Gonna edit my peeps tonight
[OOC] The Elder Scrolls: Fruits of Contention - Chapter 2 (Completed) Page 5
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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2 hrs ago
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@MacabreFox, what Dervs said. Also, Leif's background seems unfinished.
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MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
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1 mo ago
@MacabreFox, what Dervs said. Also, Leif's background seems unfinished.
@GCold
Leif's background has been fully modified and updated with correct content, and so has Sevine's.
DearTrickster
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11 mos ago
I'm gonna apply with you cool kids. Gotta knock a character sheet into shape and read up on whos who and get an idea of the shenanigrams going on in the last game. 
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MacabreFox Wee Witchy Woo
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1 mo ago
I'm gonna apply with you cool kids. Gotta knock a character sheet into shape and read up on whos who and get an idea of the shenanigrams going on in the last game.
awww yisss!
There's a summary on the page prior :D
I'm gonna apply with you cool kids. Gotta knock a character sheet into shape and read up on whos who and get an idea of the shenanigrams going on in the last game.
Glad to hear you'll be joining us Tricks! Looking forward to see your bio.
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POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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2 hrs ago
All these characters...is this Elder Scrolls: Infinity War?
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Spoopy Scary ☠️🌸soft grunge🌸☠️
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15 days ago
So, uh, working on a second character. All I've worked on so far is history, but it's a doozy. So I'm just gonna submit that now for review while I work on the rest of the sheet.
Dar'Jzo
Male Khajiit (Cathay) | 57 | The Shadow
Dar'Jzo was not always Dar'Jzo. Whether or not it was a crises of identity, he has gone through many names in his life. Some he has earned, but most were chosen for himself. His first was Kil before he earned his honorific, then Ja'kil in a fit of rebellion when he had finally come of age. S'kil when he fathered a daughter, thinking a mere name change could somehow change the person he was. Then Dro'kil when his daughter bore a child of her own, and he sought to shed the fur of the khajiit he used to be and lay down his tools for the betterment of his daughter's family. Never in his life would he have expected to become Dar'Jzo. Never in his life would he have expected to be Ra'gajal's attack cat.
It is difficult to pinpoint where exactly it all went wrong. Perhaps it was from the beginning, in 4E 149. He was born on a seafaring vessel by people who were truly no better than pirates - at least he thinks he was. The southeastern-most city of Pelletine was the port-town of Senchal, and it was as ripe with trade as it was with crime. When the ships were coming in steady, guards would watch every rundown nook and cranny, so some thieves got smart and only became active when business was slow, trading less risk for a less lucrative hit. It all depended on how big of a gambler you were. One of the Baandari, a clan of traders and peddlers, thought that she'd be saving a kitten from the big bad pirates and sneaked her way on board to pick him up from off the deck. When the smuggler made it back to the trading post inside town, poor Daro'Rista wasn't met with the praise she hoped for - she was met with scorn. The Baandari didn't deal in people, let alone babies. What started as a good-intentioned, albeit misguided attempt at philanthropy turned into all the reason in the world for an exile, and Daro'Rista became Cast-Cat.
Though this left everyone wondering what to do with the little young khajiit. Put it back on the boat with the pirates? The baby wouldn't survive! What was their intention with the baby anyway? They decided that it might have been best to either find someone willing to take him or raise the child themselves. Then they looked to Daro'Rista. Now a Cast-Cat she may be, but her act was at least done out of concern, yes? They took pity on her, though dare not re-initiate her because her gambling took too many risks. Perhaps too risky even to be taking care of a child, but Daro'Rista stopped them there - she took the child in the first place, so she will take responsibility for him. She only asked that the child could be raised Baandari like she was, and perhaps the child will do better. The Baandari agreed.
So a young cat was named Kil, raised by a trader-thief and a clan of peddlers. His origins were quite unknown to him, though Daro'Rista was no stranger when it came to sharing how he was found, so it was fair to say that Kil wasn't sure how he fit into the community around him. His mother wasn't really his mother and his father was essentially an entire clan that his mother used to be a part of, but she was exiled and yet he's allowed to be Baandari, and he came from a pirate ship where there was no telling if he was born to its crew-mates or if he was stolen away from someplace else. It was doubtless that he felt at least a little lost or had a fractured sense of identity. He just had to stick through it though, and he ended up learning the art of trade, hustling, and hawking, and perhaps the seedier aspects of life through Daro'Rista and some of the Baandari who were actually good at it.
Though in all fairness to Daro'Rista, it was she who taught him how to hunt. Learning to shoot a bow, learning the fox-trot - it was cheaper than buying the meat and the Baandari were nothing if not bargain hunters. The idea of saving money was sometimes more tantalizing than the boars and sand-crabs they were hunting! Kil never cared for trade like most of the Baandari seemed to, but they did instill into him a sort of resentment for government - not that he was your traditional rebel or anarchist, but the Baandari were a free people and he didn't want any pesky officials getting into his business.
It wasn't until his mid-teens did he really start getting into particularly seedy trade. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as illegal trade. If a customer wanted a particular item, who was anyone to stop them? Moon sugar was no such item, but when it was distilled? Skooma was an ever-present problem across Elsweyr! So popular a drug was it, that it seemed that as much as half of Senchal was addicted to it. Very few of the Baandari in Senchal were willing to handle such hot wares and they warned Kil against it. For a while, he adhered to their wisdom, but when Daro'Rista was caught with sticky-paws and thrown into a cell, Kil went forward with the idea in hopes of raising enough money to spring his godmother free. He was never going to touch the stuff, of course. He knew that it was basically poisonous garbage and he never had any intention of indulging himself in it.
If there were a couple things the Baandari told him about the skooma trade, it was that it was extremely cutthroat, illegal, and each and every dealer was a rival who had it out for you, so it wasn't as easy as finding someone to teach you how to make it. Luckily for him, he was Baandari, and the clan takes care of its own. One of their own people by the name of Not'Ashav - a black Cathay-raht (otherwise known in Cyrodiil as "Smokes-the-Crack"), who was in and of himself of a drug problem who decided that skooma costed too much and decided to learn how to make it himself. Not'Ashav argued that none know how to make skooma better than he, because he's the only one who samples his own wares! That cat was rarely ever sober, and sometimes that made learning how to make skooma a pain-staking task all on its own... but that was how he got into the trade.
If there was anything he learned about the skooma trade, it was that there's no such thing as easing into it. You can't hawk your wares without getting into trouble, and nobody will come to you unless they know who you are. So what does one do? You hunt down as many sugar-tooths as you can find in the city. Catch them while they're shivering with the skooma-shakes, and you... "help them out" by easing their withdrawal with an itty bitty free sample. Then you let them know where they can find you. He chose an old storehouse on the docks. Cats don't like water (him included), but if you were wracked with addiction, wasn't it a small price to pay? Sometimes, though, addicts who are poor and can't afford the skooma will simply see a small, young khajiit and just try to take it from him.
It was as the clan said: skooma dealings were cutthroat and dangerous.
He returned home battered, bruised, and fur soggy with seawater after he was pushed off the side of the docks. He was frustrated and angry that he was seen as nothing more than a child when he was at his seventeenth year. Though his clan felt sorry for the kid, they still laughed and joked about today being the day he became a man, ironically calling him Ja'kil - it became less funny to them when Kil went along with it. He called himself Ja'kil from that point onward, hoping that would make people take him more seriously. The clan tried to explain, it didn't matter how young or how old you were. There are some out there who will simply seek to take advantage of you and a fancy new name wasn't going to change that. It put him down at first, but they continued: what he needed to do was learn how to defend himself, and the Baandari weren't without their warriors.
They taught him moves and self-defense techniques that should allow him to take care of your average drugged-up cat. Anyone with any actual training he should be wary of, but for the most part, the practice did him good. When the same customer from the other day found him again, Ja'kil wasn't the one who was thrown into the water this time.
The next couple of years for Ja'Kil was pretty much spent honing his trade. He wasn't a good merchant by any means, but he learned how to make his business work and he learned how to make better skooma more efficiently, making himself no longer reliant on Not'Ashav's tutelage. On the downside, it was in that amount of time that Ja'kil wasn't able to meet his goal of bailing Daro'Rista out of prison before she got out on good behavior - making a profit off of addicts wasn't exactly as lucrative as he imagined, but now he had the experience so he may as well stick with it. It added to the struggle of coming to terms with his identity, since he didn't feel like this was his calling. Daro'Rista didn't approve of her godson becoming a skooma peddler, but she understood why he turned to it. While she was never a part of the trade, she did move goods from time to time. She offered her aid to him in that regard nonetheless, hoping that she could keep him safe until the time came when he grows tired of this business.
Though it became clear that he didn't spend all of his time messing around while she was in jail; he became kinda good at it. He learned most of the tricks - his first experience hardened him enough to be able to demand respect without scaring away his customers. He learned to use dead drops instead of carrying the goods nearby or on his person. He learned not just the guards' rounds, but their names, and learned credible deniability by allowing himself to be seen at certain times of the day while his customer picked up their prescription - one can't be skulking about at all hours of the day. Even during his meetings, he'd be waiting for his customers at the docks with a basket of fish at his side, a fishing pole in hand, and his feet hanging off the docks.
At nineteen years old, 4E 168, he met the khajiit who would one day bear his child: Lalana, a black-furred Suthay-raht from a family who owned a plantation. Grew things from moon sugarcane to bananas, herded goats, and even owned an elephant which plowed the land for them. The land was protected by pahmar to discourage thieves from poaching what they owned. They made everything from banana rum to traditional Elsweyr Fondue - it was safe to say that she came from a totally different caste than Ja'kil did, but she didn't want to live her life being reliant on her family's wealth. Still, they were smitten by one another. The rustic man of few words giving the bad boy vibe was just as alluring to Lalana as much as her elegance and rebellious side was to Ja'kil. Her family warned against the dangers of running off with street cats like that dastardly Baandari, Ja'kil, but as far as Lalaana was concerned, there was no evidence of him being dangerous. He never told her the truth of what he did for a living.
Of course they were young and stupid and without restraint - but they loved each other. It didn't take long before they were with child, which marked one of the happiest days for Daro'Rista. The young cat she had saved and raised had finally become a father of his own and perhaps that was the day she stopped trying to hold his hand through life. The Baandari rejoiced for his happiness and welcomed both his lover and, months later, their daughter with open arms. For the first time, he felt like he actually had a purpose: to house and protect his new family. So as Lalana suggested that they gave their daughter the name Datta, after the first Mane. Ja'kil let her make the decision - it wouldn't be fair for him to decide two names in the same day, because from that day forward, he wasn't Ja'kil, he was S'kil; for he was no longer the same brat who thought changing his name made him a different person. No, it was the deed - and since the deed of fatherhood made him a different person, the old name no longer reflected him.
Of course, the Baandari clan couldn't help but make fun of him for being so melodramatic, but they respected his wishes.
You would be forgiven for thinking that there would be a drastic change in his lifestyle following that day. How does one explain to their family that they are a skooma dealer? What if that danger finds its way to them? Well, it was all the more reason to not be caught, yes? He figured that if he was good at something, then it would be a waste of ability to not use it - such was one of the ways the Baandari taught him. Of course, he had to get better at it if he was to keep safe. Get smarter. He made his reputation as a fisherman and a hunter apparent to Senchal - it was better to be known for something innocuous than to not be known at all... those sorts were the suspicious types that the guards made a point of keeping their eyes on. Now mindful of all these different things, his job became so much harder. He needed allies and people he could trust to help him do the dirty work when he couldn't do it himself. There was Not'Ashav, but he was more likely to smoke the skooma than not. Within the Baandari in Senchal, there was only one other these days who was willing to move skooma around: Dar'sho, the son of Ra'Mada, one of the Baandari's leaders.
He was a few years older than S'kil, but given how he's been with them since he was a kitten, they've known each other for nearly twenty years. Dar'sho was more than happy to lend a helping hand to him, especially since he was the only other person ballsy enough to handle the drug. For the next sixteen years, they've been business partners, taking on the ups and downs together and battling their rivals. From moving skooma, to selling it - Dar'sho was always the better businessman, but S'kil was better at being discrete and actually knew how to make the stuff - to sabotaging business rivals and even having to bully and collect debts when they needed to. Dar'sho covered for him when he had to spend time with his family and even went as far as to provide an uncle for his daughter. They were partners, plain and simple. Even if the going got rough and certain customers thought that they could take from them, they took care of the problem together. When they came home with a cut or a bruise, the blamed it on a wild boar while on a bad hunting trip, or some other form of wildlife with a particularly nasty temper.
Though there were some close calls that resulted in some of their stock or one of their labs being ransacked by the guard, they made a point of never being caught. Don't gamble and don't take risks. Their lives weren't worth only a couple bottles of skooma. This was the start of a regional meme of a particular skooma dealer in Pelletine called the Senchal Sugar Ghost. The name got around, but nobody knew who it was - it was just used whenever someone stumbled upon an old skooma den or a dead drop with nobody there. It became more of a joke then anything, since it could have been any one of the handful of skooma peddlers in Senchal. What started off as a strategy to hunt down an unknown, wanted criminal ended up backfiring. Literally everyone called each other the ghost. Wanted posters were made for the Senchal Sugar Ghost depicting just the rough outline of a khajiit (because duh, ghosts were invisible) - at its core though, it was mostly a mockery of the guard. Hunting down an "unknown criminal" is like hunting down someone who doesn't exist. It was the Gray Fox all over again.
In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to be asking an entire population of khajiit to share some responsibility for the law.
All the while, his family has been growing as well. Lalana has earned herself a place in the Baandari with her connections to her side of the family and opening trade between them and the clan. She had a good head for mercantilism that the clan has ultimately come to respect, and their daughter Datta was grew up idolizing her and saw the Baandari as something of a huge extended family, many of which were more than happy to entertain her with their sleight of hand tricks and faux prophecies. Datta sought to follow in her mother footsteps, because in her words, "she's the prettiest and smartest person in the whole world!"
