[hider=Keto Elf] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Name:[/u][/i][/color] Yarmira [color=00FF7F][i][u]Age:[/u][/i][/color] 60 (20 in pathetically short lives of men) [color=00FF7F][i][u]Race:[/u][/i][/color] Bosmer [color=00FF7F][i][u]Appearance[/u][/i][/color] [indent]Yarmira is a hulking behemoth. Standing at a staggering 5’2, she towers above all the men in her home, and most of the women too. Powerful. Strong. Lithe. Feminine. At least, that’s how those in the village see her. To the untrained Imperial eye, Yarmira is a diminutive, scrappy little thing of unknown gender. Bosmer are like that. She is bow-legged from a life spent wrapped around tree limbs. Combined with her predatory hunched posture, the Bosmer’s prowling gait is animalistic and strange. Yarmira’s neck is unusually muscular, and her left shoulder is noticeably more toned than the other from drawing her bow. The Bosmer’s frame is sleek and narrow, with pale skin from living beneath a dense jungle canopy. Deep red tattoos that resemble war paint run across much of her body; smears, handprints, and depictions of forest creatures like prehistoric cave paintings. Her body is criss-crossed with long, dark, slashing scars, the skin raised along these knotted streaks of flesh. She jokingly calls these her tiger stripes. Yarmira’s long hair is meticulously kept; she combs her locks incessantly and braids it with the help of small animal bones. The Bosmer’s face is almost androgynous with sharp features, a prominent nose, and massive, dark eyes with a nearly nonexistent sclera. She has full lips which hide large, sharp canine teeth. Yarmira’s greatest pride is her huge rack. Though they shed every spring, her most recent antlers have grown to a brilliant eight points.[/indent] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Personality[/u][/i][/color] [indent] There was a time when Yarmira thought she knew all there was to know, that the world began and ended with the endless green of Valenwood’s tangled boughs. She knew every beast’s call, every hidden path, every secret place where the trees bent just so to let the light spill through. However, her dreams always hinted at something more. Something beyond. They brought her out of the jungle and into the world, and now the curiosity from her youth has been reignited. She wants to learn everything there is to know about this place beyond the forest. Because of her waking dreams, Yarmira believes she was chosen by Y’ffre. For what purpose she does not know, but her dreams proved to be real, and so she trusts The Great Spinner is at work. The Senche-Tiger was her first challenge and she knows more are to come. Unsurprisingly, Yarmira adheres strictly to the Green Pact. She will go out of her way to protect the natural world and would give her life to do so. She sees it not as a burden, but a law of existence, as natural as breathing. She has yet to meet anyone who [i]doesn’t[/i] live by the Green Pact. In fact, she assumes everyone does. Yarmira does not shy away from violence, but isn’t fond of unnecessary killing. Not for any moral reasons, mind you, but the Green Pact requires her to use every part of fallen foes. If Yarmira spares an enemy, it is likely she just isn’t hungry. Despite all her wildness, Yarmira is a nimble weaver of words. She possesses a bright, piping voice that winds through the trees like birdsong. She tells stories eagerly and with great pleasure - of the spirits in the leaves, of the hunters who came before, of the city of stone she sees in her sleep. Sometimes, she wonders if her own tale is already written, her path laid before her by The Spinner. [/indent] [hr][color=00FF7F][h3][b][u]Skills[/u][/b][/h3][/color] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Archer[/u][/i][/color] [indent]Yarmira possesses a keen eye and swift hand, experienced at felling prey at short distances in the dense Valenwood jungle. Her favorite trick is letting two arrows loose in quick succession, launching the second before the first has struck its mark. Her marksmanship is dubious at longer ranges. Bosmer shortbows are not made for greater distances, and arrows can’t travel far in the dense brush of Valenwood, so she’s never tried. [/indent] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Climber[/u][/i][/color] [indent]The Bosmer woman has lived nearly all her life at least 20 feet off the ground navigating Valenwood’s thick canopy. Her tribe lives