been drinking enough?” There was very little that could stop her natural healers instinct at a time like this, and she looked Daro’Vasora up and down with a keen eye, looking for any sign of injury or illness. “If you are tired, I am going to have to prescribe you immediate rest,” she said playfully, even if there was an undertone of seriousness within it.

“Drinking?” Daro’Vasora replied with a wry smile. “No, not enough. Plenty of water, though.”

She folded herself cross-legged on the ground next to Raelynn, leaning back on outstretched arms. “I’m always tired, sleep eludes me these days. Blame it on poor life choices, but I’m a very light sleeper when I don’t have a roof over my head and the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’ll admit, it’s getting heavy.” Daro’Vasora replied, finding a twig on the ground and slipping it between her teeth. “I suppose it’s safe to say I’m doing about as well as I can, but I’ve been worried about you since, well, y’know.” she looked over to her friend, a frown crossing her features. “I was worried you weren’t going to talk to me again.”

It was of concern to Raelynn that she was not sleeping, but it was of little surprise. Sleep had been an elusive thing to her as well. “Then you’ll take staggered rest… Lie down when tired, take it when you can. You’re no good to anyone exhausted… I can make you a potion or a tonic to assist you with it, now that we’re camped I can gather whatever ingredients that I can.” She rounded off her words by giving the Khajiit something of a stern look - to reiterate that she had simply no choice in the matter, it soon softened, however… “I feared that everyone wouldn’t wish to speak to me. I’ve been… Reflecting and… I’m sorry if I’ve been distant. I needed space… I didn’t want to get in anyone's way…”

Daro’Vasora reached over and took Raelynn’s hand, meeting her gaze with reverence. “There is nothing to be sorry for; I never went anywhere, Raelynn. I meant it when I promised I would help you with Gregor, and I will never, ever give up on you.” she promised, a sigh escaping her lips. “I won’t pretend this hasn’t been hard, or confusing, or painful.” she said softly, her gaze finding the earth below. “I can’t imagine how it must be for you. We love who we love, and sometimes that means enduring hardships that anyone who isn’t you cannot possibly understand. When I spoke to you before all of that, you asked me to trust you that he had changed, and I listened because I trust you. Thank you for believing in me, putting yourself before all of us. That took incredible courage.”

Raelynn squeezed her hand in return, letting her thumb run over the back of her hand gently, comfortingly. “Logically, I know all of this to be true. I’m just…” The Breton paused while she waited for the words to come to her. The right words. “I’m not frightened of what the future holds, I just know I need him in it. More than ever. I’m thankful that you listened to me, listened to us. If it had gone badly… If you’d elected to exile or-” she stopped, closing her eyes tightly trying to push back the thought of someone executing Gregor from her mind, even if she had pictured it so vividly since. The image she’d created herself had been haunting her. “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

Carefully she moved from the rock and down to the ground, to sit beside Sora in as dainty and ladylike a manner as she could, taking her other hand in hers, sitting close enough to the Khajiit to hear her tired breaths. “So thank you Sora, for your trust.” With one last smile, Raelynn placed her chin on her friends shoulder and whispered again, “thank you.”

“I’m sure if our positions were reversed, you’d have done the same for me.” The Khajiit smiled tiredly, recalling Megana saying something similar to her a few weeks ago. She had told her she wasn’t sure if she would have been able to do what the Nord had, but this at least felt right. A frown creased her features. “I… am still not sure how I feel about all of it, to be honest. I try to act like I know what the fuck I’m doing, but inside I look at Gregor and I have a hard time reconciling exactly what he is with what I’m seeing, the calm and polite man he is now compared to the monster that had caused so much pain. A big part of me is torn up inside, but I’m relieved it’s all done and over with. There’s still so far to go, and I just want to make sure we’re all in this together.” she glanced around at the people milling about, her eyes settling on Latro speaking with Zaveed, of all people. What in the world was that about?

