As a child, my father would tell me stories about the Empire's past, local heroes, its Emperors and their achievements. I remember my favorite story being the exploits of the Hero of Kvatch and Martin Septim, illegitimate heir to the Septim dynasty sired by Uriel Septim VII himself.

Just what was going through his head when they broke the news to him? When they told him his whole life prior was an utter lie and that he, and he alone, was the last surviving heir of Emperor Uriel Septim VII(may he ever sit by the side of Tiber Septim)? Surely he was confused, maybe with a hint of pride...or perhaps resentment? My father admitted that he could not tell me, as the man didn't leave behind many writings, and he confided in few, if any, that he interacted with.

The reign of Emperor Martin Septim(may he ever sit by the side of Tiber Septim) was sudden and unfortunately short, yet he accomplished so much in just a few weeks time. He led the counter-assault on the Bruma Oblivion Gate alongside the Hero of Kvatch and saved the city from destruction, just before sacrificing himself to forever seal the Oblivion Gates and cast Mehrunes Dagon back into his realm of obsidian and fire. But before then? Nobody really seems to know, as the short-lived Emperor was ultimately an unknown entity before the Oblivion Crisis. Rumors abound that Emperor Martin was a cultist of the Daedric prince Sanguine in his youth, but evidence is lacking, and such gossip was most likely concocted by those opposed to His Imperial Majesty.

I was always found stories of Emperor Martin and the Hero of Kvatch interesting and almost uplifting, and now I believe I know why. Their stories exemplify that ordinary people can eventually become larger than life, that a man need not always remain at the station designated to him for the rest of his days. Emperor Martin lived his early years as a simple priest, while the Hero of Kvatch was nobody at all. But then they became so much more, they became legends, the subject of heroic tales told around fires all over the world.

In the times we live in now, we could use more heroes. Above all, we could use more people with the wisdom and courage of men like Emperor Martin Septim and the nameless hero that saved Tamriel.

Profile

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§ Birthplace



§ Appearance





§ Personality



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22nd of Frostfall, 4E194
Silgrad, Morrowind
Llerwyn Othado’s manor

“Serjo Othado?”

“Yes, Niernen?”

“What do you know of Telvanni magic?”

Llerwyn looked up from his scrolls and put down his quill. He stared at Niernen in the flickering candlelight for a few seconds over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his face unreadable, before he replied. “I thought you came here to learn war magic.”

He was old and wrinkled and his ancient hands, while still dutifully carrying out his wishes, contorted into a claw-like shape, weary with arthrosis. The girl standing in the doorway of his study was young -- so young, he thought, her cheeks smooth and her hair luscious, and her copper eyes studied him intently.

“Of course,” Niernen said, unsure whether this was a reprimand or not, “but… well, I’m just curious, that’s all.” She waited for a response but Llerwyn remained silent. “Is it true that they used to live in giant mushrooms they grew with magic?”

Llerwyn huffed. “Used to? They still do. House Telvanni wasn’t entirely destroyed by the Argonians, you know. There’s a fellow up in Solstheim who lives in such a tower, near Raven Rock. I visited him once when I was summoned there by Councilor Morvayn to see if there was anything I could do about the ebony mine. It dried up, you see. Very bad for business. I wanted to ask the wizard if he, perhaps, knew of any magic that might help, but he barely had time to see me. Tried to pass me off to an assistant of his. Useless boy, of course.”

Niernen crossed her arms and sighed as quietly as possible.

“Either way… yes, they grow their towers with magic. I just think they’re showing off. It’s far from practical to have an entirely vertical house. Can’t get up or down without levitation magic, which was of course banned. Why? Do you want to grow a house made out of fungus?” Llerwyn asked and frowned.

“No, no,” Niernen said and gestured dismissively with her hand. “What other magic did they possess? They must have been very powerful in combat if they studied magic their whole lives.”