It's difficult to blame his daughter for picking a favorite. As much as he loved her, he essentially had two full-time jobs and one was required to hide the other, so he was almost as much of a ghost to his daughter as he was to Senchal. He was barely ever around to help raise her and he loathed himself for that. He got the sense that perhaps his daughter resented him too as she grew older. It was difficult to hunt, fish, be a big-time drug dealer, and then wash away all the smells and fumes from his fur after cooking the garbage up all in one day before it was her bedtime. It was difficult, but every time he entertained the thought of leaving the business, Dar'Sho would pull him back in. He couldn't just leave. "You can't waste talent."
4E 184 - sixteen years after Datta was born was the year his life was changed, and the skeletons in his closet that he tried so desperately to hide came storming out of the shadows. Sometimes you think you've tried so hard and made so sure to cover your tracks, anything to prevent the worst from happening, like how S'kil thought he made sure that nobody followed him home. Between he and Dar'sho, surely it was impossible for one of the rivaling skooma dealers to try and eliminate the competition by sending an assassin to kill him in his own home. Just seconds after arriving home one evening as S'kil leaned in to greet his lover with a nuzzle and waving hello at his daughter from across the room, taking in the smell of the wood smoke from the fire place and the smell of freshly cooked food... Lalana's eyes grew wide from a sight she saw from behind him. She threw S'kil aside, inadvertently taking a dagger in the chest with the assailant driving all of his weight behind it mid-leap. Even the assailant seemed shocked by the turn of events, shocked enough to remain frozen long enough for S'kil to process what was happening - his lover on the floor, bleeding out... he was overcome with rage.
With an agonized, ear-splitting scream he lunged at the cat who hurt his wife while drawing a knife from his belt. He grabbed their dagger-wielding paw with his free hand, and used his weight to pin the assailant's shoulders to the ground with his knees.
The assailant struggled as he yelled out loud, "Dark moons take you! You skooma vardariit-"
Nothing was stopping him from plunging his knife into their face. Then again and again, over and over...
Dar'sho was close enough to hear the commotion and sprinted his way to their front door, unable to even get a word out seeing before him the grisly horror of the scene which left him speechless. One khajiit undoubtedly dead, face unrecognizable amidst the gore, and Lalana being cradled in S'kil's arms who was rocking back and forth, trying to talk to her lifeless body through his tears. Their daughter was sobbing into her mother's belly. The family needed to mourn, and as much Dar'sho wanted to mourn too, he felt a responsibility to them to help take care of things while they were vulnerable. He immediately started looking through the pockets of the assailant's body.
"Dar'sho..." S'kil weakly said, "what are you..."
Dar'sho said nothing, but apparently found what he was looking for in the form of a crumpled up note. He quickly read it, his fur becoming increasingly bristled and tail increasingly anxious. He balled the the piece of parchment and threw it into the fireplace, the room glowing brighter for a moment as it lit up like kindling.
"It's Jo'Zhar." Dar'sho growled. "He knows it was us."
S'kil shook his head in shame and pressed his head against his wife's.
"We have to take care of this now, S'kil, before it gets any worse."
"Papa..." Datta whimpered. "What did he mean by skooma...?"
By that point, the sounds of footfalls from neighboring houses and from the clan's residence started storming closer, people calling to each other, asking questions like, "what was that?" S'kil shook his head and looked at his daughter, saying, "I'll explain later."
Datta stared solemnly, long and hard as her mother, as she mumbled, "It's always later..."
The words stung S'kil's heart and he frowned, then looked to Dar'sho with a crestfallen glance. "Go. I'll meet with you."
He nodded and fled the scene as S'kil's neighbors and clan fell upon his home, gasping in shock and mourning with him. Datta would stay with the clan that night, and the Clan-Mother would prep the body for safe passage to the Sands Behind the Stars. Tonight, S'kil would not find sleep, but instead Dar'Sho, who waited for him at the docks where they would begin their search for Jo'Zhar. Though his former hiding place still remained abandoned, they turned to the sugar-tooths on the street for information. It didn't take long, since many of these cats S'kil knew as his buyers, and he always kept himself composed - not tonight. He wasn't hiding a single ounce of his emotions. When he demanded to know the location of one of the former dealers in Senchal - the one who got hit hard by a rival - it didn't take long for them to understand what was happening and they knew better than to stand in the middle of it. They directed S'kil straight to Jo'Zhar, where he sat in a storehouse on the far western end of the outskirts of Senchal. S'kil didn't waste any time in trying to make an example of Jo'Zhar or making him suffer. He just made sure he saw him coming before he put him down like an animal. An arrow through the neck - fwp! His body dropped to the ground. They dragged the body out into the jungle to let the wildlife take care of what was left.
They returned in time for sunrise, exhausted from a night's lack of sleep and the emotional toll the day prior had on them. They did however return in time to prepare for the passing ceremony. Between Lalana's family and the Baandari clan, they afforded enough money to invest in carving out a place in a cave for her to rest instead of a simple burial cairn. Once placed in the cave, they buried Lalana's body in a collection of stones, the first ones to be layed were by her husband and child, then followed by her family. The members of the Baandari clan filled in the rest. It was a day of mourning for a great many people, for Datta especially, but she did not forget what her father had promised her. She confronted him again, wanting to know why her mother died the previous night. Why did the murderer choose them? Why did they call him a skooma sucker?
"Look into this one's eyes, child." S'kil said. "Do they wane like the moons? Or does your father's body shake and shiver like the sugar-tooths along the streets? Worry not, S'kil is well. Clawless coward was about to die. He sought to insult him."
Datta was quite for a moment, apparently not satisfied with the answer.
"Jer do?" S'kil asked.
"Skooma vardariit." She said. "Papa, what have you been up to? Who is Jo'Zhar? Why did mama have to die?"
S'kil sighed and said, "Jo'Zhar was a dealer in skooma. Dar'sho and S'kil put an end to his business."
"You are no dust-faced guard, papa." Datta replied bitingly. "What business is it of yours to get into matters like that? Why did your family not know of it?"
S'Kil was at a loss for words. No explanation for his daughter - the clever girl that she was, she had him cornered. Apparently she was sharper and more observant than he ever realized. Perhaps he would have known this if only he was with her more often.
"This one was hoping you'd come out with it." Datta continued. "She's seen you with baskets of nightshade, she sees your eyes irritated at the end of the day. Smells the sugar clinging to your fur. You and Datta are Baandari! They trade! This one visits the market and hears from fishermen how you are such a favorite customer of theirs. How much fish you buy. You say you fish them yourself!"
S'kil hung his head low wordlessly.
"This one feared you were trading in skooma, this one hoped she was wrong! Ziss, you're the reason mama is dead."
Those were the last words she spoke to him before she stopped talking to him for the next year. The year wasn't easy. Half the time, it seemed that he did nothing besides allowing himself to waste away. The other half, he looked into the mirror and hated what he saw. He wanted to change, change for the better; change for his daughter, even if she refused to talk to him... he wanted to changed for Lalana - bless her memory. He went out looking for his former labs and stockpiles and destroyed them. He destroyed every leftover trace of his skooma production, even letting Dar'sho know that it was over. His partner was slightly disappointed, but not upset. He thought that perhaps S'kil was right in doing so, for he had already lost so much because of it. The whole year, as short as it was, felt like it had gone oh so slowly for S'kil who had nothing to do as he let his home slowly become dilapidated.
It was a year later, 4E 185, when Datta finally visited him again, accompanied by a Cathay-raht.
"Uncle Dar'sho told this one what you have been up to." She spoke softly. "It can't erase what has happened... but I am proud of you."
S'kil bowed his head and flattened his ears, a remorseful frown taking over his face. He said, "S'kil only wishes that he had the clarity of mind to change himself sooner, so that he could be with his family."
"You might not have been there for Datta," she said, "but at least you can be there for the ma'khajiit."
S'kil looked down to see his daughter holding her tummy - apparently she had taken a page out of his own book when it came to early parenthood! His dejected disposition appeared instantly uplifted for the first time since Lalana's passing, though he remained speechless. He looked at Datta's partner with his ears perked.
"Do'garamba." She introduced as S'kil eagerly reached to shake his hand.
Datta continued, "Mama always told this one stories about you when you were younger. The Baandari, too. A fondness for changing your name, yes?" Datta teased, though the modulation in her voice suggested it was endearing.
"This one was never sure of who he was or was supposed to be." S'kil admitted. "Even now, S'kil wishes to be a different person."
"Please then, allow your daughter to do you the honors..." Datta softly said. "...Dro'kil."
That was it then - a name he has actually earned for the first time. Indeed, Dro'kil was rather young for a grandfather now, but his experiences have so far granted him a great deal of insight and wisdom. It's safe to say that a huge chunk of his life was actually normal after that point. He was there for his grandchild as she grew up, and he got to be there for his daughter as well. He got to know Do'garamba, who happened to be the warrior in his family and had the dream of being the Mane's personal guard - an honorable sort, even if it meant enforcing thjizzrini. It seemed that, for the next eighteen years, his life would resemble any normal citizen and he spent most of his free time hunting in the jungles. He put what he already knew of alchemy into crafting different kinds of elixers, mostly antidotes and antivenin - and learned the craft better in order to make other potions that enhanced his natural abilities that allowed him to hunt better. Nighteye, life detection, potions which helped him steady his aging body as he pulled back his bowstring. He made sure that there was never a night that neither his daughter's family nor none of the Baandari went to bed hungry.
For eighteen years, he finally found the role that suited him. He finally felt comfortable with his identity. Grandfather. Hunter. Baandari. He finally had a sense of who he was as a person.
4E 203 - eighteen years is a long time to watch the world pass you by. While Datta might not have noticed it with being preoccupied with her own son, Saddi, and her role and duties within the Baandari. That which had actually earned her the title of Dra'datta for her excellent wit and wisdom in trade agreements. Now, though, the land of Elsweyr was more tumultuous than ever. The khajiit were allied with the empire in order to leave the Dominion, and the price of such freedom was death. The Mane was issuing drafts, and Dro'kil has seen them escorting people from their homes, which he was fortunately spared from, but his grandson... well, he was not so lucky. "For the greater good," he would hear people say. It angered him. The boy was meant for better things - he was intelligent and cunning, had a fascination for prestidigitation and prophecies and sleight of hand. He wanted to learn how to be a mage! Dro'kil wasn't going to let any crown take that away from him. In confrontation with the local recruiter, they explained it was out of their control and it was up to the fancy cats in Torval to decide.
So then he met with Dar'sho. The old cat was still up to his usual tricks ever since their business dissolved, but they greeted each other like brothers all the same. He shared with him what was troubling him, and Dar'sho seemed to catch on to what he was implying.
"We are going to kill the Mane then, yes?"
Well, seemed to at least. Assassination attempts seemed to be the running joke around here since three years back, despite everyone's respect for the spiritual and cultural significance the Mane represented. Damnable Renrijra Krin Va'Aneqasa.
"No," Dro'kil said, "this one will be there for his grandson. Dro'kil will take his place. Soul for a soul."
"Your old tail?" Dar'sho retorted in disbelief.
"You and this one has cultivated their skills over the course of lifetimes!" He defended indignantly. "They will travel to Torval very soon. When they get there, Dro'kil needs your cleverness to find out who actually wants the Mane dead. Preferably anyone who is close to the crown."
"What is it you intend to do?" He asked.
Dro'kil looked at his partner in crime with a curious, innocuous expression and simply said, "Show why Dro'kil is more valuable to the Mane than unproven children."
The next day, the pair headed out toward Torvald. Not without explaining to the Baandari clan leaders first, of course. What basically entailed rescuing one of their own was enough to receive their approval and loan them the services of two senche (who were promised large piles of food upon their return), so that they could travel through the jungle of Pelletine in decent time. It costed them one or two sleepless nights in the jungle as they stayed awake and alert for any of the vicious predators that lurked behind every bush, but between a rogue, a hunter, and two vicious tigers, there were few things that the four of them couldn't handle.
When they did finally make it to Torval, they were amazed by the number of soldiers and guards stationed within the city. It was little wonder there was a draft if they were both fighting a war and worrying about assassinations within their own state. Dro'kil looked to Dar'sho, and the latter went to work collecting information, assuring his friend that they'd have everything they'd need the next day. Meanwhile, Dro'kil spent his time in an inn's private room with the company of an alchemy set consisting of a morter and pestle, alembic, retort, and calcinator, all working together in order to separate the properties of the alchemical ingredients being distilled. Nightshade, the other ingredient in making skooma was the easiest for him to get his hands on. Antlers, which were carved off one of his kills in the past and he kept as a trophy - he destroyed them and reduced them to powder, mixing it with the nightshade.
Finally, the jarrin root. Rare and hard to come by since it only grew on Stros M'Kai - but for a Baandari in Senchal? There were one or two from his own clan who had a sprig that they were holding on to for a while, and all it takes is a little extra money to compensate for what it takes to get a hold of one. The price didn't matter to Dro'kil. It would be worth every septim.
The end result was basically a pure and undiluted poison.
The next day came sooner than they expected, and both khajiit were quite tired from working throughout the night. They were not as young as they used to be and they could feel it, but they both have been through too much in their lives to let one sleepless night slow them down. They made their preparations: the poison was prepped. They put Dar'sho into some new, fresh clothes befitting of the palace's kitchen staff. Yesterday, he asked about any dissent among the leadership in Torval and he came back with quite a few names who were apparently displeased with the Mane and his ideas, most of whom were northern representatives from Anequina who had a distaste for the seat of power. He investigated their homes and half of the names he was given had written evidence for plots against the crown - correspondence between one another - which constituted as treason.
Ra'ssran. Ra'vada-dro. Dra'vansi. Dro'kil remembered these names. Less important it was for him, perhaps - more importantly it was for Dar'sho to know, but he wanted to know which lives had to pay for the betterment of his own family.