“You're right, and who knows how long this will take, what else awaits us. I just want to get home safely, me and…” she stopped and pulled back from the embrace. “Whatever your feelings and thoughts are about him, they're valid. I will never tell you that you're wrong. I can try, but ultimately, only he can show you who he really is.” She sighed and squeezed Sora's hands tighter, just looking at the Khajiit with an expression somewhere between regret and encouragement. She had a way of hiding her pain in her eyes, far beyond the ocean blue. “I don’t know if I’m happy, but I don't think I'm sad, either. So… I think I know what you mean.” She followed Sora's eyes, and found her watching in the distance Zaveed and Latro. She knew that would be worrisome for her, and so she squeezed again, this time releasing an amount of magicka that would provide a gentle warmth from palm to wrist. “We have each other, I'll always help you with anything that I can.”

“Thank you.” Daro’Vasora replied, closing her eye briefly, thankful that Raelynn wasn’t becoming defensive over the discussion and her opinions. She felt too tired and threadbare to fight, and for weeks now she’d felt the fire in her heart burn down to embers. She wasn’t a soldier, or a hero. She was just some silly girl who got caught up in the world turning upside down and doing her damnedest to try to keep her footing. She couldn’t even bring herself to hate Zaveed, having seen him in their company for so long. He’d always seemed rather affable and generally harmless that it was hard to think it wasn’t just an act, something that he was putting on until the next time he decided to let his claws out.

Her arm throbbed and she winced at the memories.

The flood of warmth from Raelynn’s hands helped ground her, and her eyes opened again, staring at the soft glow of the pale hands that looked and felt rougher since the last time they’d been this close and intimate. “I have to admit something.” she said after a few moments of contemplation. “I think this plan of mine is a one-way trip.”

“What do you mean?” Raelynn asked quietly, their voices now only murmurs against the buzz of the rest of the camp. She was concerned and it was etched across her brow which now furrowed harshly, and yet the healer did not relinquish her grip on Sora’s hands, in fact she pulled them closer into her lap. “Would you like to go somewhere more private?” she asked, the features of her face softening with concern and worry and somewhere in between that a show of love and respect for her friend.

“Talk to me, we can work this out, so don’t say that,” Raelynn continued - the weight of the realisation heavy on her heart all of a sudden. Instinct took over from somewhere, and she moved closer still to Sora, releasing her hands so that she could embrace her friend instead. “Don’t say that.”

The Khajiit leaned into the embrace, placing her hand on top of the arm around her, holding herself close to Raelynn for as long as she dared. “Yes, let’s do that.” she said at last, slowly unwrapping the two of them. “Come on, let’s go pitch a tent. This isn’t something I’ve wanted to bring up near anyone else.” Daro’Vasora replied, getting to her feet easily and helping Raelynn to hers. The pair gathered a bundle of fabric and cloth that encapsulated the pegs and poles and carried it to a small clearing that would have done a decent enough job of keeping someone from sleeping on too many hard rocks.

The two knelt across from each other, working on the knots. “I’ve been thinking on this for the past few weeks, what that lexicon is, how I think it works.” Daro’Vasora began, the chords coming loose in her fingers. Having sharp claws were quite handy at picking at tight knots. She let out a long sigh, her hand stopping and sinking down into the bundle. “There’s no easy way to really say this, but I cannot think of a way to put the lexicon into the the planebridge coordinate without it immediately cutting off Exodus from Nirn. Whoever does it will effectively be cutting themselves off in a realm that’s collapsing with no way home.” she paused, looking up to Raelynn, her eyes heavy with bags from a lack of sleep and general exhaustion.

“And even if there was, there’s no telling how much time dilates between our worlds. Whoever goes into Exodus will think it’s maybe hours or days; it could be months, weeks, or years in real time. Remember what Rourken said to us, how it had only been about 600 years since her people vanished?” the Khajiit asked quietly.