“Ha!” Llerwyn barked and laughed. “You would think so, but no. The Telvanni tried to close the Oblivion gates during the Crisis, two centuries ago, and failed. You know who succeeded? The Argonians. Chased the Dremora right back where they came from. And then the those lizards ran right over the Telvanni when they invaded Morrowind. It took House Redoran to stop them, as you well know. No, the Telvanni were always far too busy studying the more… hmm, how to put it?” Llerwyn tapped his chin with a bony finger while he mused over his words. “They weren’t content to study the areas of magic defined within the traditional schools of sorcery.”

Pleased that she had managed to coerce her teacher to talk, Niernen sat down on an empty chair next to Llerwyn’s desk. “Like what?” she asked.

“Have you ever heard of Divayth Fyr?”

“No.”

Llerwyn sighed and shook his head, as if disappointed. “Lord Fyr was one of House Telvanni’s most powerful sorcerers. While he wielded great influence he never aspired to political power and refused to join their Council. He wrote several books and there were books written about him too. Like the other wizard-lords he lived in a mushroom tower of his own creation. Below Tel Fyr lay the Corprusiarium, a prison of sorts, where he kept victims of Corprus, the “divine disease” spread by Dagoth Ur. You have heard of Dagoth Ur, I should hope?”

“Of course,” Niernen replied and rolled her eyes.

“Hmph. Either way, Divayth Fyr would experiment on the victims of Corprus in the hopes of creating a cure. He succeeded in at least one case; the Nerevarine himself, who attained immortality in the process.”

Niernen’s eyes widened at this. “Immortality? How?”

“The name “divine disease” wasn’t an empty boast. Fyr theorized that it was actually the physical effect of contact with the divine upon a mortal body, which had both beneficial and extremely detrimental effects. The exact machinations of Corprus remain poorly understood to this day, but Fyr’s concoction successfully nullified the negative effects in Nerevar-Come-Again. Ironically, you could say that he was blessed by Dagoth Ur in the end.”

“Are there other immortals now because of Corprus, too?”

Llerwyn raised his hands and shrugged. “Perhaps, but I don’t think so. It was part of the prophecy that preceded the Nerevarine’s appearance that he would be immune to all diseases, and much like vampirism or lycanthropy, Corprus provided such an immunity.” He cleared his throat and continued, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Prophecies have power, Niernen, especially those uttered by a Daedric Prince. I’m inclined to believe that prophecy was true and the Nerevarine was a special case. As far as I know, everyone who Fyr gave his experimental cure to died instantly.”

Niernen whistled. “How do you know all this?” she asked and tilted her head.

“Because I was alive at the time, of course,” Llerwyn replied and laughed. “That was near the end of the Third Era, so a little over 200 years ago. Dunmer wizards can live for a long time. A little Restoration magic goes a long way. But none lived as long as Divayth Fyr, who was born Chimer and walked this earth for more than 4000 years.”

Dumbfounded, Niernen fell silent.

“And of course your next question is ‘how?’, again,” Llerwyn said, still smiling. “And that’s precisely the core of House Telvanni’s problem: I don’t know. Nobody knows. They did not share knowledge with each other. It was even customary for ambitious Telvanni to assassinate one another to make way for themselves. House Redoran is no stranger to an honorable duel to the death every now and then, like how your ancestor Bolvyn fought and died to the Nerevarine, but not anything like the Telvanni. They were truly ruthless and very, very isolationist. When I receive a letter from a young daughter of an esteemed member of my House to request a position as my apprentice, I acquiesce. A Telvanni lord would have fortified his defenses and hired an assassin. Ours is a much better way to go about things, I believe.”

Niernen thought about this for a few seconds while she looked at her lap. “Is he dead now?” she asked, eyes flitting back up to Llerwyn’s face. “You talk about him in past tense.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the old Dunmer replied. “If anyone could have survived the Red Year, it would be him. I simply haven’t heard anything about him since then. One begins to make assumptions after two hundred years have passed. For all I know he retreated underground, or into Oblivion. Perhaps he lives on the other side of Morrowind in what remains of House Telvanni’s holdings. Or the Argonians got him. Who’s to say?”