It took the rest of the day for him to get an audience with the Mane. Dar'sho went on ahead to assimilate with the servants inside while spent all day waiting in a long line of people asking for medicine or money or to do something about the law - but Dro'kil was patient. It wasn't until supper time was he able to meet with the court, at which point he was subjected to watch the Mane, all of his servants, trusted advisers, and other khajiiti leaders stuff their faces while he stood there on an empty stomach, but he was nonetheless grateful. It only made their plan easier for them.
"My Mane, this one seeks audience with you," Dro'kil began, "for the purpose of rescinding the draft order on my grandson, Saddi."
"By Alkosh, you look terrible." One cat commented, apparently ignoring his request.
"Dro'kil has spent many sleepless nights travelling from Senchal in order to beseech this of you." Dro'kil explained.
"Then I am afraid you should have spent that time sleeping, instead." The Mane said plainly. "If I agreed to rescind the draft on every person who asked, we would not have enough warriors to fight the Dominion to secure the freedom we khajiit deserve."
Dro'kil sighed. This was nothing he did not anticipate. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dar'sho hanging in the doorway watching them. It looked like it was time to proceed with the plan.
"Then perhaps we can come to an agreement--"
"This is no bargain you can win, Baandari." The Mane interrupted, looking at him knowingly. He tapped the side of his head with finger. Dro'kil was somewhat unsettled by his knowledge, but he regained his composure. The Mane only thought he knew enough about him. The truth was that if he did, then there was no way Dro'kil would even be allowed in this room.
Dro'kil pressed on, his face stoic and serious, "It is a fair trade: a life for a life. A soul for a soul. I will take the place of my grandson."
The whole room seemed to erupt in laughter, and Dro'kil could have sworn he even felt the air around him shift, but he remained still and stern.
"Don't take this the wrong way," the Mane began, "but don't you think we could get more use out of a young khajiit, easily molded and better able, than what we could out of his grandfather?"
"What is a child with sticks and stones compared to a lifetime of experience?" Dro'kil asserted confidently. "This one can be far more useful to you in the coming years than Saddi. Leaders cannot be formed overnight, no?"
"And you have proof that you are as competent as you suggest?"
Dro'kil smiled. Dro'kil rarely ever smiled - and that was the cue for Dar'sho to get ready. He saw from his periphery that he had begun moving.
"That is a most excellent idea, my Mane!" He said. He looked around the room at all the leaders and officials of Torval. "How about we all toast? To the Mane, and to proving Dro'kil worthy of his trust! He shall make a show of it!"
This prompted laughter from the Mane, which seemed to permit laughter from the rest of the court. "You're a mad cat," the Mane said, "but I like you. Very well - a toast then!"
Everyone in the room seemed to be finishing what little remained in their cups, so that - as per the custom - they may give their toast with full cups. Dar'sho came out of the kitchen with a platter in hand with fresh goblets of wine. Very few payed him little mind as he was very particular in which goblet he handed to whom. After he went around and handed out all the fresh cups of wine, he served Dro'kil last - the two averted eye contact - and he returned to the kitchen, his tail twitching in anticipation.
"To the old cat making a fool of himself!" The Mane declared.
"To the fool!" The room repeated in unison.
Everyone in the room took a drink from their cups except for Dro'kil. That was the moment he felt something cold and sharp on his neck, but nothing was there.
Then followed the sounds of three bodies hitting the floor. Ra'ssran, Ra'vada-dro, and Dra'vansi, with foam at their mouths, were dead in mere seconds. The Mane and the dozen other khajiit looked shocked, the personal guard were brandishing their own weapons but were unsure of what to do - the Mane was fine. Most of the people in the room were fine... but the unmoving, calm expression on Dro'kil's face was telling.
"What is the meaning of this?!" The Mane demanded.
Suddenly a knife apparated before Dro'kil, along with the wielder's hand - the veil of an invisibility spell was immediately dropped, revealing a tattooed ohmes woman much shorter than Dro'kil, holding the knife to his throat. Suddenly the the strange cold feeling at his neck and the shifting air around him made sense. She must have been there the entire time! But Dro'kil kept his composure, dropping the goblet of wine onto the floor and slowly raising his hands in the air.
He made sure to speak slowly and calmly while he was at the mercy of the ohmes woman, "Search Dro'kil's pouch. Right hip."
They hesitantly followed his direction as Dro'kil continued, "Dro'kil is proving himself, his Mane. Those renrij were traitors who plotted against you under your nose. Beneath the roof of your own home."
The ohmes whipped out the pieces of parchment from his pouch and began reading through the documents, her wild eyes unchanging and her knife still pressed against Dro'kil. It recorded much of the correspondence between the three khajiit and their plots to betray the Mane with their own handwriting. The ohmes looked up at the Mane unflinchingly and said, "What he says is true."
There were a few moments of silence as the Mane seemed to come to grips with this information, a solemn and mournful air overtaking him before he regained his composure. "At ease. Dro'kil, my apologies to you for not being more hospitable. This is Ra'gajal, my spymaster. Ra'gajal, did you foresee this coming?"
The ohmes took her knife away from Dro'kil and sheathed it, then stood at attention before the Mane. "They were but a few of the suspects I had identified. I did not yet have the evidence to act on my suspicions."
"Tell me Dro'kil," the Mane said, leaning forward in his chair, "how does an outsider such as yourself beat my spymaster to finding the evidence?"
"A fresh new perspective, this one supposes." He humbly lied. The truth was that he dared not let Dar'sho get mixed up in this mess.
"Indeed..." Ra'gajal muttered to herself as she inspected him inquisitively.
"Well, as sad as I am to lose friends this day..." the Man began with a sigh, "I am glad to earn at least one more friend. You have saved my life this day and have proven yourself, so I will agree to your request to rescind the order on your grandson. Saddi, from the Baandari clan in Senchal, yes?"
The Mane motioned for his guards to take care of the three dead bodies within the room, then looked back at Dro'kil. "Your... talents will be useful, yes. Warriors and conscripts are easy to come by, but Agents of the Mane... less so. I shall appoint you to Ra'gajal. She will inform you of your duties and assign you your missions. I will permit you time to return to Senchal and say your goodbyes to your family. When you return, your training will begin."
That was that. Dar'sho had gone on ahead without him - it was best to not be acquainted with this whole operation. Dro'kil would return at least a day after him to give the bittersweet news. Dra'datta was upset that her father would be leaving again, but ever so grateful that her own son would be spared from the horrors of war. She could never thank him enough. After saying goodbye to the rest of the clan, and giving his deepest thanks to Dar'sho for his help, Dro'kil returned to Torval to begin this new chapter of his life.
The first order of business, as far as Ra'gajal was concerned, was to suggest to Dro'kil to change his name if he wanted to protect his family. She of course did no such thing, for she had no family to protect. Dro'kil faced this issue with reluctance at first, but eventually conceded. He had struggled with a fractured identity for so much of his life... what were another few years? From that point on, they agreed to call him Dar'Jzo. Now the training begins.
The next two years was spent as an Agent of the Mane, the spymaster's very own executioner. They honed the skills he already knew and taught him actual techniques to use over what he taught himself, but otherwise he required very little work and turned out to be in better shape than his age indicated. Missions either required him to simply sit and watch a person or location for a certain amount of time, infiltrating a group or building, or taking out of their enemies. It became clear that Dar'Jzo was not the most charming individual, so they learned to keep him on missions where he wasn't supposed to be seen. Those missions he particularly excelled at, and they took him as far as the Summerset Isles to aid the coup in Alinor.
When the Mane was assassinated in 4E 205, everything was not so clear-cut. He was killed by jarrin root, the main component in Dar'Jzo's own concoction. Ra'gajal was never very trusting of Dar'Jzo, always suspecting that there was something more to him the day he approached the Mane than what he let on, but he was on a mission that was nowhere near Torval. As far as she was concerned, Dar'Jzo was the only one she could trust. This was unfortunate for him, because he thought that since the Mane died, that would be his chance at freedom and that he could finally return to his family. But the spymaster was stringent, even more stern than Dar'Jzo was, and possessed unwavering devotion to the throne which seated the Mane. As long as she was alive, she would see that Torval remained protected for the good of Elsweyr. That also meant getting Dar'Jzo involved in the civil war that followed, taking out members on both sides if they posed a great enough threat.
But something has been bothering Ra'gajal lately, and not just the fact that the cause of the Mane's death leads her to suspect that it was imperial treachery, but the movements going around the world. Word reached Elsweyr that the dunmer of Morrowind aligned themselves with Akaviri monsters and moved on Skyrim. She had agents all over Tamriel and half as many within Elsweyr, but she didn't have anyone up north. Khajiits had the bad habit of being turned into cloaks or carpets by the nords after the Stormcloaks took over. All of Elsweyr was vulnerable at the moment, and she didn't want another party taking advantage of that and entering the fray. So she directed Dar'Jzo toward the far end of Tamriel with the logic that his ability to stay hidden in the shadows should protect them from the most unruly of them. There, he'd also be far, far away from his family.
He almost told her no.
Instead, he obeyed. He remembered why he was doing this. If he went back on the oath he swore to the last Mane, then his grandson would be free picking. He couldn't subject him to the kinds of horrors he has seen and the sins he's committed. He was to take a ship that would circle around the west and be destined to dock in Solitude. As much as Dar'Jzo thought boats were bad luck, that was ironically the safest way to get there. There was one perk to it though: the boat was docked in Senchal. Before he'd leave, he'd get to visit his family. Except one thing was missing... Saddi had left the week before to pursue mage training at the College of Winterhold.
It is difficult to pinpoint where exactly it all went wrong. Perhaps it was from the beginning, in 4E 149. He was born on a seafaring vessel by people who were truly no better than pirates - at least he thinks he was. The southeastern-most city of Pelletine was the port-town of Senchal, and it was as ripe with trade as it was with crime. When the ships were coming in steady, guards would watch every rundown nook and cranny, so some thieves got smart and only became active when business was slow, trading less risk for a less lucrative hit. It all depended on how big of a gambler you were. One of the Baandari, a clan of traders and peddlers, thought that she'd be saving a kitten from the big bad pirates and sneaked her way on board to pick him up from off the deck. When the smuggler made it back to the trading post inside town, poor Daro'Rista wasn't met with the praise she hoped for - she was met with scorn. The Baandari didn't deal in people, let alone babies. What started as a good-intentioned, albeit misguided attempt at philanthropy turned into all the reason in the world for an exile, and Daro'Rista became Cast-Cat.
Though this left everyone wondering what to do with the little young khajiit. Put it back on the boat with the pirates? The baby wouldn't survive! What was their intention with the baby anyway? They decided that it might have been best to either find someone willing to take him or raise the child themselves. Then they looked to Daro'Rista. Now a Cast-Cat she may be, but her act was at least done out of concern, yes? They took pity on her, though dare not re-initiate her because her gambling took too many risks. Perhaps too risky even to be taking care of a child, but Daro'Rista stopped them there - she took the child in the first place, so she will take responsibility for him. She only asked that the child could be raised Baandari like she was, and perhaps the child will do better. The Baandari agreed.
So a young cat was named Kil, raised by a trader-thief and a clan of peddlers. His origins were quite unknown to him, though Daro'Rista was no stranger when it came to sharing how he was found, so it was fair to say that Kil wasn't sure how he fit into the community around him. His mother wasn't really his mother and his father was essentially an entire clan that his mother used to be a part of, but she was exiled and yet he's allowed to be Baandari, and he came from a pirate ship where there was no telling if he was born to its crew-mates or if he was stolen away from someplace else. It was doubtless that he felt at least a little lost or had a fractured sense of identity. He just had to stick through it though, and he ended up learning the art of trade, hustling, and hawking, and perhaps the seedier aspects of life through Daro'Rista and some of the Baandari who were actually good at it.
Though in all fairness to Daro'Rista, it was she who taught him how to hunt. Learning to shoot a bow, learning the fox-trot - it was cheaper than buying the meat and the Baandari were nothing if not bargain hunters. The idea of saving money was sometimes more tantalizing than the boars and sand-crabs they were hunting! Kil never cared for trade like most of the Baandari seemed to, but they did instill into him a sort of resentment for government - not that he was your traditional rebel or anarchist, but the Baandari were a free people and he didn't want any pesky officials getting into his business.
It wasn't until his mid-teens did he really start getting into particularly seedy trade. As far as he was concerned, there was no such thing as illegal trade. If a customer wanted a particular item, who was anyone to stop them? Moon sugar was no such item, but when it was distilled? Skooma was an ever-present problem across Elsweyr! So popular a drug was it, that it seemed that as much as half of Senchal was addicted to it. Very few of the Baandari in Senchal were willing to handle such hot wares and they warned Kil against it. For a while, he adhered to their wisdom, but when Daro'Rista was caught with sticky-paws and thrown into a cell, Kil went forward with the idea in hopes of raising enough money to spring his godmother free. He was never going to touch the stuff, of course. He knew that it was basically poisonous garbage and he never had any intention of indulging himself in it.
If there were a couple things the Baandari told him about the skooma trade, it was that it was extremely cutthroat, illegal, and each and every dealer was a rival who had it out for you, so it wasn't as easy as finding someone to teach you how to make it. Luckily for him, he was Baandari, and the clan takes care of its own. One of their own people by the name of Not'Ashav - a black Cathay-raht (otherwise known in Cyrodiil as "Smokes-the-Crack"), who was in and of himself of a drug problem who decided that skooma costed too much and decided to learn how to make it himself. Not'Ashav argued that none know how to make skooma better than he, because he's the only one who samples his own wares! That cat was rarely ever sober, and sometimes that made learning how to make skooma a pain-staking task all on its own... but that was how he got into the trade.