The Breton took in a deep breath, her nostrils flared and her hands slowed on the ropes until she eventually brought one up to her chin to think on what Sora had just told her. Raelynn was surely intelligent, she knew that. She was well read, she had studied the Dwemer informally with all the resources that she’d had at her disposal - and still, this was hard to wrap her mind around. Her eyes narrowed and she sucked in a long breath through her teeth. She had no idea what to say or offer the Khajiit.

“This lexicon? You are certain this is what will happen? I’m afraid my knowledge of the Deep Elves is limited to what I’ve read in books, I certainly have no knowledge of their devices. But I wouldn’t mind taking a look at this lexicon myself,” she offered, placing a hand on top of Sora’s comfortingly. “What you’ve admitted has frightened me Daro’Vasora… I can only imagine that feeling is amplified for you... This isn’t a worry that is going to be mended by a ‘we’ll do this together’ is it?” This revelation was painful to process, and she knew that actual work and study was required to solve this mystery.

“I’m not certain about anything, a lot of this is speculation or piecing together what I’ve heard or have seen for myself.” Daro’Vasora admitted. “Honestly, all this technology is new to me. I’ve never seen anything like this; I didn’t even think something like this could exist. But Raelynn?” she said, squeezing her hand back in turn with a slight smile. “‘We’ll do this together’ is exactly what I need right now. If I can’t think of a solution to the problem, maybe somebody else can. If you want to study the lexicon, I’ll fetch it from my bag. I just know that we have a lot of trouble between here and Red Mountain to worry about that stuff right at the moment.”

“Doing it together… That’s all good but… Answers, facts, a plan. This is what we need to get through this. I don’t believe there’s anything I can do right now, let us just have this night.” There had been little Raelynn could have done in the past few weeks to have stopped many of the things that had happened. Namely, Gregor’s change. She had tried to bargain for time but it had been useless. She felt the impossible weight of that failure on her heart whenever something brought that memory to the surface.

“I feel like study and logistics is all I will be able to help you with on those matter. I don’t… Daro’Vasora, if what you say is true, I cannot follow you in there.” Raelynn said it with such an absolute conviction, that it was as if she was holding something back.

“I’d be disappointed if anyone did. No sense in bringing friends along for a one-woman job, you know?” Daro’Vasora sighed, staring back at the pillar of light, that haunting ethereal green glow. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not scared or that it’s something I particularly want to do, but I’ve accepted that this is on me. I’ll set it right.”

“You must stop blaming yourself. You have to stop.” Raelynn’s head tilted to the side as she met the Khajiit’s gaze - the usual severity lined her ocean blue orbs as they narrowed. It was almost as though she was scolding Sora. “We have many good men and women out there with incredible skills, it’s time we put to paper a plan on how to utilise them, no? This is not a one-woman job. You might stand at the front, but you have the strength, faith, and unyielding loyalty of those good men and women behind you.” She held a pause before glancing to the side with a dry and sardonic chuckle, “there I go giving the ‘we’re all in this together’ speech after all.”

“Not bad for your first attempt, you might have a talent for it after all.” The Khajiit smiled. “I just ask people help get me there and through the door. Even if it was true, that it’s not my fault, it makes it easier to face the worst case scenario if I tell myself I should have died or been taken by the Falmer rather than stand by while Rhea activated the device. I didn’t want to die then, and for weeks afterwards, I told myself, ‘better them than me. Don’t apologize for surviving’.” she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. “But after seeing everything that resulted from that choice, I have to hold myself accountable for doing nothing but looking out for myself and only myself. It was if that lexicon was a brick going through a Tamriel-shaped Window, and all of the pieces that fell free were the people who were lost because of it.”

Raelynn watched as her friend retreated into herself once more, she would always do that thing with her arms. “That’s fair. It’s good that you don’t forget, let it push you forwards but don’t carry the burden of it all. Did you do it with bad intent? Did any of us? You had no idea, Rhea had no idea… You have done everything since then to put it right.” she affirmed. “We’ll put it right.”