Llerwyn looked down at his papers and blinked a few times, his lips mouthing along to his thoughts. “Oh yes!” he muttered quietly and moved to pick up his quill.

“Honestly,” Niernen said and sat up straight in her chair, interrupting Llerwyn’s attempt at resuming his work, “it sounds like Divayth Fyr performed very important research and his magic was useful. He cured the Nerevarine and he lived to be thousands of years old. Imagine what he could tell us about the days of the Chimer?”

“Does that matter?” Llerwyn snarled, suddenly annoyed. “A lot of his efforts were useless and deplorable, too. He made… daughters, female clones of himself, though I’d be more inclined to call them abominations, and he used them as consorts too. Can you imagine?” He looked disgusted. “Either way, his life was his own, that doesn’t matter either -- the point is that he and the other Telvanni couldn’t protect Morrowind. This isn’t the Third Era anymore, Niernen. The Tribunal are gone, the Nerevarine is gone and even the Empire is close to disintegrating again. Whether or not the Telvanni research was important is irrelevant to us because it is not our station to carry it out. We are the defenders of Resdayn. Do you know what you can rely on to carry out that sacred duty? Do you?”

Niernen attempted to respond, but Llerwyn wagged a crooked finger at her and she closed her mouth again.

“Fire and thunder!” the wizard spat, and for a brief moment his eyes lit up with the fury of a much younger elf. The moment went as soon as it came and Llerwyn sank bank in his chair -- he looked so old and frail to Niernen then it was almost as if he was about to disappear into his ornate robes. She stared at him expectantly, eyes wide, picturing how fierce her mentor might have been in his day.

“Bah,” Llerwyn grumbled. “You need not worry. That Telvanni wizard on Solstheim I told you about, Neloth, seems to be carrying on Divayth Fyr’s work. In spirit, anyway. I think he was studying the ash of Red Mountain when I visited him. That’s exactly the kind of nonsense Divayth Fyr would have occupied himself with for a few centuries.”

Then he returned his gaze to his scrolls again, this time with an air of finality about him, shuffling his papers while whispering urgently to himself. Niernen took the hint, excused herself and made her way out of the room. She stopped at the door and turned to look over her shoulder at the elder Othado, but he did not spare her another glance. She exhaled sharply through her nose and looked away. The younger Othado should be around somewhere too. Niernen wondered if he was as fierce as Llerwyn might have been. Smiling to herself, she left the old wizard to his devices.

Do’Karth’s explains his thoughts on Jagar Tharn at a fire on the outskirts of Rihad to a group of Redguard, the night after a Sandsteed race

Many people have asked Do’Karth in his travels the same question as you; what do the Khajiit see in the Thalmor? Why would we as a culture band with those who see us as an inferior people, who have nakedly bare ambitions to ensnare Tamriel under their rule? Perhaps it is prudent to understand our history, and why we Khajiit were quick to embrace an old ally who had aided us in times of great need and in turn abandon the Empire, which had conquered us, taken our lands, and ignored us when we faced great peril.

Tiber Septim was a conqueror; his rule, and the rule of his descendants, shared no love of Do’Karth’s people. The Renrijra Krin are a group of outlaws who laugh in the face of authority and they alone rose up to the injustices the Khajiit had faced; did you know after the Five-Year War with Valenwood, and the expansion of Elsweyr’s lands into the Northeast of Valenwood, and from eras past both sides of the Niben River and all of Blackwood had been Khajiiti lands? Imagine having your ancestral lands taken from you by an Empire that had conquered your people with a god of Brass and when your people try to take agency for your future, the same Empire forces you to give up these lands you had reclaimed because a single city in Cyrodiil wanted them? That is the legacy of the Empire, and now imagine that for 10 years, a Daedra worshipping madman had disguised himself as the Emperor and let the Empire fall into chaos? That was the reality, and he did not have Elsweyr’s interests at heart.