If there was anything he learned about the skooma trade, it was that there's no such thing as easing into it. You can't hawk your wares without getting into trouble, and nobody will come to you unless they know who you are. So what does one do? You hunt down as many sugar-tooths as you can find in the city. Catch them while they're shivering with the skooma-shakes, and you... "help them out" by easing their withdrawal with an itty bitty free sample. Then you let them know where they can find you. He chose an old storehouse on the docks. Cats don't like water (him included), but if you were wracked with addiction, wasn't it a small price to pay? Sometimes, though, addicts who are poor and can't afford the skooma will simply see a small, young khajiit and just try to take it from him.
It was as the clan said: skooma dealings were cutthroat and dangerous.
He returned home battered, bruised, and fur soggy with seawater after he was pushed off the side of the docks. He was frustrated and angry that he was seen as nothing more than a child when he was at his seventeenth year. Though his clan felt sorry for the kid, they still laughed and joked about today being the day he became a man, ironically calling him Ja'kil - it became less funny to them when Kil went along with it. He called himself Ja'kil from that point onward, hoping that would make people take him more seriously. The clan tried to explain, it didn't matter how young or how old you were. There are some out there who will simply seek to take advantage of you and a fancy new name wasn't going to change that. It put him down at first, but they continued: what he needed to do was learn how to defend himself, and the Baandari weren't without their warriors.
They taught him moves and self-defense techniques that should allow him to take care of your average drugged-up cat. Anyone with any actual training he should be wary of, but for the most part, the practice did him good. When the same customer from the other day found him again, Ja'kil wasn't the one who was thrown into the water this time.
The next couple of years for Ja'Kil was pretty much spent honing his trade. He wasn't a good merchant by any means, but he learned how to make his business work and he learned how to make better skooma more efficiently, making himself no longer reliant on Not'Ashav's tutelage. On the downside, it was in that amount of time that Ja'kil wasn't able to meet his goal of bailing Daro'Rista out of prison before she got out on good behavior - making a profit off of addicts wasn't exactly as lucrative as he imagined, but now he had the experience so he may as well stick with it. It added to the struggle of coming to terms with his identity, since he didn't feel like this was his calling. Daro'Rista didn't approve of her godson becoming a skooma peddler, but she understood why he turned to it. While she was never a part of the trade, she did move goods from time to time. She offered her aid to him in that regard nonetheless, hoping that she could keep him safe until the time came when he grows tired of this business.
Though it became clear that he didn't spend all of his time messing around while she was in jail; he became kinda good at it. He learned most of the tricks - his first experience hardened him enough to be able to demand respect without scaring away his customers. He learned to use dead drops instead of carrying the goods nearby or on his person. He learned not just the guards' rounds, but their names, and learned credible deniability by allowing himself to be seen at certain times of the day while his customer picked up their prescription - one can't be skulking about at all hours of the day. Even during his meetings, he'd be waiting for his customers at the docks with a basket of fish at his side, a fishing pole in hand, and his feet hanging off the docks.
At nineteen years old, 4E 168, he met the khajiit who would one day bear his child: Lalana, a black-furred Suthay-raht from a family who owned a plantation. Grew things from moon sugarcane to bananas, herded goats, and even owned an elephant which plowed the land for them. The land was protected by pahmar to discourage thieves from poaching what they owned. They made everything from banana rum to traditional Elsweyr Fondue - it was safe to say that she came from a totally different caste than Ja'kil did, but she didn't want to live her life being reliant on her family's wealth. Still, they were smitten by one another. The rustic man of few words giving the bad boy vibe was just as alluring to Lalana as much as her elegance and rebellious side was to Ja'kil. Her family warned against the dangers of running off with street cats like that dastardly Baandari, Ja'kil, but as far as Lalaana was concerned, there was no evidence of him being dangerous. He never told her the truth of what he did for a living.
Of course they were young and stupid and without restraint - but they loved each other. It didn't take long before they were with child, which marked one of the happiest days for Daro'Rista. The young cat she had saved and raised had finally become a father of his own and perhaps that was the day she stopped trying to hold his hand through life. The Baandari rejoiced for his happiness and welcomed both his lover and, months later, their daughter with open arms. For the first time, he felt like he actually had a purpose: to house and protect his new family. So as Lalana suggested that they gave their daughter the name Datta, after the first Mane. Ja'kil let her make the decision - it wouldn't be fair for him to decide two names in the same day, because from that day forward, he wasn't Ja'kil, he was S'kil; for he was no longer the same brat who thought changing his name made him a different person. No, it was the deed - and since the deed of fatherhood made him a different person, the old name no longer reflected him.
Of course, the Baandari clan couldn't help but make fun of him for being so melodramatic, but they respected his wishes.
You would be forgiven for thinking that there would be a drastic change in his lifestyle following that day. How does one explain to their family that they are a skooma dealer? What if that danger finds its way to them? Well, it was all the more reason to not be caught, yes? He figured that if he was good at something, then it would be a waste of ability to not use it - such was one of the ways the Baandari taught him. Of course, he had to get better at it if he was to keep safe. Get smarter. He made his reputation as a fisherman and a hunter apparent to Senchal - it was better to be known for something innocuous than to not be known at all... those sorts were the suspicious types that the guards made a point of keeping their eyes on. Now mindful of all these different things, his job became so much harder. He needed allies and people he could trust to help him do the dirty work when he couldn't do it himself. There was Not'Ashav, but he was more likely to smoke the skooma than not. Within the Baandari in Senchal, there was only one other these days who was willing to move skooma around: Dar'sho, the son of Ra'Mada, one of the Baandari's leaders.
He was a few years older than S'kil, but given how he's been with them since he was a kitten, they've known each other for nearly twenty years. Dar'sho was more than happy to lend a helping hand to him, especially since he was the only other person ballsy enough to handle the drug. For the next sixteen years, they've been business partners, taking on the ups and downs together and battling their rivals. From moving skooma, to selling it - Dar'sho was always the better businessman, but S'kil was better at being discrete and actually knew how to make the stuff - to sabotaging business rivals and even having to bully and collect debts when they needed to. Dar'sho covered for him when he had to spend time with his family and even went as far as to provide an uncle for his daughter. They were partners, plain and simple. Even if the going got rough and certain customers thought that they could take from them, they took care of the problem together. When they came home with a cut or a bruise, the blamed it on a wild boar while on a bad hunting trip, or some other form of wildlife with a particularly nasty temper.
Though there were some close calls that resulted in some of their stock or one of their labs being ransacked by the guard, they made a point of never being caught. Don't gamble and don't take risks. Their lives weren't worth only a couple bottles of skooma. This was the start of a regional meme of a particular skooma dealer in Pelletine called the Senchal Sugar Ghost. The name got around, but nobody knew who it was - it was just used whenever someone stumbled upon an old skooma den or a dead drop with nobody there. It became more of a joke then anything, since it could have been any one of the handful of skooma peddlers in Senchal. What started off as a strategy to hunt down an unknown, wanted criminal ended up backfiring. Literally everyone called each other the ghost. Wanted posters were made for the Senchal Sugar Ghost depicting just the rough outline of a khajiit (because duh, ghosts were invisible) - at its core though, it was mostly a mockery of the guard. Hunting down an "unknown criminal" is like hunting down someone who doesn't exist. It was the Gray Fox all over again.
In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea to be asking an entire population of khajiit to share some responsibility for the law.
All the while, his family has been growing as well. Lalana has earned herself a place in the Baandari with her connections to her side of the family and opening trade between them and the clan. She had a good head for mercantilism that the clan has ultimately come to respect, and their daughter Datta was grew up idolizing her and saw the Baandari as something of a huge extended family, many of which were more than happy to entertain her with their sleight of hand tricks and faux prophecies. Datta sought to follow in her mother footsteps, because in her words, "she's the prettiest and smartest person in the whole world!"
It's difficult to blame his daughter for picking a favorite. As much as he loved her, he essentially had two full-time jobs and one was required to hide the other, so he was almost as much of a ghost to his daughter as he was to Senchal. He was barely ever around to help raise her and he loathed himself for that. He got the sense that perhaps his daughter resented him too as she grew older. It was difficult to hunt, fish, be a big-time drug dealer, and then wash away all the smells and fumes from his fur after cooking the garbage up all in one day before it was her bedtime. It was difficult, but every time he entertained the thought of leaving the business, Dar'Sho would pull him back in. He couldn't just leave. "You can't waste talent."
4E 184 - sixteen years after Datta was born was the year his life was changed, and the skeletons in his closet that he tried so desperately to hide came storming out of the shadows. Sometimes you think you've tried so hard and made so sure to cover your tracks, anything to prevent the worst from happening, like how S'kil thought he made sure that nobody followed him home. Between he and Dar'sho, surely it was impossible for one of the rivaling skooma dealers to try and eliminate the competition by sending an assassin to kill him in his own home. Just seconds after arriving home one evening as S'kil leaned in to greet his lover with a nuzzle and waving hello at his daughter from across the room, taking in the smell of the wood smoke from the fire place and the smell of freshly cooked food... Lalana's eyes grew wide from a sight she saw from behind him. She threw S'kil aside, inadvertently taking a dagger in the chest with the assailant driving all of his weight behind it mid-leap. Even the assailant seemed shocked by the turn of events, shocked enough to remain frozen long enough for S'kil to process what was happening - his lover on the floor, bleeding out... he was overcome with rage.
With an agonized, ear-splitting scream he lunged at the cat who hurt his wife while drawing a knife from his belt. He grabbed their dagger-wielding paw with his free hand, and used his weight to pin the assailant's shoulders to the ground with his knees.
The assailant struggled as he yelled out loud, "Dark moons take you! You skooma vardariit-"
Nothing was stopping him from plunging his knife into their face. Then again and again, over and over...
Dar'sho was close enough to hear the commotion and sprinted his way to their front door, unable to even get a word out seeing before him the grisly horror of the scene which left him speechless. One khajiit undoubtedly dead, face unrecognizable amidst the gore, and Lalana being cradled in S'kil's arms who was rocking back and forth, trying to talk to her lifeless body through his tears. Their daughter was sobbing into her mother's belly. The family needed to mourn, and as much Dar'sho wanted to mourn too, he felt a responsibility to them to help take care of things while they were vulnerable. He immediately started looking through the pockets of the assailant's body.
"Dar'sho..." S'kil weakly said, "what are you..."
Dar'sho said nothing, but apparently found what he was looking for in the form of a crumpled up note. He quickly read it, his fur becoming increasingly bristled and tail increasingly anxious. He balled the the piece of parchment and threw it into the fireplace, the room glowing brighter for a moment as it lit up like kindling.
"It's Jo'Zhar." Dar'sho growled. "He knows it was us."
S'kil shook his head in shame and pressed his head against his wife's.
"We have to take care of this now, S'kil, before it gets any worse."
"Papa..." Datta whimpered. "What did he mean by skooma...?"
By that point, the sounds of footfalls from neighboring houses and from the clan's residence started storming closer, people calling to each other, asking questions like, "what was that?" S'kil shook his head and looked at his daughter, saying, "I'll explain later."
Datta stared solemnly, long and hard as her mother, as she mumbled, "It's always later..."
The words stung S'kil's heart and he frowned, then looked to Dar'sho with a crestfallen glance. "Go. I'll meet with you."
He nodded and fled the scene as S'kil's neighbors and clan fell upon his home, gasping in shock and mourning with him. Datta would stay with the clan that night, and the Clan-Mother would prep the body for safe passage to the Sands Behind the Stars. Tonight, S'kil would not find sleep, but instead Dar'Sho, who waited for him at the docks where they would begin their search for Jo'Zhar. Though his former hiding place still remained abandoned, they turned to the sugar-tooths on the street for information. It didn't take long, since many of these cats S'kil knew as his buyers, and he always kept himself composed - not tonight. He wasn't hiding a single ounce of his emotions. When he demanded to know the location of one of the former dealers in Senchal - the one who got hit hard by a rival - it didn't take long for them to understand what was happening and they knew better than to stand in the middle of it. They directed S'kil straight to Jo'Zhar, where he sat in a storehouse on the far western end of the outskirts of Senchal. S'kil didn't waste any time in trying to make an example of Jo'Zhar or making him suffer. He just made sure he saw him coming before he put him down like an animal. An arrow through the neck - fwp! His body dropped to the ground. They dragged the body out into the jungle to let the wildlife take care of what was left.
They returned in time for sunrise, exhausted from a night's lack of sleep and the emotional toll the day prior had on them. They did however return in time to prepare for the passing ceremony. Between Lalana's family and the Baandari clan, they afforded enough money to invest in carving out a place in a cave for her to rest instead of a simple burial cairn. Once placed in the cave, they buried Lalana's body in a collection of stones, the first ones to be layed were by her husband and child, then followed by her family. The members of the Baandari clan filled in the rest. It was a day of mourning for a great many people, for Datta especially, but she did not forget what her father had promised her. She confronted him again, wanting to know why her mother died the previous night. Why did the murderer choose them? Why did they call him a skooma sucker?
"Look into this one's eyes, child." S'kil said. "Do they wane like the moons? Or does your father's body shake and shiver like the sugar-tooths along the streets? Worry not, S'kil is well. Clawless coward was about to die. He sought to insult him."
Datta was quite for a moment, apparently not satisfied with the answer.
"Jer do?" S'kil asked.
"Skooma vardariit." She said. "Papa, what have you been up to? Who is Jo'Zhar? Why did mama have to die?"
S'kil sighed and said, "Jo'Zhar was a dealer in skooma. Dar'sho and S'kil put an end to his business."
"You are no dust-faced guard, papa." Datta replied bitingly. "What business is it of yours to get into matters like that? Why did your family not know of it?"
S'Kil was at a loss for words. No explanation for his daughter - the clever girl that she was, she had him cornered. Apparently she was sharper and more observant than he ever realized. Perhaps he would have known this if only he was with her more often.
"This one was hoping you'd come out with it." Datta continued. "She's seen you with baskets of nightshade, she sees your eyes irritated at the end of the day. Smells the sugar clinging to your fur. You and Datta are Baandari! They trade! This one visits the market and hears from fishermen how you are such a favorite customer of theirs. How much fish you buy. You say you fish them yourself!"