“I’m hoping so. I’d feel rather silly if I were wrong about this whole thing and all of this was for nothing.” Daro’Vasora smiled. “I kind of think intent in this situation is irrelevant. It’s like if a mage were practicing magic in the mountains, causes an avalanche, and then ends up flattening a village. They didn’t mean to cause the avalanche, but it wouldn’t have happened if they’d picked a better location to be showing off.”

“And I would say to that, that it would not only be a mage capable of creating an avalanche. A mammoth could find his way up that mountain, step too loud and cause the very same avalanche… So then why did those villagers choose to settle under such a dangerous mountain?” She asked with a smug expression. She knew that both she and Sora could debate over the whys and why nots like this endlessly if they wanted to. She liked that quality in the woman. But, there was little time for philosophising on blame and responsibility when they were sat with the task of ending it once and for all.

“How many mammoths do you see climbing mountains? I’d think you’d never been to Skyrim before.” Daro’Vasora teased with a giggle.

She leaned into Raelynn, letting out a long breath. “I’m fine, truly, I am. It feels good to get all of this out, I just don’t want to scare people. The ironic thing is I’m finally realizing the kind of person I want to be, and I look back at who I was before we all met and I wonder what was wrong with me. I was a lousy person. No wonder my parents sent me up to Zegol; it was probably the first time since I was born they could actually relax.”

“Hmm, you don’t need to explain that to me. I was hardly Saint Raelynn of Daggerfall myself. I’m still not - and I’m far from it. I’m sure you weren’t lousy; just misguided.”

“Oh, I was the worst.” Daro’Vasora exclaimed with her arms held wide. She began to count on her fingers. “I stole from my father’s merchant company just to see if I could get away from it. I shirked responsibilities because I knew my sister, the worry-wart she is, would do them for me so we wouldn’t get in trouble. I always acted brazenly and without much thought for authority and rules. I was a little asshole runt, got to the point my mother basically had me under house arrest in Castle Leyawiin doing chambermaid tasks because they couldn’t trust me on my own before I decided I was going to be a treasure hunter.” she reflected, shaking her head. A pair of fingers massaged her temple.

“I think that’s why I’m never going to willingly have kids. If one of them turned out being like me, I’m pretty sure I’d pack them up in a box and ship them off somewhere so I didn’t have to put up with it.” The Khajiit decided, her arms wrapping about her waist. “My parents are better people than I could ever be, and I think I was going to try and use my sister’s trip to Imperial City to show her that I could change and try and make things up to her.” a frown returned to her face. “I just hope she didn’t get caught up in all of this, that’s what’s really getting to me. Not all of the Imperial City refugees, not the occupation of Gilane, none of that. It’s hoping my sister’s okay.”

Raelynn picked up a water canteen from her side as Sora spoke of her sister, she hadn’t recalled mention of her before and if indeed she had mentioned her, the Breton suddenly felt bad for not having paid attention. She took a long drink from the canteen, holding it out for Sora to take when she was finished. “I’m an only child, a very small family. I think that if your sister has even a quarter of the strength and determination that you have - then she’ll be just fine. It does feel good to share this, doesn’t it?” She asked, wrapping an arm around Sora to embrace her. She wanted her to feel as safe as possible, so that she could be vulnerable - if that would help to heal her for now. “Oh, and for what it’s worth, you’re still an asshole runt,” the blonde giggled before wiggling the fingers of the hand that was wrapped over Sora to tickle her.

She leaned into the embrace with a pur and closed eyes. “And don’t you forget it.” she replied with a smile, enjoying the closeness she was sharing with Raelynn. It wasn’t the intimacy from the oasis, but she found she needed this escape more than she was willing to admit to herself.

Daro’Vasora took the canteen, drinking gratefully as she felt the water ease her surprisingly dry throat. Oftentimes when travelling, she often forgot to pay attention to minor discomforts, so the sudden relief was stark and very welcoming. It was a blessing and a curse; she could push herself hard, but she also at times forgot to take care of herself. The Khajiit wondered what it would have been like being an only child, as much as she acted like it at times, or what her older brother would have been like had he survived infancy.