The false Emperor sat by and watched as the Bosmer slaughtered thousands in Torval, and he did not mobilize the Legions to respond to the atrocity. The Khajiiti people rose up and paid back the slaughter with war against Valenwood. For nearly five years, our people clashed, weakening themselves as we sought vengeance. And so, in the end, both sides of the Xylo river belonged to Elsweyr… until the war ended and the false Emperor decreed that the lands that we had bleed over were to be returned to the arbitrary borders the Empire had established when they first enslaved us. We recognize that his malice had corrupted all of the provinces, and it seemed that the fragile union that held the Empire together was fraying as old hatreds led to freshly spilled blood.

It is easy to see why under these conditions, and with such a cruel deception, we Khajiit were all too eager to accept the Aldmeri Dominion as our allies and friends. We have had a history of aligning with the elves, and despite our war with the Bosmer, the Dominion was a way to mend those wounds, and if you go back far enough to the First Aldmeri Dominion, you’ll find the wretched Tharn name trying to destroy Do’Karth’s people; Javad Tharn corrupted the Mane with Dro-M’Athra spirits and tried to plunge Elsweyr into chaos by destroying the very soul of Khajiit. With such an enemy, and it being revealed that the false Emperor shared his name many years later, why would Khajiit ever trust the Imperials when the Altmer aided us when Elsweyr suffered from the Knathaten Flu, or ended the Void Nights, and the Aldmeri Dominion helped end Javar Tharn’s twisted machinations. We are in their debt.

Many forget that the Empire slaughtered many in Senchal and many desert nomads to assemble that damned Brass God that would enslave all of Tamriel under Septim rule. We Khajiit never will. All it gave was peace based on a lie. At least the Thalmor did not force us to change our way of lives or give up our lands and freedoms in exchange for our help. That is why the Khajiit prefer the rule of your most hated adversary, and why Do’Karth admires Hammerfell for ridding themselves of the shackles of foreign domination.

§ Birthplace
Dragonstar, Hammerfell

§ Appearance
Ashna is a beautiful and powerful looking Redguard woman. Her skin leaning towards a darker shade with the typical red undertone of her race. Her eyes are an almond shape with a rich russet tone that command attention with their expressiveness. She wears long charcoal black, thick locks which fall to her chest. She will often wear them atop her head like a crown, placing choice ornaments to adorn her head, with a few locks left hanging to frame her face. She is strong and athletic in build, standing at 187cm with long and powerful legs, her body is built of muscle from her time spent staying incredibly active.

Despite being built of muscle, she was not passed over for feminine features either. Upon closer inspection, one would notice the small stripes across her skin, particularly atop her hip bones and patterning her inner thighs. A comfortable amount of womanly fat lines her hips - an indicator of her age, truly.

Like many Redguard, she has several tattoos across her skin - the most prominent being the geometric shapes and tribal etchings across the fingers and top of her right hand which trail to her wrist. On her back, she proudly displays an intricate tattoo of a horse, to mark her Birthsign, The Steed. Strangely, she has an illegible tattoo on the inside of her lower lip, simply a dare after one too many ales. Finally, she wears two oversized copper hoops through each ear.

§ Personality
Loud, proud, and not one to hold her tongue in any situation. Ashna has seen a great many things throughout her life, and experienced enough hardship to know that she would rather speak and offend, than later regret not speaking her truth from within. Having this trait also means that she is rarely offended or made upset by others who also wish to speak their own truth (even if they are wrong.)

Ashna values honesty - and has such a complete faith and confidence in her own decisions and actions that she will never lie about things that she has done, or is going to do. This can be intimidating to some, and is a trait that has both won her loyal friends and caused her to lose them as well. Ashna carries anger in heart, despite her best efforts to keep it locked away it sometimes rises to the surface.

During her teenage years she was brash, rude, and arrogant at all times (a girl with a lot to prove...) Even in situations where she probably could have done without speaking, she would. With age, she has grown wiser, smarter, and kinder. Most wouldn't think it to look at her - a fearsome and true blue Redguard warrior woman with a rogue Nord upbringing - but she indeed has a heart of gold underneath, should one simply take time to dust away the exterior. She falls hard in love and friendships, trusting easily - sometimes too easily. She has an insatiable hunger for knowledge which she feeds by reading anything she gets her hands on, even if she does not always retain it...