among the great trees of Malabal Tor, seldom leaving their safety. Yarmira is sure-footed on any surface, able to scramble about with speed and confidence that would disturb city-dwellers. Navigating vertically is almost easier for her than horizontally, and she finds comfort in great heights. She has yet to try her hand at scaling the immense towers of the Imperial City. [/indent] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Tracker[/u][/i][/color] [indent]Yarmira is not one to sit and wait for her prey to wander into her sight. Instead, she prefers giving chase. The Bosmer is a skilled hand at pursuing her quarry from the branches of Valenwood, sometimes for days on end, her sharp eyes picking up the faintest of clues in low light on the jungle floor’s thick brush. Yarmira can remain undetected until the moment she lets her arrows fly. She’s quickly learning that many of these skills do not translate well to the wide fields and forests of Cyrodiil, where prey can spot you from hundreds of feet away. [/indent] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Bushcraft[/u][/i][/color] [indent]The Bosmer are nothing if not a resourceful bunch. Those who adhere to the Green Pact like Yarmira are forbidden from ever harming plant life and must use what they harvest from fallen prey. The young Bosmer can whittle arrows from bone that fly straight and true, sharpen a troll’s femur into a dagger, and concoct crude poultices from bear bile and insect ichor. [/indent] [hr][h3][color=00FF7F][u][b]Magic[/b][/u][/color][/h3] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Green Pact Magic[/u][/i][/color] [indent]Some Bosmer can call upon Y’ffre, the God of Song and Forest. It is sacred and primal magic, drawn not from the user’s own reserves of magicka, but on the green world around them. There are no scrolls or tomes; instead, whispered agreements with spirits of the wild. They do not bend anything to their will. They seek out Y’ffre’s aid. The most simplistic invocations of Pact magic can help a flower bloom or send a beetle scurrying towards the summoner. Advanced practitioners can shape the very natural world around them, growing immense trees into homes or summon herds of wild beasts to their side. Yarmira is a mere novice. It takes immense concentration, time, meditating, and chanting, for her to call even a small hawk to her side. The Pact draws these creatures to them and forbids the summoner from harming their newfound companions. She can also use the Pact magic to fortify herself before a great hunt, calling on the wild to hone her senses and bring strength to her bow arm. This magic is strongest in wild, untamed places, and nearly nonexistent in dense cities. [/indent] [hr][color=00FF7F][h3][b][u]Equipment[/u][/b][/h3][/color] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Personal Items[/u][/i][/color] [indent] Clothes – No surprises here. Yarmira wears a mishmash of pelts, furs, and leather like all tribal Bosmer. The most striking feature of this ensemble is her cloak, which is fashioned from the orange and black striped pelt of a Senshe-Cat. She even kept the beast’s face to serve as a hood. Stylish [i]and[/i] practical. Flute - A flute Yarmira fashioned from Senche-Tiger bone, scrimshawed with a depiction of her triumph over the beast. Pipe and kit – A (you guessed it) bone pipe and accompanying small leather bag of crushed and dried beetles. Smoke them to experience an altered state of mind. [/indent] [color=00FF7F][i][u]Lockbox[/u][/i][/color] [indent] Bow - Her prized possession. A recurve bow made from antelope horn, sinew, and mammoth tusk. Arrows and quiver - A fur quiver and an assortment of arrows with bone shafts. [indent]12x flint heads for small game 12x with chitin heads for tougher hides 6x of mammoth tusk for penetrating chitin[/indent] Sharp things - Yarmira carries a collection of daggers and knifes. A gutting knife and a skinning knife made of elkhorn and insect chitin, two daggers carved out of troll bone, and a small shiv made from treasured obsidian. Flasks - Two leather flasks; one containing water, the other Rotmeth, a foul-smelling alcoholic drink made from fermented meat. Bits and bobs - A variety of trinkets, charms, crafting supplies like sinew, a comb made from her own antler, a small bone fishhook and string, and various small bones which she uses to decorate her hair. Pack - A small pack of fur and leather in which all this junk