“It feels very good to share all of this, it’s soothing. I think I just needed to hear someone tell me it’s going to be alright, that La’Shuni is going to be alright. I just wish I could stop thinking or imagining the worst at times and just take things as they come. I think I needed someone like you in my life… I never really had a girlfriend to share these thoughts with.” Daro’Vasora admitted with a contented sigh.

“I can’t say that I have ever had friends until I wound up with you all. Acquaintances, yes… Real friends? Perhaps only ever really my mentor from the college. Something about consistent peril makes you grow genuinely fond of those who accompany you,” she mused, a thoughtful expression on her face. She gave the Khajiit a squeeze too, before adding with a soft laugh, “don’t tell anyone I’m your friend though, it will really start to tarnish my reputation as a stuck up bitch.”

“I’m glad to have you as my friend too.” She finally admitted after several moments of silence. She bit her lip suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath nervously. Her eyes closed and she relaxed her grip on Sora. “We said no more secrets, yes?”

The sudden change in disposition surprised Sora, and she reflexively straightened up to look Raelynn face to face. “Of course, I promised, you promised.” she said, raising a brow. “What’s on your mind?” she asked.

The Breton nervously bit at her finger - but she did not seem overly anxious in a distressed way, “Well, this has to remain between us two, if that’s okay?” Raelynn relaxed her grip from Sora, and pulled her knees up to her chest, as if she were retreating into a shell. “You must promise that you tell nobody.”

Daro’Vasora knelt in front of Raelynn, placing her hands over the Breton’s gently and looking in her eyes with a sincere gaze. “Raelynn, after everything we’ve been through, this thing with Gregor, the warehouse… all of it. Why would I have ever given you cause to not trust me?” she asked. “You can tell me anything in confidence and nothing will ever change that.”

She listened studiously to her words, nodding along with her. “This may well be the most important secret I ever ask you to keep. But I need someone to know… To tell someone.” Her chin trembled and she took in a long, deep breath and closed her eyes, even her hands shook which only made her clench to Sora furthermore. “Daro’Vasora, before Gregor… Well, before he changed - you are aware that he and I…” Her brow furrowed as she lingered on the awkwardness of the topic at hand, before shaking her head - strands of hair falling loose around her face. “I’m with his child, Sora.”

What ordinarily should have been a cause of celebration, a feeling of joy and excitement almost seemed like a cruel joke with everything that had happened. Gregor being a lich, unable to respond and feel like he would have before, the dangerous road they all followed, the uncertainty of the future. Some might have looked at this like the gods playing a cruel jest on Raelynn. Daro’Vasora crawled around Raelynn’s legs and wrapped her arms around her, holding her close to her body.

“This just means that you both have something to live for, something to look forward to when this is all over.” she said quietly, running her fingers through Raelynn’s golden hair. Deciding to take some of the tension from the situation, she said after a moment’s thought, “You better name her after me.” she smiled, kissing Raelynn’s brow. “I know you must be afraid, and you don’t know what the future might hold for you, for this child, for Gregor. But you’re Raelynn Hawkford, there isn’t a damn thing in this world you aren’t capable of conquering and if Mara blessed you with a child, well, maybe you earned it.” she sighed, almost dreamily. “There’s something poetic about a healer giving life.”

“Well that may well be it, I’m not afraid at all. In fact, I’m more sure than I ever have been. I have reason to fight and win this war, reason to fight for myself. Oh Gods…” she sobbed, leaning into Daro’Vasora. “When I realised, when I felt… Sora, I don’t think I’ve been so happy in my whole life. All of the jewels and treasures of Nirn could not compare to this…” Using the back of her thumb, she wiped away the pooling tears of joy from the waterlines of her eyes.