§ Background
Ashna was born in 4E 179, four full years after The Great War ended. She was born the product of a one night tryst between a Lady of the Night and according to her mother, the most beautiful and powerful Alik'r Warrior she had ever seen.

Growing up, Ashna imagined her father to be the leader of his warriors with one hundred horses traversing the Alik'r Desert. In her mind he had long hair and tattoos depicting the story of his life, the battles he had won - and he could tame wild stallions. The Alik'r Warrior was her hero and one constant. Whenever times were tough, she would think of the day he would finally arrive to take her from her Mother.

Ashna remembers very little of the events surrounding the first years of her life. Her mother continued to work as a prostitute during the war and was able to provide for them both this way. Throughout her life, she felt as though she was a complete burden to her mother. On more than one occasion, her mother would lament that she only carried Ashna to birth because she was supposed to be a gift from the Alik'r Warrior.

Even after the war was long gone, and Ashna was 10 years old, her mother was still working. She would leave her daughter in compromising situations while she made her gold. An appreciative way to treat a gift. One such time was at night and on the outskirts of a farm house in which her mother was with a man. Ashna was left outside in the rain. As she sat underneath a tree to try to shelter herself from the downpour, she heard scuttling and shuffling around her. First the sounds came from the left, and then the right, and then from above.

She felt a warm spray hit her, and suddenly she was coated in something incredibly sticky - her eyes fixated on the white webbing which was coating her chest, a flicker of movement had her look up to see the predator. She couldn't count the amount of eyes she saw, or the legs either. She just saw the giant furry shape and then two more appeared in her peripheral vision. Giant spiders.

All she could do was scream and struggle and look to the distance while she still could to the farmhouse with its flickering lights. Soon her face was covered in the webbing and she felt the panic suffocate her. She was going to die here and nobody would know. She had heard horror stories about these spiders, but she thought that was all they were, stories.

She couldn't breath and the webbing was constricting around her chest. Everything was dark and cold and the ground beneath her started to get waterlogged from her struggling hands, she dug her hands through the mud desperately - achieving nothing.

As if by some miracle, she heard a man's voice, followed by the sound of steel piercing flesh - someone had heard her! They quickly tore away the webbing from the young girl's face - she could breath again, and see too! She saw for the first time her hero. He helped her to her feet and wiped her down. His name was Gregor, he was a farmhand who lived in the barn and had heard her cries for help.

He was the kindest man she had ever met, he must have been sent by her Father. He took out a small loaf of bread for her to eat and let her sit in the barn with him while she waited for her mother. All he asked as thanks was that sit on his lap close to him. His breath was war and had the scent of ale which he goes against her neck until she felt her hair stand up and tingle down her spine. It was uncomfortable - but he had saved her life.

To this day, Ashna has a paralysing fear of spiders.

When she was 13, her mother decided that they should cross the borders into Skyrim - it was doing well after the War, or so she had heard. Her mother was particularly naive, and even Ashna had felt it to be a bad idea. She tried to explain and pleaded with her that the province was too turbulent, that it was no place for two Redguard woman. Her mother did not listen.

The two argued and at last the truth came out as her mother wrapped her fingers around her throat, squeezing until her face went red and her eyes bulged like a rabid animal. Ashna managed to push her away before falling to the ground to catch a breath. The two sat in silence for a while before Ashna spoke, her voice croaking out; "if we leave Hammerfell, if my father comes back he won't find me..." Her mother laughed. It was soft at first but then it grew raucous. "Don't be stupid girl, you know it deep down your father isn't a Warrior... He was nothing. Just like you."

It was just like a serpent to spit such venom and wound their prey like that.

She had so many questions now - why would her mother lie for so long? What good was it to lie? If Ashna was not really a gift from the Alik'r Warrior, then why would her mother keep her? She had been so full of contempt and resentment for her whole life so far, surely if she was really a nobody then she would have been better off dropped off at an orphanage. She was soon to learn.