S'kil hung his head low wordlessly.
"This one feared you were trading in skooma, this one hoped she was wrong! Ziss, you're the reason mama is dead."
Those were the last words she spoke to him before she stopped talking to him for the next year. The year wasn't easy. Half the time, it seemed that he did nothing besides allowing himself to waste away. The other half, he looked into the mirror and hated what he saw. He wanted to change, change for the better; change for his daughter, even if she refused to talk to him... he wanted to changed for Lalana - bless her memory. He went out looking for his former labs and stockpiles and destroyed them. He destroyed every leftover trace of his skooma production, even letting Dar'sho know that it was over. His partner was slightly disappointed, but not upset. He thought that perhaps S'kil was right in doing so, for he had already lost so much because of it. The whole year, as short as it was, felt like it had gone oh so slowly for S'kil who had nothing to do as he let his home slowly become dilapidated.
It was a year later, 4E 185, when Datta finally visited him again, accompanied by a Cathay-raht.
"Uncle Dar'sho told this one what you have been up to." She spoke softly. "It can't erase what has happened... but I am proud of you."
S'kil bowed his head and flattened his ears, a remorseful frown taking over his face. He said, "S'kil only wishes that he had the clarity of mind to change himself sooner, so that he could be with his family."
"You might not have been there for Datta," she said, "but at least you can be there for the ma'khajiit."
S'kil looked down to see his daughter holding her tummy - apparently she had taken a page out of his own book when it came to early parenthood! His dejected disposition appeared instantly uplifted for the first time since Lalana's passing, though he remained speechless. He looked at Datta's partner with his ears perked.
"Do'garamba." She introduced as S'kil eagerly reached to shake his hand.
Datta continued, "Mama always told this one stories about you when you were younger. The Baandari, too. A fondness for changing your name, yes?" Datta teased, though the modulation in her voice suggested it was endearing.
"This one was never sure of who he was or was supposed to be." S'kil admitted. "Even now, S'kil wishes to be a different person."
"Please then, allow your daughter to do you the honors..." Datta softly said. "...Dro'kil."
That was it then - a name he has actually earned for the first time. Indeed, Dro'kil was rather young for a grandfather now, but his experiences have so far granted him a great deal of insight and wisdom. It's safe to say that a huge chunk of his life was actually normal after that point. He was there for his grandchild as she grew up, and he got to be there for his daughter as well. He got to know Do'garamba, who happened to be the warrior in his family and had the dream of being the Mane's personal guard - an honorable sort, even if it meant enforcing thjizzrini. It seemed that, for the next eighteen years, his life would resemble any normal citizen and he spent most of his free time hunting in the jungles. He put what he already knew of alchemy into crafting different kinds of elixers, mostly antidotes and antivenin - and learned the craft better in order to make other potions that enhanced his natural abilities that allowed him to hunt better. Nighteye, life detection, potions which helped him steady his aging body as he pulled back his bowstring. He made sure that there was never a night that neither his daughter's family nor none of the Baandari went to bed hungry.
For eighteen years, he finally found the role that suited him. He finally felt comfortable with his identity. Grandfather. Hunter. Baandari. He finally had a sense of who he was as a person.
4E 203 - eighteen years is a long time to watch the world pass you by. While Datta might not have noticed it with being preoccupied with her own son, Saddi, and her role and duties within the Baandari. That which had actually earned her the title of Dra'datta for her excellent wit and wisdom in trade agreements. Now, though, the land of Elsweyr was more tumultuous than ever. The khajiit were allied with the empire in order to leave the Dominion, and the price of such freedom was death. The Mane was issuing drafts, and Dro'kil has seen them escorting people from their homes, which he was fortunately spared from, but his grandson... well, he was not so lucky. "For the greater good," he would hear people say. It angered him. The boy was meant for better things - he was intelligent and cunning, had a fascination for prestidigitation and prophecies and sleight of hand. He wanted to learn how to be a mage! Dro'kil wasn't going to let any crown take that away from him. In confrontation with the local recruiter, they explained it was out of their control and it was up to the fancy cats in Torval to decide.
So then he met with Dar'sho. The old cat was still up to his usual tricks ever since their business dissolved, but they greeted each other like brothers all the same. He shared with him what was troubling him, and Dar'sho seemed to catch on to what he was implying.
"We are going to kill the Mane then, yes?"
Well, seemed to at least. Assassination attempts seemed to be the running joke around here since three years back, despite everyone's respect for the spiritual and cultural significance the Mane represented. Damnable Renrijra Krin Va'Aneqasa.
"No," Dro'kil said, "this one will be there for his grandson. Dro'kil will take his place. Soul for a soul."
"Your old tail?" Dar'sho retorted in disbelief.
"You and this one has cultivated their skills over the course of lifetimes!" He defended indignantly. "They will travel to Torval very soon. When they get there, Dro'kil needs your cleverness to find out who actually wants the Mane dead. Preferably anyone who is close to the crown."
"What is it you intend to do?" He asked.
Dro'kil looked at his partner in crime with a curious, innocuous expression and simply said, "Show why Dro'kil is more valuable to the Mane than unproven children."
The next day, the pair headed out toward Torvald. Not without explaining to the Baandari clan leaders first, of course. What basically entailed rescuing one of their own was enough to receive their approval and loan them the services of two senche (who were promised large piles of food upon their return), so that they could travel through the jungle of Pelletine in decent time. It costed them one or two sleepless nights in the jungle as they stayed awake and alert for any of the vicious predators that lurked behind every bush, but between a rogue, a hunter, and two vicious tigers, there were few things that the four of them couldn't handle.
When they did finally make it to Torval, they were amazed by the number of soldiers and guards stationed within the city. It was little wonder there was a draft if they were both fighting a war and worrying about assassinations within their own state. Dro'kil looked to Dar'sho, and the latter went to work collecting information, assuring his friend that they'd have everything they'd need the next day. Meanwhile, Dro'kil spent his time in an inn's private room with the company of an alchemy set consisting of a morter and pestle, alembic, retort, and calcinator, all working together in order to separate the properties of the alchemical ingredients being distilled. Nightshade, the other ingredient in making skooma was the easiest for him to get his hands on. Antlers, which were carved off one of his kills in the past and he kept as a trophy - he destroyed them and reduced them to powder, mixing it with the nightshade.
Finally, the jarrin root. Rare and hard to come by since it only grew on Stros M'Kai - but for a Baandari in Senchal? There were one or two from his own clan who had a sprig that they were holding on to for a while, and all it takes is a little extra money to compensate for what it takes to get a hold of one. The price didn't matter to Dro'kil. It would be worth every septim.
The end result was basically a pure and undiluted poison.
The next day came sooner than they expected, and both khajiit were quite tired from working throughout the night. They were not as young as they used to be and they could feel it, but they both have been through too much in their lives to let one sleepless night slow them down. They made their preparations: the poison was prepped. They put Dar'sho into some new, fresh clothes befitting of the palace's kitchen staff. Yesterday, he asked about any dissent among the leadership in Torval and he came back with quite a few names who were apparently displeased with the Mane and his ideas, most of whom were northern representatives from Anequina who had a distaste for the seat of power. He investigated their homes and half of the names he was given had written evidence for plots against the crown - correspondence between one another - which constituted as treason.
Ra'ssran. Ra'vada-dro. Dra'vansi. Dro'kil remembered these names. Less important it was for him, perhaps - more importantly it was for Dar'sho to know, but he wanted to know which lives had to pay for the betterment of his own family.
It took the rest of the day for him to get an audience with the Mane. Dar'sho went on ahead to assimilate with the servants inside while spent all day waiting in a long line of people asking for medicine or money or to do something about the law - but Dro'kil was patient. It wasn't until supper time was he able to meet with the court, at which point he was subjected to watch the Mane, all of his servants, trusted advisers, and other khajiiti leaders stuff their faces while he stood there on an empty stomach, but he was nonetheless grateful. It only made their plan easier for them.
"My Mane, this one seeks audience with you," Dro'kil began, "for the purpose of rescinding the draft order on my grandson, Saddi."
"By Alkosh, you look terrible." One cat commented, apparently ignoring his request.
"Dro'kil has spent many sleepless nights travelling from Senchal in order to beseech this of you." Dro'kil explained.
"Then I am afraid you should have spent that time sleeping, instead." The Mane said plainly. "If I agreed to rescind the draft on every person who asked, we would not have enough warriors to fight the Dominion to secure the freedom we khajiit deserve."
Dro'kil sighed. This was nothing he did not anticipate. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Dar'sho hanging in the doorway watching them. It looked like it was time to proceed with the plan.
"Then perhaps we can come to an agreement--"
"This is no bargain you can win, Baandari." The Mane interrupted, looking at him knowingly. He tapped the side of his head with finger. Dro'kil was somewhat unsettled by his knowledge, but he regained his composure. The Mane only thought he knew enough about him. The truth was that if he did, then there was no way Dro'kil would even be allowed in this room.
Dro'kil pressed on, his face stoic and serious, "It is a fair trade: a life for a life. A soul for a soul. I will take the place of my grandson."
The whole room seemed to erupt in laughter, and Dro'kil could have sworn he even felt the air around him shift, but he remained still and stern.
"Don't take this the wrong way," the Mane began, "but don't you think we could get more use out of a young khajiit, easily molded and better able, than what we could out of his grandfather?"
"What is a child with sticks and stones compared to a lifetime of experience?" Dro'kil asserted confidently. "This one can be far more useful to you in the coming years than Saddi. Leaders cannot be formed overnight, no?"
"And you have proof that you are as competent as you suggest?"
Dro'kil smiled. Dro'kil rarely ever smiled - and that was the cue for Dar'sho to get ready. He saw from his periphery that he had begun moving.
"That is a most excellent idea, my Mane!" He said. He looked around the room at all the leaders and officials of Torval. "How about we all toast? To the Mane, and to proving Dro'kil worthy of his trust! He shall make a show of it!"
This prompted laughter from the Mane, which seemed to permit laughter from the rest of the court. "You're a mad cat," the Mane said, "but I like you. Very well - a toast then!"
Everyone in the room seemed to be finishing what little remained in their cups, so that - as per the custom - they may give their toast with full cups. Dar'sho came out of the kitchen with a platter in hand with fresh goblets of wine. Very few payed him little mind as he was very particular in which goblet he handed to whom. After he went around and handed out all the fresh cups of wine, he served Dro'kil last - the two averted eye contact - and he returned to the kitchen, his tail twitching in anticipation.
"To the old cat making a fool of himself!" The Mane declared.
"To the fool!" The room repeated in unison.
Everyone in the room took a drink from their cups except for Dro'kil. That was the moment he felt something cold and sharp on his neck, but nothing was there.
Then followed the sounds of three bodies hitting the floor. Ra'ssran, Ra'vada-dro, and Dra'vansi, with foam at their mouths, were dead in mere seconds. The Mane and the dozen other khajiit looked shocked, the personal guard were brandishing their own weapons but were unsure of what to do - the Mane was fine. Most of the people in the room were fine... but the unmoving, calm expression on Dro'kil's face was telling.
"What is the meaning of this?!" The Mane demanded.
Suddenly a knife apparated before Dro'kil, along with the wielder's hand - the veil of an invisibility spell was immediately dropped, revealing a tattooed ohmes woman much shorter than Dro'kil, holding the knife to his throat. Suddenly the the strange cold feeling at his neck and the shifting air around him made sense. She must have been there the entire time! But Dro'kil kept his composure, dropping the goblet of wine onto the floor and slowly raising his hands in the air.
He made sure to speak slowly and calmly while he was at the mercy of the ohmes woman, "Search Dro'kil's pouch. Right hip."
They hesitantly followed his direction as Dro'kil continued, "Dro'kil is proving himself, his Mane. Those renrij were traitors who plotted against you under your nose. Beneath the roof of your own home."
The ohmes whipped out the pieces of parchment from his pouch and began reading through the documents, her wild eyes unchanging and her knife still pressed against Dro'kil. It recorded much of the correspondence between the three khajiit and their plots to betray the Mane with their own handwriting. The ohmes looked up at the Mane unflinchingly and said, "What he says is true."
There were a few moments of silence as the Mane seemed to come to grips with this information, a solemn and mournful air overtaking him before he regained his composure. "At ease. Dro'kil, my apologies to you for not being more hospitable. This is Ra'gajal, my spymaster. Ra'gajal, did you foresee this coming?"
The ohmes took her knife away from Dro'kil and sheathed it, then stood at attention before the Mane. "They were but a few of the suspects I had identified. I did not yet have the evidence to act on my suspicions."
"Tell me Dro'kil," the Mane said, leaning forward in his chair, "how does an outsider such as yourself beat my spymaster to finding the evidence?"
"A fresh new perspective, this one supposes." He humbly lied. The truth was that he dared not let Dar'sho get mixed up in this mess.
"Indeed..." Ra'gajal muttered to herself as she inspected him inquisitively.
"Well, as sad as I am to lose friends this day..." the Man began with a sigh, "I am glad to earn at least one more friend. You have saved my life this day and have proven yourself, so I will agree to your request to rescind the order on your grandson. Saddi, from the Baandari clan in Senchal, yes?"
The Mane motioned for his guards to take care of the three dead bodies within the room, then looked back at Dro'kil. "Your... talents will be useful, yes. Warriors and conscripts are easy to come by, but Agents of the Mane... less so. I shall appoint you to Ra'gajal. She will inform you of your duties and assign you your missions. I will permit you time to return to Senchal and say your goodbyes to your family. When you return, your training will begin."
That was that. Dar'sho had gone on ahead without him - it was best to not be acquainted with this whole operation. Dro'kil would return at least a day after him to give the bittersweet news. Dra'datta was upset that her father would be leaving again, but ever so grateful that her own son would be spared from the horrors of war. She could never thank him enough. After saying goodbye to the rest of the clan, and giving his deepest thanks to Dar'sho for his help, Dro'kil returned to Torval to begin this new chapter of his life.