“I still have some time, before I need to tell him. If I were to tell him now, it would distract from his progress. Gregor doesn’t know, I’d like it to stay that way - it’s why I ask for your discretion… God’s, please, just let me have this. For a while.” In the height of her happiness, her voice cracked desperately. As if the very news of life, was keeping her alive too. Raelynn kissed Sora back on her cheek, embracing her tightly.

Daro’Vasora’s fingers traced where Raelynn’s lips had touched, and the urge to lean in and kiss her properly came and passed with some restraint. Instead, she shyly smiled and said, “Well, I supposed you’re eating for two now. This will be our beautiful little secret, until you’re ready to share with the world. You’re going to be a wonderful mother, and… it really means the world you came to tell me first. My gut is fluttering right now, my heart is pounding!” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. “You know, this doesn’t surprise me a damn bit, the way you two went at each other.” the Khajiit remarked with a suggestive wink.

“Excuse you,” Raelynn interjected with a laugh, “as if you are anyone to place comment on the rate of… well,” even with Sora, she was still coy about discussing her sexual exploits openly like that. The blush of her cheeks started to darken.

“Our beautiful secret,” she repeated slowly with a smile and a redness on her cheeks. “My miracle,” she whispered. It filled her with a sense of euphoria to share it, and to see that Sora was happy too - and even more so, the things that she said about her - about being a good mother. She hadn’t really thought of it, strangely, whether or not she would be a good mother. Maybe she had just felt it instead. She’d felt it a lot in the days since discovering - a protective instinct that had awoken within her. Something that had always been there…

“I’m going to get so big,” she remarked with a blank stare. Her fingers plucking at the material of the shirt beneath her cloak - she’d already begun to notice a slight change of shape - a growing softness around the most feminine of her curves. She chuckled once more. “Thank you Sora.”

“What’s this, Raelynn being bashful? That’s hardly like you.” Daro’Vasora replied with a low, almost seductive purr. “Soon you’re going to lose all that flexibility with that big old belly of yours. It’ll almost be a shame.” she giggled. “Almost.”

That warranted a slap. A playful one, but a slap nonetheless. “How dare you. I'll keep practicing my flexibility thank you, even with my big belly!” After that, the Breton yawned, her eyes droopy. Just as she had noticed with Fjolte, it had been nice to be held… By someone.

“Hmmm,” she began, casting a shifty glance to the half-constructed tent, “think anyone would notice our absence if we just… If we just lay down for a bit? Rested our eyes together?”

“After pitching a tent after a long hike? We’d have to be terribly out of our senses to not want to take a quick, several hour nap after the fact.” the Khajiit replied, nuzzling Raelynn affectionately. “I think they can figure things out on their own without being told what to do. I’ll keep you warm, that’s for damn sure.” she promised, a playful smirk on her countenance.

With raised spirits and a playful mood in the air, the pair quickly put up the tent, a quick process born of ample practice the past few weeks, and found their way inside, a loose and unorganized pile of blankets, furs, and pillows tossed in haphazardly. Daro’Vasora collapsed into the soft heap, feeling the aches of her legs fading like water running down a rock. She sighed contentedly, kicking off her boots and patting the spot next to her, beaconing for Raelynn to join her.

The Breton didn't need to be told twice, and at that Raelynn lay down onto her side, resting her head on her arm. “I'll be the judge of that,” she commented softly - her tired voice was as soft and thick as velvet as she made herself comfortable on the spread, moaning out with a long sigh as she stretched. “Let's get our rest, my friend…” she slurred, her eyes heavy lidded - the weight of her secret had been lifted and she was left with a feeling of content she thought had long been forgotten. Daro’Vasora pulled herself close behind Raelynn, wrapping a protective arm about her belly from behind, her muzzle resting on Raelynn’s neck. Soon, their breathing seemed to become one and the sands of sleep shrouded them together.

Into The Dark: Tales of Maroleth

<Snipped quote by POOHEAD189>

Me and Nikki aren't that loud! How rude!

@The Fated Fallen

I dont know man, I'm pretty loud and obnoxious enough for us all.