Now that Ashna was of age and had started to develop a womanly figure, it was time she started working too and repaying her mother for raising her, and her mother could retire, and so they would be going to Skyrim to do just that. She had been told that men in Skyrim would pay good money for a young Redguard girl. The thought formed knots in her stomach - she was never going to have her own life. Her hopes and dreams were shattered before she could even grow to have hopes and dreams. She was simply a commodity with no more worth than a farmer's livestock.

On their way into Skyrim, they were accosted by a group of bandits as they crossed the border into the Falkreath Hold. There was nothing that her mother could do when ambushed by blood thirsty Nord bandits and Ashna had to watch her mother be robbed and murdered. The turn of events was strange, and she wondered if she had brought this on by wishing for a miracle of some kind. She found it hard to find the emotions to feel anything. It was certainly not the reaction a normal child would have from seeing their mother's body in bloodied ribbons strewn on the mountain slopes.

The bandits were unable to murder Ashna. Whether it was a case of conscience, the thought of opportunity, or perhaps fate, they simply could not slaughter her like they did her mother, and so they led her into their stronghold and presented her to their leader, Bjogar the Colossus.

Ashna did not make it easy for the bandits. She spent most of the hike down to the stronghold kicking and screaming, one younger Nord bandit got two black eyes for his trouble. Bjogar looked the scrappy young Redguard up and down slowly. Stopping only to let out a sigh. He seemed older than his bandits. His hair was greying and fine and his eyes had wrinkles in the corners. The man was tall, Ashna half-figured he must have the blood of a giant in him as he was also wide. Never the less, he was an intimidating figure and the shadow he cast looked like a big bear against the stone walls of his quarters. Ashna stared intently into his grey eyes, never breaking or blinking - the two had a stubborn stare off. Eventually he smiled and announced to the group - "I like this one. She's mine now."

She spent the next year working as Bjogar's slave of sorts, traveling across Skyrim with his group of bandits. She saw men and women come and go, she saw many of them die, many of them betray each other, and many try to betray Bjogar... During the first year, she took notice that Bjogar didn't ask too much of her at all save from skinning a few animals here and there, and serving him his meals. He merely kept her along as a companion. He taught her to read, something which in many ways was his greatest gift to her. She found herself in love with books, and would read everything she could get her hands on. Why? Because she could. It was something she could have for herself - a moment in a completely new world, she could experience the history of Tamriel while sat under a table behind a blanket, with the rain hammering outside. Or she could read over poetry when she was sat up in the top of a tree. Ask her afterwards what the girl had read though, and she wouldn't have much of an idea. It was like what she read went in... and then immediately spilled out.

Bjogar told her stories of his times as a Sailor in Tamriel. He explained to her how he had started as a deckhand when he was only 10 years old "I was but a pup!" he would guffaw, making her laugh with him, she hung on his every word - enthralled by his tales. He would act out some of the most prominent moments in his life to her as if he were an actor on a stage - really, it was just the two of them around a campfire with a bottle of ale. "By the time I was 20 I was a proper Sailor, traveling across the oceans and around the world. I saw a lot of things. That sea air... Kept our spirits up. We trusted the sea..." Ashna watched his expression when he talked about his past. For a long time, he never told her how he came to be a bandit on land.

She had started to grow fond of Bjogar not too long after joining him, and as she grew older he started to treat her much like he would his own child more openly amongt his small army of bandits. "Why do they call you The Colossus?" she asked him one day. His response was simple - it was because he was, a colossal Nord. It made sense, but she had the nerve to pull out a quip to his reply; "I'm colossal too!". It was true, by 15 she was already standing at around 178cm, towering over some of the other women in the group. "Aye, I suppose you're a Colossus too then" he laughed and stood in front of her, his 217cm frame cast a shadow but he could make out her grin.

At 15 he gave her the very first weapon she would train with, a simple one-handed axe. He started by pitting her against his own bandits in a makeshift fighting pit in his stronghold and let her loose.