lives. [/indent] [hr] [hider=Background] Yarmira’s early life is a mystery to her. The Bosmer’s life began at 15, a mere child for the long-lived Bosmer. Her first memory is waking up under the Valenwood canopy, light filtering through the dense foliage. She is surrounded by Bosmer men and women staring down at, chanting incessantly. She is in pain. She cannot move. But she is alive. Those around her break their spell and burst into revelry, shouting and hugging. Soft arms take up her broken body, the comforting touch of a loved one. She had been attacked, the stranger says. Her mother. Taken from the village in the dead of night by a Senche-Tiger and mauled half to death. But the village searched for her. Drove off the Senche-Tiger Saved her before the beast ate her beloved child. Yarmira’s body was ravaged with long slashes from tooth and claw, and her mind was destroyed by the trauma, but she was alive. Y’ffre be praised. Yarmira recovered slowly, nursed back to health by her loving parents. She had to relearn what they had already taught her. How to climb. How to hunt. How to remain true to their ancestor’s promise to Y’ffre, the Spirit of the Now, to honor the Green Pact. They hoped she’d only have to be reminded, but it took her much longer than expected to reintegrate into their village after her near-death experience. They lived deep among the Grahtwood’s high branches, the darkest jungle in Valenwood. Secluded from the rest of the world, tucked away even from other Bosmer. Yarmira’s curiosity was limitless. She wanted to know [i]everything[/i], as she had much to catch up with her peers. She listened intently to their village Spinner, of how Y’ffre’s first story pulled the world free from the primordial Ooze, bringing the trees and the grass into form. Then came the Bosmer, the protectors of the Green. Forbidden by the Green Pact from ever harming Y’ffre’s first creations, and instead finding life in taking others. She was slow to relearn her people’s customs. Yarmira fell from the trees more times than she could count, missed her mark with the bow constantly, and could not keep all Y’ffre’s sacred ways in her head. The other villagers loathed her clumsy stalking and her unintended violations of the Green Pact, but Yarmira’s parents shielded her from most of their abuse. Worse still, the young Bosmer was plagued by visions and nightmares. Sights she had never seen in the waking world. Things she couldn’t even imagine. A whirlwind of strange people, hulking giants with pale eyes and yellow hair, others that walked upright like Mer but bore the faces of jungle cats. Labyrinthian stone paths flanked by homes of shattered wood. There was one vision that dominated her dreams each night and occupied her thoughts each day. A sprawling forest of stone stretching as far as the eye could see, and in its center a Great Tree shimmering white that seemed to hold up the world. She spoke with her parents, her brothers and sisters, even the Spinner, but they told her it meant nothing. They encouraged her not dwell on these things, and instead focus on the present. The here and now. Yarmira took them for what they were, though. Visions from Y’ffre. There was something out there waiting for her, something she must discover, and the day would come where she would set out and find it. As she grew older, Yarmira’s features began to come into focus and her body underwent peculiar changes. Her canine teeth grew long and sharp. Her fingernails blackened and hardened like claws. Budding antlers grew from atop her head. These markings were rare among her people, and an ill portent. To change one’s shape into that of a beast was forbidden by Y’ffre, and these were signs of a wild and unruly soul. One whose very essence sought to break their pact with The Singer. When Yarmira entered womanhood, it was time for her Becoming. A coming-of-age ritual that signified a young Bosmer was ready to take their place as an adult within the tribe. The ritual was a simple hunt, but with a catch; the inductee must name their prey before departing, and would leave the village with nothing. No weapons, no tools, and no clothes. They would prove their resourcefulness to the tribe by creating their own bow in the wild and use it to bring back a great prize. A meek hunter might come home with a rodent-like Kollopi, while a skilled Bosmer would set their sights on the elusive and fleet-footed Chital deer. Yarmira not only named the most