The first order of business, as far as Ra'gajal was concerned, was to suggest to Dro'kil to change his name if he wanted to protect his family. She of course did no such thing, for she had no family to protect. Dro'kil faced this issue with reluctance at first, but eventually conceded. He had struggled with a fractured identity for so much of his life... what were another few years? From that point on, they agreed to call him Dar'Jzo. Now the training begins.
The next two years was spent as an Agent of the Mane, the spymaster's very own executioner. They honed the skills he already knew and taught him actual techniques to use over what he taught himself, but otherwise he required very little work and turned out to be in better shape than his age indicated. Missions either required him to simply sit and watch a person or location for a certain amount of time, infiltrating a group or building, or taking out of their enemies. It became clear that Dar'Jzo was not the most charming individual, so they learned to keep him on missions where he wasn't supposed to be seen. Those missions he particularly excelled at, and they took him as far as the Summerset Isles to aid the coup in Alinor.
When the Mane was assassinated in 4E 205, everything was not so clear-cut. He was killed by jarrin root, the main component in Dar'Jzo's own concoction. Ra'gajal was never very trusting of Dar'Jzo, always suspecting that there was something more to him the day he approached the Mane than what he let on, but he was on a mission that was nowhere near Torval. As far as she was concerned, Dar'Jzo was the only one she could trust. This was unfortunate for him, because he thought that since the Mane died, that would be his chance at freedom and that he could finally return to his family. But the spymaster was stringent, even more stern than Dar'Jzo was, and possessed unwavering devotion to the throne which seated the Mane. As long as she was alive, she would see that Torval remained protected for the good of Elsweyr. That also meant getting Dar'Jzo involved in the civil war that followed, taking out members on both sides if they posed a great enough threat.
But something has been bothering Ra'gajal lately, and not just the fact that the cause of the Mane's death leads her to suspect that it was imperial treachery, but the movements going around the world. Word reached Elsweyr that the dunmer of Morrowind aligned themselves with Akaviri monsters and moved on Skyrim. She had agents all over Tamriel and half as many within Elsweyr, but she didn't have anyone up north. Khajiits had the bad habit of being turned into cloaks or carpets by the nords after the Stormcloaks took over. All of Elsweyr was vulnerable at the moment, and she didn't want another party taking advantage of that and entering the fray. So she directed Dar'Jzo toward the far end of Tamriel with the logic that his ability to stay hidden in the shadows should protect them from the most unruly of them. There, he'd also be far, far away from his family.
He almost told her no.
Instead, he obeyed. He remembered why he was doing this. If he went back on the oath he swore to the last Mane, then his grandson would be free picking. He couldn't subject him to the kinds of horrors he has seen and the sins he's committed. He was to take a ship that would circle around the west and be destined to dock in Solitude. As much as Dar'Jzo thought boats were bad luck, that was ironically the safest way to get there. There was one perk to it though: the boat was docked in Senchal. Before he'd leave, he'd get to visit his family. Except one thing was missing... Saddi had left the week before to pursue mage training at the College of Winterhold.
1x Like
I've started working on my character sheet, and was also taking a peek at everyone else's characters. So, I was wondering if diversifying was better or should I make my character as I wish and not worry if I'm like... archer number 5 or something. ^_^;
*thinking*
*thinking*
Dervish Let's get volatile
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@Spoopy Scary I read it over! I don't have time to give proper feedback at the moment, but the two big things I caught were;
1) Still referring to the character as Not'Ashav, and
2) The College of Winterhold's been effectively destroyed for all intents and puposes. Word of the Akaviri invasion would have also kept anyone from traveling there regardless if the College's fate didn't reach so far South.
1) Still referring to the character as Not'Ashav, and
2) The College of Winterhold's been effectively destroyed for all intents and puposes. Word of the Akaviri invasion would have also kept anyone from traveling there regardless if the College's fate didn't reach so far South.
Spoopy Scary ☠️🌸soft grunge🌸☠️
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15 days ago
@DervishI remember the College being destroyed, which was meant to be a bit of dramatic irony for the reader, but what I should have done was make sure that the timeline matched up properly. Maybe the lower class of Senchal wouldn't have heard about it?
I can fix up Not'Ashav no problem. In my defense though, if GC made an overt Reaper reference IC, I could probably get away with it. :P
I can fix up Not'Ashav no problem. In my defense though, if GC made an overt Reaper reference IC, I could probably get away with it. :P
Frizan Free From This Backwater Hellsite
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I've started working on my character sheet, and was also taking a peek at everyone else's characters. So, I was wondering if diversifying was better or should I make my character as I wish and not worry if I'm like... archer number 5 or something. ^_^;
*thinking*
Not a GM but while characters with unique skillsets are encouraged, if it makes more sense for the character you've created to specialize in archery, blade, sneak etc. that's fine. If a skill gets too saturated, the GMs will publicly announce what skills future characters cannot specialize in. GCold did this in Chapter 1 for a couple of skills, but that didn't come for a very long time.
Dervish Let's get volatile
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@Spoopy Scary Even if them lowly peasants didn't get the word, you can be certain that ship captains and carriage drivers close to Skyrim know about it. Plus, we do have the Tamrielic Gazette, which you can be certain people have been reading and would be gossiping.
Spoopy Scary ☠️🌸soft grunge🌸☠️
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@Spoopy Scary Even if them lowly peasants didn't get the word, you can be certain that ship captains and carriage drivers close to Skyrim know about it. Plus, we do have the Tamrielic Gazette, which you can be certain people have been reading and would be gossiping.
True. I just looked through the OP, but all I could find that talked about the collapse of Winterhold was in World State and it didn't tell me the date of when it happened.
<Snipped quote by Greenie>
Not a GM but while characters with unique skillsets are encouraged, if it makes more sense for the character you've created to specialize in archery, blade, sneak etc. that's fine. If a skill gets too saturated, the GMs will publicly announce what skills future characters cannot specialize in. GCold did this in Chapter 1 for a couple of skills, but that didn't come for a very long time.
Coolio, sounds good to moi! :D
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ButtsnBalls Goderator
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2 days ago
@Greenie, archers, 1H swordsmen and destruction mages were oversaturated in chapter 1, and are still going to be very popular. Some underrated picks are 2H axe, pickpocketing, lockpicking, athletics, provisioning and alteration.
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ButtsnBalls Goderator
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In my defense though, if GC made an overt Reaper reference IC, I could probably get away with it. :P
1x Laugh
@Greenie, archers, 1H swordsmen and destruction mages were oversaturated in chapter 1, and are still going to be very popular. Some underrated picks are 2H axe, pickpocketing, lockpicking, athletics, provisioning and alteration.
Hmm...
I'mma have to think some more then XD Not much into magic but bows and swords yeah. Let's see what I can do.
POOHEAD189 The Abmin
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Daixanos
Male Argonian | 30 | Warrior
Profile
§ Birthplace
§ Appearance
§ Personality
§ Background
Gideon, Blackmarsh
§ Appearance
Daixanos is fit and powerfully built for an argonian. His sleek form is curved with cabled muscles. Various spikes and frills frame his long snouted face. The Argonian's skin is ruddy and blood colored, giving him a fierce appearance. He wears Iron armor and iron guantlets, along with sturdy leather breeches and traveling shoes. He tends not to wear a helmet, for it feels unnatural to him and might impede his vision with his bow.
§ Personality
Dax is introverted and self sufficient. He's reserved, but when you meet him you'll realize there is a stark difference between being reserved and shy. He's confident in his abilities, and fears very little. His bravery and stoic nature comes from his idealistic view of the Hist and their wisdom. He is connected to his people and nation, and feels as if he is a representation of Black Marsh's strength in the outer world. A natural hunter, he has a dry wit, predator's cunning, and a single minded determination.
§ Background
Born within Black Marsh at the base of a Hist Tree as the rest of his kin, his family hailed from Gideon. Dax's parents were tanners, and as the Argonian grew up he would often help around the shop, learning his father's trade. By age 12, want for skins was becoming high, so his father decided to moonlight as a hunter as well, bringing his son along to learn the trade.
By age 16, it was clear that Dax was a natural at hunting, his archery and tracking skills were now surpassing those of his father. He decided to set out on his own, having never left the greater Gideon area before. He traveled northward towards Stormhold to ply his trade. Skreexil the merchant decided to hire him as one of his hunters, giving Daixanos capital for how much the items his kills provided sold for. It was a smooth business for several years until a sizeable Dunmer incursion from the north not only threatened his business but his life.
The Argonians of the North gathered around the Hist trees and drank the sap once more, receiving visions and dreams of fighting back against the invaders, boosting their morale and giving them a sense of purpose for the coming conflict. Daixanos was filled with national loyalty and pride, and together with his fellow Argonians, joined in a successful guerrilla war against the Dunmer forces, even pushing a bit into southern Morrowind before retreating. By the time the skirmishes were done, Dax was 23 years old and found himself victorious but restless.
He decided to travel north east, into the nations of the Landstriders, hunting the local fauna and taking up the occasional bounty for criminals as well. He worked his way up through northern Cyrodiil, selling pelts and catching highwaymen in Cheydinhal and Bruma, until he found himself in Skyrim. By age 25, the Stormcloak/Imperial war was at its climax. At first he did his best to stay out of the politics, hunting Elk mostly. Perhaps he'd bag a Sabrecat or Bear every once in awhile. Dax learned the hardway that such large beasts had thick hides and skeletons. He needed something big to kill them with, so he chose the battle Axe to end fights quickly. He tended to hunt traveling between Markarth and Whiterun. He often stopped to rest at Rorikstead, taking the bounties he could from Mralki.
His policy changed somewhat during an Elk hunt near Whiteshore when he found a small band of Stormcloaks being harried by a giant. With a poisoned arrow, he hit the giant in the small of its back, buying the Stormcloaks an opportunity to hack at it as the giant slowed. He put another arrow in the monster's side, and then joined the stormcloaks as it weakened, finally cleaving the things skull.
They thanked Dax, and offered to share a meal with him. He accepted, after looting the giant of any pelts and items it had on its person (offering to share, but they declined). He learned of the Stormcloak's struggles, which echoed in his own experiences of fighting off oppression. He told them up front he would stay out of the politics, but he would accept particular bounties from them and favored their cause.
As the years progressed, he found smithing his own items and brewing his own poisons was a cheap and effective way to live. He didn't lack for anything and had no problem with hard work. At age 29, he decided he needed something new once again. He heard Dawnstar was particularly rough terrain, and troll pelts and fat might fetch a high price there. He managed to bag one troll as he traveled northward with a poisoned arrow and a flaming brand, though it was the fight of his life. Perhaps it was the troll, but he began to have terrible nightmares of his past and homeland not days before arriving in Dawnstar.
Once he set foot inside the city, he immediately found work with the Jarl, whom he would grow to rely on until the culling of the Argonians weeks later. As of then, the Jarl hired him after Dax entered the city with a filled bounty contract. The job was to halt an Argonian smuggling ship from enslaving his kin in the city and transporting them to Morrowind. He halted the operation through subterfuge and a fiery speech before the other Argonians, killing the slaver and ending such activities.
Afterwards, he approached Ashav. The mercenary leader offered Daixanos a position on the team if he would prove himself. A Redguard named Farid had become a murderer, and he had challenged Ashav's authority. Dax represented the mercenary captain in single combat against Farid, where he slew the Redguard and earned a place within the team. Despite his reserved nature, he befriended a few members of the group, Do'Karth being the first.
A series of skirmishes and pitched battles against the Amigers and Kamal followed the following weeks. Daixanos received numerous commendations and kills for his skills as a scout and warrior. It was looking as if he was one of the finest additions to the team yet, until Dawnstar erupted into a war over racial tensions. Daixanos, and his fellow friend and Argonian Tsleeixth were imprisoned unjustly during the riots.
His anger and bloodlust would be sated once he was let out, attacking and killing Amiger and Kamal supporters in savage displays of skill that even Dwarfed his initial exploits. But in his heart of hearts, he was torn. He wished to return home to Blackmarsh and protect it. What was stopping him? What indeed...
By age 16, it was clear that Dax was a natural at hunting, his archery and tracking skills were now surpassing those of his father. He decided to set out on his own, having never left the greater Gideon area before. He traveled northward towards Stormhold to ply his trade. Skreexil the merchant decided to hire him as one of his hunters, giving Daixanos capital for how much the items his kills provided sold for. It was a smooth business for several years until a sizeable Dunmer incursion from the north not only threatened his business but his life.
The Argonians of the North gathered around the Hist trees and drank the sap once more, receiving visions and dreams of fighting back against the invaders, boosting their morale and giving them a sense of purpose for the coming conflict. Daixanos was filled with national loyalty and pride, and together with his fellow Argonians, joined in a successful guerrilla war against the Dunmer forces, even pushing a bit into southern Morrowind before retreating. By the time the skirmishes were done, Dax was 23 years old and found himself victorious but restless.
He decided to travel north east, into the nations of the Landstriders, hunting the local fauna and taking up the occasional bounty for criminals as well. He worked his way up through northern Cyrodiil, selling pelts and catching highwaymen in Cheydinhal and Bruma, until he found himself in Skyrim. By age 25, the Stormcloak/Imperial war was at its climax. At first he did his best to stay out of the politics, hunting Elk mostly. Perhaps he'd bag a Sabrecat or Bear every once in awhile. Dax learned the hardway that such large beasts had thick hides and skeletons. He needed something big to kill them with, so he chose the battle Axe to end fights quickly. He tended to hunt traveling between Markarth and Whiterun. He often stopped to rest at Rorikstead, taking the bounties he could from Mralki.
His policy changed somewhat during an Elk hunt near Whiteshore when he found a small band of Stormcloaks being harried by a giant. With a poisoned arrow, he hit the giant in the small of its back, buying the Stormcloaks an opportunity to hack at it as the giant slowed. He put another arrow in the monster's side, and then joined the stormcloaks as it weakened, finally cleaving the things skull.