He was impressed at her remarkable speed, willpower, and the sheer desire she had to hold his attention. "You have grit, girl" he would remark every time she left the pit. She didn't understand what he meant. Hee seemed to be complimenting something she was doing, but she couldn't win. She kept getting smashed in every conflict she had, sometimes unable to land even a single hit. Finally Bjogar himself began to train her - he had her climb rockfaces, carry rocks and roll boulders, and he had her run. He would make her carry buckets of water uphill, dive for septims and trinkets he would throw into water, and have her creep without disturbing groups of deer... Still he wouldn't train her in combat, and still she did everything he asked and perfected it to keep his eyes and affections on her.

This torturous training of endurance lasted for months and over those months Ashna built muscle over every inch of her body. Satisfied by the changes Bjogar released her once more into the pit. This time was different, immediately she felt powerful, more powerful than before. She picked up a shield and tackled her opponent - he didn't stand a chance and fell in a crumpled heap to the ground. Finally, Bjogar cheered for her. Hearing his cheer she of course dropped her guard just enough for her opponent to rise up and clonk her on the back of the head and knock her out.

Back to training...

With more training, years of building strength, using her axe, and practicing hand-to-hand against Bjogar himself, she reached a level of skill where she was able to go toe-to-toe with the best of the bandits, out manoeuvring them and slashing them down. The others began to fear facing her and so the fighting pit ended by the time that Ashna was 22 and Bjogar asked her to be his right-hand woman - his prize fighter.

For 8 years the Colossus Bandits seemed to raid every cavern, explore every ruin, fight beasts, plunder loot, and travel across all of Skyrim. It showed in Bjogar, he had grown very old. He had lost his hair and the wrinkles that used to sit in the corners of his eyes had expanded and cracked across his face like segments. He had even softened in demeanour. The numbers had grown smaller - including Ashna and himself - there were only 8 other bandits in the group where there had once been over 30.

It was in 4E 204 that everything changed. There had been tension within the camp for several weeks. Something had just been brewing. For some reason that night, Bjogar had asked Ashna to go to a specific area of woodland and look for apples. He had even given her a satchel to store them. He had never asked her to do such a thing, but she knew it was coming up to her name day - so maybe that was why.

When she found the first apple tree, she went to place the apple in the bag but instead found parchment. As she opened it she felt her stomach turn to knots and her heart stop.



"Damnit..."

She was torn and heartbroken. She knew and felt in her heart that it was too late. The sudden ache and feeling of hollowness stung at her. She knew that by the time she returned to their camp he would be gone, it was like part of herself had been ripped from within her body. The stupid, meaningless letter. He was never one for words in life - but this was all he could give her? Something scrawled out in desperation? He was too old to hold them off, and there was an especially powerful Breton mage woman named Lisia whom she was sure orchestrated the entire mutiny. Bjogar wanted her to run and never look back. She wanted to run and never look back too. She was never one to disobey an order from her Father, but part of her - and it was a very big part - was not going to let this happen...

She waited until nightfall to head back to her home. She heard them laughing and celebrating. This would not do. In a mixture of grief, anger, and determination she got to work - killing the remaining bandits one by one in a swift and brutal way until only Lisia stood in her way. The Breton was up to her elbows in Bjogar's possessions. She had cracked open his chest and his body wasn't even cold yet. Not that it was anything that Ashna herself hadn't done. What could be expected from a bandit after all?

On any other day Lisia would best her. But not this day, the witch fumbled in the dark in fear of the Redguard beast before her, and Ashna brought down her axe into her skull in a fit of complete rage. Not once, not twice... But 6 times.

She lay beside her father that night, he seemed peaceful. She wondered if he had reached Sovngarde.

She would never meet him there.



It was time to give up this life as he wished. She had seen every nook and cranny of every cavern and cave but above ground? There was so much to see. She had stopped caring about the Colossus Bandits after what they had done, how they had plotted against her and her father. Each bandit group was the same. They were all untrustworthy, and forever doing the same things - stagnating. She didn't want to sit and die like this, die by someone who wanted her seat on a throne that was worthless anyway.