dangerous prey in their jungle in her ritual, but a specific one. The Senche-Tiger that had nearly taken her life. She had much to prove. Yarmira was in the jungle for months. She worked her way up the food chain, at first hunting like a beast with naught but her teeth as she gathered the means to whittle a crude dagger. Then a bow. Once she’d fashioned a handful of arrows, the real work began. The young Bosmer stalked through the jungle, her feet never touching the forest floor, as she searched for signs of the Senche-Tiger. Scratchings and secretions to mark its territory here. A water buffalo carcass there. Slowly, meticulously, she honed in on the creature until she could hear its harsh yowls call out into the night as it searched for a mate. She finally laid eyes on the beast as it prowled through the jungle. It was massive. Larger than any predator she’d seen, and it bore the marks of battle with her people on its skin. An unmistakable slash across its muzzle her mother dealt it. She’d heard the story so many times. Yarmira felt no hatred towards the beast; in fact, she admired it for its bravery. The tiger had snatched its prey from a den of predators. A few days later, she strode into her village wearing its brilliant pelt as a cloak. Yarmira’s tribe treated her much differently after her triumphant return, and much was expected of her. Perhaps she would be the next Spinner. She had the knack for storytelling, after all. Maybe the young woman was better suited as the lead hunter, or perhaps one day, even chieftain. But the thought of settling down into these rote positions, honorable though they were, did not appeal to Yarmira. It was not Y’ffre’s will. There was something out there for her to discover, something the Great Spinner wanted her to find, and she could not rest until this veil was lifted. Shortly after Yarmira’s Becoming, she slipped out of the village under the cover of night. Yarmira travelled north. As good a direction as any. The forest became thinner, the climate cooler. She was forced to walk on the ground as the trees grew further and further apart. The young Bosmer felt exposed. And yet at night, when slept under the stars for the first time, she was amazed at how many of Y’ffre’s blessing she had never seen. Yarmira travelled through rough country, not knowing that roads cut through much of Cyrodiil, and never saw another soul save for the beasts of the wild. She hunted strange creatures (well, she tried to), admired beautiful new flora, swam in frigid rivers and slept in the branches of foreign trees. Yet many of these things were strangely familiar, present in her dreams. After months of travel and with no food remaining in her pack, it finally came into view on the horizon, as towering and beautiful as it was in her visions. The Great Tree which Holds up the World. Many others had come to see it too, filtering in from beaten paths. She joined their numbers, unknowingly entering the Imperial City. It was not as wondrous as it had been in her dreams. Dirty, stinking, crowded. And yet she was here, beneath the Great Tree’s shadow. But she became caught up in the crowd, pushing and shoving, all pressing towards the sound of battle. Yarmira knew not to fight against the herd and instead went along lest she be trampled underfoot by these giants. She found herself pressed tight in a mass of bodies, unable to see what they were all enraptured by. Yarmira climbed higher and watched with great interest as two hulking creatures, one with pale green skin, the other with a shock of yellow hair, batter eachother to death. She wondered why they fought. Perhaps they were hungry. Unfortunately, they were both sent away with empty stomachs. Yarmira’s own stomach had been empty for days, and she followed her keen sense of smell to some kind of herbal meat. It looked like several others had as well. Daggerfall Dan’s was packed to the brim when a brawl broke out. The diminutive Bosmer, accustomed to a more communal lifestyle, simply started eating from other’s plates, which earned her a black eye she’s still sporting. A bite here, a kick there, and the next time Yarmira opened her eyes, she was without her weapons, locked up tight, and quickly becoming familiar with the concept of claustrophobia. [/hider] [color=00FF7F][u][i]Ambition[/i][/u][/color] [indent]Guided by her dreams and visions, Yarmira seeks to uncover whatever destiny Y’ffre has in store for her. [/indent] [/hider]