They thanked Dax, and offered to share a meal with him. He accepted, after looting the giant of any pelts and items it had on its person (offering to share, but they declined). He learned of the Stormcloak's struggles, which echoed in his own experiences of fighting off oppression. He told them up front he would stay out of the politics, but he would accept particular bounties from them and favored their cause.
As the years progressed, he found smithing his own items and brewing his own poisons was a cheap and effective way to live. He didn't lack for anything and had no problem with hard work. At age 29, he decided he needed something new once again. He heard Dawnstar was particularly rough terrain, and troll pelts and fat might fetch a high price there. He managed to bag one troll as he traveled northward with a poisoned arrow and a flaming brand, though it was the fight of his life. Perhaps it was the troll, but he began to have terrible nightmares of his past and homeland not days before arriving in Dawnstar.
Once he set foot inside the city, he immediately found work with the Jarl, whom he would grow to rely on until the culling of the Argonians weeks later. As of then, the Jarl hired him after Dax entered the city with a filled bounty contract. The job was to halt an Argonian smuggling ship from enslaving his kin in the city and transporting them to Morrowind. He halted the operation through subterfuge and a fiery speech before the other Argonians, killing the slaver and ending such activities.
Afterwards, he approached Ashav. The mercenary leader offered Daixanos a position on the team if he would prove himself. A Redguard named Farid had become a murderer, and he had challenged Ashav's authority. Dax represented the mercenary captain in single combat against Farid, where he slew the Redguard and earned a place within the team. Despite his reserved nature, he befriended a few members of the group, Do'Karth being the first.
A series of skirmishes and pitched battles against the Amigers and Kamal followed the following weeks. Daixanos received numerous commendations and kills for his skills as a scout and warrior. It was looking as if he was one of the finest additions to the team yet, until Dawnstar erupted into a war over racial tensions. Daixanos, and his fellow friend and Argonian Tsleeixth were imprisoned unjustly during the riots.
His anger and bloodlust would be sated once he was let out, attacking and killing Amiger and Kamal supporters in savage displays of skill that even Dwarfed his initial exploits. But in his heart of hearts, he was torn. He wished to return home to Blackmarsh and protect it. What was stopping him? What indeed...
Capabilities
§ Attributes
§ Skills
§ Weaknesses
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Other
Major: Agility, Minor: Strength
§ Skills
- Expert: Marksman
- Adept: Two Handed (Axe)
- Adept: Athletics
- Apprentice: Sneak
- Apprentice: Smithing
- Apprentice: Alchemy
- Novice: Language (Jel)
- Novice: Heavy Armor
- Novice: Hand to Hand
§ Weaknesses
- Lack of Tact: Due to his solitary nature, and his main interactions being with his fellow introverted race, Dunmer slavers, frontier Nords, wild beasts, and hardened criminals of different races, he doesn't have much in the way of manners and will speak bluntly, or sometimes not answer at all if he doesn't feel like it.
- Fear of Chains/Bonds: Gets angry at the very idea of he or any Argonian being put into chains/being captured. Will grow increasingly angered and might be more liable to make rash decisions.
- Distrust of Magic: Gets wary and hesitates around magic, even if such spells are cast by allies. It won't hold him back in the end, but could keep him from taking a crucial opportunity due to hesitation.
- Loner: If around non-Argonians long enough (for instance, traveling with a group for days on end without going to scout ahead alone), he will leave for a small bit in order to collect his thoughts and keep his wits about him. Has made friends on his travels, but cannot remain in their company for long due to his introverted personality. Is not effected around his fellow Argonian/Hist brothers, with whom he feels unconditional kinship. If he does not get some space, he will become agitated and probably will grow unable to speak without effort.
§ Spells
...
§ Tactics
Daixanos tends to scout out the correct terrain and right vantage point to strike with his bow. He then whittles the enemy down until he can close in with his Axe. If that is not possible, he will still attempt to use his bow until forced into melee, for it was what his father taught him. If not, he won't shy away from meeting a foe head to head with the Axe or claws. In fact sometimes he prefers it if particularly irked. He simply prefers a clean kill with little to no error, and he was used to such tactics.
§ Relations & Affiliations
Family back in Black Marsh. Skreexil the Merchant in Stormhold. Argonian Guerilla fighters. Whiterun Stormcloaks, Rorikstead townsfolk, Shopkeeps of Markarth and Whiterun. Dawnstar Jarl.
§ Opinions
(For group members; fill after IC introduction)
§ Other
Other Capabilities:
- Argonian abilities: Racial traits of limited regeneration, disease resilience, and underwater breathing.
- Skinner: Can successfully skin a beast.
- Trap maker: Can build snares and pitfalls, if given time.
- Tracker: Can find trails of people/beasts under fine conditions.
Inventory
§ Cash
§ Keys & Lockpicks
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
§ Clothing & Armor
§ Weapon & Ammo
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
§ Jewelry & Valuables
§ Books & Documents
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
§ Load Bearing Equipment
§ Other
389 Septims
§ Keys & Lockpicks
None
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
3 stalks of Nightshade
3 pounds of Venison
Fine Iron Dagger: Can be used in combat, but is mainly used for skinning.
3 pounds of Venison
Fine Iron Dagger: Can be used in combat, but is mainly used for skinning.
§ Clothing & Armor
Iron Armor, Leather vest and breeches.
§ Weapon & Ammo
Hunting Bow, Steel Axe
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
3 Healing Potions
4 Poison potions
Troll fat
4 Poison potions
Troll fat
§ Jewelry & Valuables
Amethyst given to him by his father.
§ Books & Documents
Bounty Ledger
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
3 pounds of Elk Jerky. Water flask.
§ Load Bearing Equipment
Coin Pouch, small travel bag on left hip and skins bag on right.
§ Other
...
Alim Blackmoore
Male, Redguard | 26 | The Tower
Profile
§ Birthplace
§ Appearance
§ Personality
§ Background
§ Spells
§ Tactics
§ Relations & Affiliations
§ Opinions
§ Other
HighRock
§ Appearance
While he would be considered a fairly light skinned resident of Hammerfell, or perhaps a particularly suntanned Imperial from the southern regions, his caramel coloring causes Alim to stick out like a sore thumb in provinces such as Skyrim, or his home in HighRock. He has mannish features, though his Breton heritage allows him to retain a youthful appearance. Alim sports a trim and athletic physique, with dark eyes and shoulder length, unkempt black hair he keeps tied in the back. While his lips are a bit fuller, and his physique is sturdier than the average Breton, save his light chocolate skin, he looks very much akin to them. Some consider him quite handsome, though others find him unnerving by his mixed heritage.
§ Personality
Alim's personality, while often pragmatic and with a calm and collected demeanor, stems from a very rebellious and mischievous upbringing. He isn't afraid to question authority, or to undermine it if he genuinely sees it as the best course of action. He knows just how pivotal a chain of command is, and would only do so under extreme circumstances, something that he has become more cautious with in recent years due to the need to keep contracts.
He shares the belief that his fellow Bretons do, that with hard work and a little luck, one can aspire to greatness. He enjoys learning, and has a curiosity that many thought would be the death of him in High Rock. He enjoys learning other cultures, and making himself a melting pot of skills and ideas, simply because he feels that such diversity defines him. Being a bastard in a society of such tightly wrought places in society, he felt more fluid and freer in many ways than his family members. He began to use his half parentage as a means of strength, rather than a weakness to be exploited, and took pride at being unique among them.
While he relies on trustworthy tactics and equipment, he cannot help but feel a tug of wonder when it comes to dangerous concoctions or magic artifacts. Sometimes he catches himself doing very daring things, knowing that improvisation is key to surviving. Luckily, he improvises quite good he's discovered. Alim makes fast friends, and isn't above a good drink in a tavern or banter during a job or engagement. In fact, he quite enjoys one liners and having the upper hand in both verbal and martial duels. However, to many common folk, he seems married to his various jobs and sometimes unapproachable. He theorizes that's mainly because he cannot seem to stop his pursuit of his many interests, which leaves many others wondering what on Nirn could keep him busy so often.
He shares the belief that his fellow Bretons do, that with hard work and a little luck, one can aspire to greatness. He enjoys learning, and has a curiosity that many thought would be the death of him in High Rock. He enjoys learning other cultures, and making himself a melting pot of skills and ideas, simply because he feels that such diversity defines him. Being a bastard in a society of such tightly wrought places in society, he felt more fluid and freer in many ways than his family members. He began to use his half parentage as a means of strength, rather than a weakness to be exploited, and took pride at being unique among them.
While he relies on trustworthy tactics and equipment, he cannot help but feel a tug of wonder when it comes to dangerous concoctions or magic artifacts. Sometimes he catches himself doing very daring things, knowing that improvisation is key to surviving. Luckily, he improvises quite good he's discovered. Alim makes fast friends, and isn't above a good drink in a tavern or banter during a job or engagement. In fact, he quite enjoys one liners and having the upper hand in both verbal and martial duels. However, to many common folk, he seems married to his various jobs and sometimes unapproachable. He theorizes that's mainly because he cannot seem to stop his pursuit of his many interests, which leaves many others wondering what on Nirn could keep him busy so often.
§ Background
Alim never knew his mother, only being in her care for a few short months before his father left for High Rock. He had been told his mother has requested his father take him to High Rock, to give him a better life. His father agreed, not wanting anyone of his blood to be found wanting. His father was William Blackmoore of Daggerfall, one of the minor Lords within the Kingdom. He sired 5 sons, all true heirs save the third child. William had extensive dealings of trade in the city of Skaven, and one day brought back a babe, who grew to truly look very much like his father, William.
Because of his darker skin and slightly fuller facial structure, many did not take Alim seriously despite his Breton name and features. He was often poked fun of as a child, at least by other Highborn. He took to a life of mischief, discovering he had quite the ability and enjoyment of climbing. The young Alim would often be discovered in someone's home upon the second story window, or perhaps on their roof to simply bask in the sun or watch the stars at night. He would often take food from the table at his house before his more esteemed family members, which in turn led to him becoming quite the food thief in the city (which caused his father two counts of embarrassment, and angry rants at Alim that he would never forget.)
His father did not mistreat him, per say. Of course, his father would give him a hard look if he ever requested the privileges of his brothers. For instance, they were purchased new swords and horses, and thrown extravagant parties for graduations and birthdays. Alim would be given hand-me-downs, and would be lucky to receive more than a few gifts, like a private affair. His father often told him he was lucky to be treated as one of his own, claiming that as a bastard, this was simply the way things were. That he loved him regardless, deep down.
Lord Blackmoore knew that with such mixed blood, to make Alim a representative of the household would simply not do. However, William deemed that Alim would be a Captain of the Guard and protector of his more true born brothers, and perhaps would be accepted into a Knightly Order when he came of age, so as to bring more esteem to the family. So the Lord had Alim trained in swordplay, and tested in magic when he was very young. Thankfully, Alim's Breton heritage did not betray him here, for his magic potential was not lacking.
For what it was worth, Alim enjoyed learning these skills. His training was given by the best Armsmen in the guard, when it came to martial matters. He was taught to read and write, but he was not encouraged to become more learned any further. Alim did that on his own volition, reading subjects such as history, and alchemy (though he never did practice much), and treatises on swordplay and magic use. He was inducted into the Dragon's Blood Academy (magical studies) at the age of 16, and it was there he met his first love. A Breton woman by the name of Nalia. Things seemed to be looking up for Alim, but the Divines had different plans that Alim slowly came to realize.
By age 18, he was inducted into the guard as its new Captain, the previous one now taking a well deserved retirement. Needless to say, Alim had less free time on his hands, re-configuring the guardsmen to what he deemed necessary, learning the schedules and making a relationship with his quartermaster, sergeants, etc. He was also required with accompanying his brothers and father on important meetings. Still, he did his best to find time to read, and study in the Dragon's Blood hall. He excelled in the two schools that helped enhance his swordplay, alteration and enchantment. He was encouraged to learn of such by his father as well, one of the few things they could agree on. It would aid in his guardsmen duties.
Perhaps it was an overwhelming sense of wanderlust that seemed to take him, or perhaps it was his newfound position weighing on him. He could only learn so much of the wider world through books, he knew. Perhaps it was because his new love, his new capabilities, were too good for himself in his eyes. He was not used to such a feeling, nor did he feel he deserved it. The Nine did give more concrete evidence it was nearing the end of one of his cycles in life, with the loss of two of his brothers over a three year period.
He was only 16 when his closest and older brother Beric disappeared. One day, he had simply vanished without a trace. This was something that hit Alim like a mace. He had been Alim's closest friend, and sometimes even a mentor. They'd both had a rebellious streak growing up, something that Alim had not (nor would he) grown out of. Lord Blackmoore looked high and low throughout the city, but they never found traces of Beric. Alim was glad his father went to such lengths to find his older brother, but deep down, he wondered if the Lord would have done the same for him...
It was nearing his 19th birthday when the news reached him that his oldest brother had been assassinated. It came as a shock to many, for he had been an upstanding citizen and seemingly had no rivals, nor offended anyone. It was not until later that love notes with Jezebel Falthoren of the Daggerfall Falthoren Merchant Company were discovered. Her suitor was Donovan Kirkwall, a high ranking Knight in the Ironbrothers. The death of his oldest brother hit him hard, as it did his father. Unfortunately, his father began to blame Alim, citing that it was Alim's duty to keep tabs on his family, to protect them. It was his only duty, and he had failed. Father and son had such a heated argument that the common folk could hear it on the street passing by. It was later that night that Alim made a rash decision. He grabbed a small fortune of his father's money, only as much so it wouldn't be missed but just enough to give him some security, and he fled. He left the city, unable to go against his yearnings to break free any longer. He did not even tell Nalia, for fear of her rejection, for he would have asked her to go with him. Even to this day, he regrets that, and later swore to himself that he would never run from a loved one again.