Bjogar had not wanted such a fate for her. She wanted out, truly.

But what now? What for this Redguard woman? In her heart she felt the only place for her to go now was a place she had never gone yet - to the sea. She knew that Bjogar had been a sailor in his youth and had loved the sea. He would often tell Ashna that had he stayed on the sea he would have lived life agelessly - and this his aches and pains were caused by land.

She wanted to get as far from Falkreath as possible. With her fingers tracing over a map, she ruled out The Rift. Too dull a place for her. Whiterun was out of the question. It was simply... the middle! Winterhold was absolutely out of the question too, it had been occupied by Kamal forces, it just wasn't a place to take herself right now. Solitude had a ring to it. It was poetic almost. To be in solitude was to be alone - which for now, she was. The journey gave her too much time to think and reflect on her life thus far. Too much time to spend in her own head. To think of Bjogar, to think of her mother again. Solitude was proving to be painful, and if her life had taught her anything - it was that in a way, family could be found anywhere, and that fate would get her where she needed to be.

So it did. Her intuition hadn't steered her wrong. In Solitude she found a ship in need of a crew. She was getting on that boat. She had a lot of offer them - experience as a bandit for one! There would be no beating around the bush on it, she wasn't ashamed of her past. In fact, looking around at the others that she could make out on the ship she could have guessed their pasts might be of the shady variety too...

If she had to unearth every skeleton from her past, she was getting on that ship.

Capabilities

§ Attributes
Major: Speed
Minor: Willpower

§ Skills
Expert - One Handed Axe
Adept - Shield, Athletics, Speech, Hand-to-Hand
Novice - Lockpicking, Marksman

§ Weaknesses
Arachnophobia
Ever since she had a run in during the night with a frost-bitten spider, the creatures have plagued her nightmares and she is likely to freeze on the spot if she meets with one again.

Brain like a sieve
One of Ashna's biggest frustrations in her life is her inability to retain and hold onto knowledge that she reads. She has such a hunger to know the secrets and history of Tamriel, and she does go out of her way to read books and listen to stories but for some reason... The information never seems to stick. She is also forgetful and disorganised, frequently misplacing things, or forgetting in which cavern she left a crate of particular loot. She is terrible with names too, remembering faces more than names and anything about that person.

§ Spells
No spells

§ Tactics
Ashna uses her incredible speed to her advantage always. Few can keep up with her in a straight race, and the same goes for the battle field, she can dodge and out-maneuver the best of them in a one on one fight, opting to block any hits with her trusty shield, and chip away at her enemy with her axe until they simply tire. At range, she will throw in the axe with great accuracy, and move in with the shield. In even stickier situations, she is adept at hand-to-hand combat and her size alone gives her an excellent advantage.

To support her peers, she draws attention to herself and gives her allies a chance to move in with their own weapons and spells to finish off weakened and tired enemies.

§ Relations & Affiliations
Mother - Deceased
Bjogar the Colossus - Adoptive Father

§ Opinions
None as of yet

Inventory

§ Cash
17 Septims

§ Keys & Lockpicks
7 x lockpicks

§ Tools & Crafting Materials
None

§ Clothing & Armor
Ashna wears a light style armour - ths helps her to stay incredibly light on her feet. She wears a loincloth style skirt with padded leggings and leather boots, with a shirt of loose and fine mail adorned with coloured fabrics and an orange Redguard style cape and headscarf. She opts for cloth that display her Redguard heritage, but also holds the intimidating prowess of Nord steel.

For traveling in colder climates, she has a bearskin cloak which still has the head of the bear as a hood.

§ Weapon & Ammo
Nordic War Axe
Throwing axes x 3
Nordic Shield
Steel Dagger

§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
2 x Potion of Minor Restoration

§ Jewelry & Valuables
Amulet of speech
Silver Ruby Ring

§ Books & Documents
Letter from Bjogar the Colossus

§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
2 x Pheasant Breast
1 x Bread

§ Load Bearing Equipment
A leather satchel, medium sized

§ Other
A journal in which she writes her thoughts
Quill and ink