He arrived in Hammerfell, hiring himself out as a guard for a caravan traveling through Bangkorai. He made it to the city of Skaven within the month. He had never been, and while deep within his heart he hoped he would find his mother, he knew he was here because it was the only convenient place he could end up at the moment. Still, he made the best of it. He sold his sword whenever he could, stealing food when in need but trying to keep his criminal activities to a minimum. Even a few months in the city, he realized the politics of Hammerfell was very abrupt and dangerous. The Crowns and The Forebears were often at odds with one another, though the Crowns seemed to fancy themselves as the rulers of Skaven.
He would remain in Skaven for a year, lending himself out as an extra sword for scouts or caravan guard duty, learning just how the warriors of Hammerfell fought. He went into mock combat with them once or twice, finding their dueling tactics fierce and tough to beat, and very unorthodox. While he wasn't helpless against them, after sparring, and then needing to fight Redguard raiders twice over the course of a year, he understood why they were referred to as the most feared warriors on Tamriel. These were his mother's people, and he felt somewhat more whole with having lived so very close to them.
A year had gone by, and the sun was just fading into the night as Alim made his way back from the marketplace. It seemed the fate decided he'd been walking in the wrong alleyway, for he was jumped by two Redguards. Without thought to the consequences, he unleashed his magic to defend himself (as well as his sword of course) and ran through one of the men, and the other ran.
To his growing horror, he realized just who he had killed. Kneeling down, he found the black and crimson sash of the Duskmoons, a group of Highwaymen and bandits that had made a name for themselves as ruthless cutthroats. Upon further inspection, he realized this man was Frajid, the cousin of the Duskmoon's leader, Jara. The one that got away would tell him who killed his cousin, and worse yet, that Alim was a mage.
He'd seen a few Duskmoon's on the streets, of course. That, and any rogue worth their salt knew to stay away or join them, at least in this section of the city. Alim also had an unfortunate altercation with them at one point, catching one of them cheating at a game in one of the local taverns he had been playing at. It led to Alim getting into a brawl with them, only for the fight to be halted by the appearance of their leader Jara, a man not known for his mercy, but was fair in this instance. He let Alim walk with only a minor beating. He would be far more creative with a punishment this time.
Needless to say, Alim went into hiding, taking no more contracts and keeping to himself. He felt the roads would be watched heavily by Duskmoon scouts, so he decided to lay low. The sun would rise and fall, and he would do his best to go near none of his usual haunts, which meant he decided to go to the one place that he had never been. Essentially, it was where the Crowns resided, the section of the city with the upper class. Towering spires, circular and oval in nature surrounded him like vast trees. Palaces stood between them, like soaring tidal waves of incredible architecture. He couldn't help himself, and began exploring, looking for good places to steal a trinket or two. The Crowns were not wanting, they would not miss a few jewels would they? He staked out the buildings, sleeping at the top of one of the spires. He could remain unseen if he wished, and so far his little project in the High Class area of Skaven was keeping his throat from being slit by the Duskmoons, who were surely looking for him now.
One night, he lay trying to sleep atop one of the spires, merely gazing at the moon and wondering what Nalia was doing. If she was looking at the same moon...
He shook the notion out of his head, and not moments after he had taken himself out of his reverie did he see a curious figure moving through the shadows.
Not below, for even he couldn't see the street well from so high up. But across. Upon one of the other spires, a lithe figure climbed expertly. As he made his way into the moonlight, Alim could see a wicked Knife clenched in the man's teeth.
Alim acted on impulse, making his way down his own spire and upon the closest parapet, his footfalls silent as he traversed the architecture to chase this man who must have had ill intent. He was halfway up the spire in pursuit when he heard a distant cry, and the young Spellsword thief pushed himself to greater speed. Moments later, he vaulted through the oddly shaped window into the chambers of a beautiful Crown woman, who was fighting for her life against this black clad assassin.
She was trained well, having held her own with her curved blade for close to a minute. But any misstep and the Knife wielder would have her. Alim leaped, and sliced the man on the back, causing him to stagger forward, right into the woman's blade. It erupted out of his back, and he slumped forward.
Alim asked if she was harmed, and she shook her head, unable to decipher if Alim was an enemy or not. He explained he was...in trouble in other parts of the city and thought to remain here, to stay hidden. He had seen this man climbing up, and went to investigate. She believed him, introducing herself as Savranah Mirel, and offered one of her necklaces in thanks for his good timing and helping hand. He was going to deny it, because in good faith he was probably going to steal what she was going to give him just then anyway. But...he was a bit enthralled by how pretty she was, and he let her go and get it without saying a word. As she went to fetch it, he slipped the Duskmoon sash onto the dead man's belt, to give the Duskmoons something to worry about now.
When she presented him with the necklace, they both shared a smile, and he graciously accepted. "On one condition," he told her.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Tell whoever asks, it was stolen." he said with a grin and a wink. She was confused, but nodded. He disappeared out the window, with a new jewel and perhaps a reputation.
Naturally, he couldn't stay here, and traveled to Helgathe. It reminded him of the coastal cities of High Rock somewhat, and he stayed there for a time. Two months, he reckoned.
The first two weeks in, he began wearing the jewel the High born had given him. He had thought to sell it, but there was a sense of honor, and indeed haughty arrogance, that had him keep it to wear.
His arrogance, for once, rewarded him. He feared hunters going after him, but instead he received a small contract from what he later to learn was the thieves guild. Despite his thieving and roguish behavior in his younger years, he never did seek the Guild, nor was he sought after. It seemed the reputation of his last altercation had caught up with him.
Once he had stolen a mere trinket from one of the more fortified towers overlooking the city, he began to take other jobs and he gained a few contacts, though when he found an opportunity to earn a living another way, he took it. Not because thieving wasn't exciting, but he found he wanted a blade in his hands again.
He set up as a crewman and hired sword for the ship called the SilverSaber. It was a warship now used for hauling cargo up and down Hammerfell and Cyrodiil, sometimes smuggling in Elsweyr. He only felt it was going to be a temporary job, perhaps for a few months. Alim spent three years in the crew, working his way up from deckhand to Quartermaster. He fought in four engagements, using his magic and sword skills to great effect. One particular instance where he was grievously sick in, and he managed to kill one Imperial who went bellow decks to the crews quarters by casting feather on his sword, his weakened body able to spin his blade nearly as deftly as he would normally.
It was nearing his fourth year when they took a special job to haul cargo to Elsweyr. Unfortunately, the ship was badly damaged in a storm and could not make it to its destination. Most of the crew drowned, but a few managed landfall on the shores of Elsweyr. It was a strange land, hot and humid with lowlands surrounded by lone hills of jungle. He was one of the few to live, and couldn't find more than a few corpses having washed ashore. He had kept a hand on his sword, but it was badly soaked and he set it in the sun for a long while to make sure it had as little rust as possible.
He made his way into the countryside and to Torval, where he was cared for by a Khajiit named S’Zin and his three children. During his state of heat exhaustion and starvation, he heard many strange rumors around town that confirmed the rumors he had heard at sea. Many Khajiit were disappearing into the wilderness for no true reason. He found himself in the position to find out why. Once he was healthy, he felt compelled to offer his help. On his honor, and with a few other Khajiit to aid him, they went out in search of recent disappearances.
One week out in their venture, they found Khajiit and Man tracks near one of the jungle hills further east, inland. They found an entrance under the waterfall of vines, making their way in, until they found themselves in a surprisingly dank cavern.
Alim and the Khajiit with him explored the lower depths of the hillside cavern, finding small sleeping areas and bags of supposedly stolen goods, but no people. That is, until they made it three corridors deep, and found the cavern they were in sloping upwards. It led to an upper landing that overlooked the inner canyon of a large cavern. At the center of it was nearly a dozen bound Khajiit, and swordsmen discussing heatedly on how to deal with the intruders that had tripped their traps.
Many of them ran outwards to find those who dare intruded on what was transpiring here. S’Zin and the other Khajiit went back to ambush them, for there was no other way out than where the captors were headed. Alim promised them he would free the Khajiit captives, and he shimmied down the upper cavern to the lower canyon, his sword drawn as he cautiously approached.
A man garbed in black cloth approached him, a one handed blade pointed at Alim's throat. In his offhand, he held a book bound in red and black leather. He asked Alim what his purpose here was, though the Spellsword knew he wouldn't get out of here if he simply walked away. It only took a short exchange of words before he realized this man's goal. To kill the Khajiit for their corpses, and perhaps to harness their life energies for himself. Alim struck the Necromancer first, but his blade was blocked with a deft movement.
The two dueled before the bound Khajiit, the prisoners knowing whoever won this fight decided their fates. Luckily, Alim was victorious after a minute of suspense, using a counter riposte that sent the necromancer stumbling back and bleeding into the stone. The book in his offhand fell onto the ground before Alim, scuffing his boot and opening by its front cover. He was about to kick it away when he saw a familiar script engraved just behind the cover. It was Beric's name penned into the book. It took him many moments to move, but when he did so, it was almost as if he was moving with a mechanical stiffness as he freed the Khajiit. He took a night or two to think on it in his own way, withdrawing into himself. He decided not to remain too long, and felt a wanderlust to flee this place. The book haunted him as he continued to flee the land that brought this revelation, and brought so many questions.
He traveled through the lands of Cyrodiil, heading along the northward roads until he came upon the Black Road leading to Chorrol. He barely made it past a few bandits, and arrived in Chorrol. He stayed there for a few days, road weary. After his time was done, he decided to head northward along the Orange Road. He thought it would be a quiet journey before he came upon footpads robbing a Dunmer merchant. There were four in all, but Alim came upon them from their flanks in a surprise attack, opening with his sword bursting into flames and searing the leader in the back (mid speech). With that, he charged forward on his horse to cut one down before he could properly defend himself.
The Dunmer merchant attempted to flee, but was stabbed by one of the highwaymen as Alim fought the second, finishing them both individually after having received a rough gash across his head and shoulder, as well as a stroke upon his blade that had broken it through its center. He wiped the blood from his vision, but realized he could not heal the wound in the dying Dunmer merchant. The Dunmer thanked him for attempting to help, but asked two boons of Alim. To take a letter to the Dunmer's sister (named Ferain, a smith), and to take his fine steel longsword as a gift for Alim's aid.
Alim traveled northward with his new blade and a final mission. He had just given the Dunmer's sister her letter when he signed onto Ashav's group, and helped stop a plot with the group.
Because of his darker skin and slightly fuller facial structure, many did not take Alim seriously despite his Breton name and features. He was often poked fun of as a child, at least by other Highborn. He took to a life of mischief, discovering he had quite the ability and enjoyment of climbing. The young Alim would often be discovered in someone's home upon the second story window, or perhaps on their roof to simply bask in the sun or watch the stars at night. He would often take food from the table at his house before his more esteemed family members, which in turn led to him becoming quite the food thief in the city (which caused his father two counts of embarrassment, and angry rants at Alim that he would never forget.)
His father did not mistreat him, per say. Of course, his father would give him a hard look if he ever requested the privileges of his brothers. For instance, they were purchased new swords and horses, and thrown extravagant parties for graduations and birthdays. Alim would be given hand-me-downs, and would be lucky to receive more than a few gifts, like a private affair. His father often told him he was lucky to be treated as one of his own, claiming that as a bastard, this was simply the way things were. That he loved him regardless, deep down.
Lord Blackmoore knew that with such mixed blood, to make Alim a representative of the household would simply not do. However, William deemed that Alim would be a Captain of the Guard and protector of his more true born brothers, and perhaps would be accepted into a Knightly Order when he came of age, so as to bring more esteem to the family. So the Lord had Alim trained in swordplay, and tested in magic when he was very young. Thankfully, Alim's Breton heritage did not betray him here, for his magic potential was not lacking.
For what it was worth, Alim enjoyed learning these skills. His training was given by the best Armsmen in the guard, when it came to martial matters. He was taught to read and write, but he was not encouraged to become more learned any further. Alim did that on his own volition, reading subjects such as history, and alchemy (though he never did practice much), and treatises on swordplay and magic use. He was inducted into the Dragon's Blood Academy (magical studies) at the age of 16, and it was there he met his first love. A Breton woman by the name of Nalia. Things seemed to be looking up for Alim, but the Divines had different plans that Alim slowly came to realize.
By age 18, he was inducted into the guard as its new Captain, the previous one now taking a well deserved retirement. Needless to say, Alim had less free time on his hands, re-configuring the guardsmen to what he deemed necessary, learning the schedules and making a relationship with his quartermaster, sergeants, etc. He was also required with accompanying his brothers and father on important meetings. Still, he did his best to find time to read, and study in the Dragon's Blood hall. He excelled in the two schools that helped enhance his swordplay, alteration and enchantment. He was encouraged to learn of such by his father as well, one of the few things they could agree on. It would aid in his guardsmen duties.
Perhaps it was an overwhelming sense of wanderlust that seemed to take him, or perhaps it was his newfound position weighing on him. He could only learn so much of the wider world through books, he knew. Perhaps it was because his new love, his new capabilities, were too good for himself in his eyes. He was not used to such a feeling, nor did he feel he deserved it. The Nine did give more concrete evidence it was nearing the end of one of his cycles in life, with the loss of two of his brothers over a three year period.
He was only 16 when his closest and older brother Beric disappeared. One day, he had simply vanished without a trace. This was something that hit Alim like a mace. He had been Alim's closest friend, and sometimes even a mentor. They'd both had a rebellious streak growing up, something that Alim had not (nor would he) grown out of. Lord Blackmoore looked high and low throughout the city, but they never found traces of Beric. Alim was glad his father went to such lengths to find his older brother, but deep down, he wondered if the Lord would have done the same for him...
It was nearing his 19th birthday when the news reached him that his oldest brother had been assassinated. It came as a shock to many, for he had been an upstanding citizen and seemingly had no rivals, nor offended anyone. It was not until later that love notes with Jezebel Falthoren of the Daggerfall Falthoren Merchant Company were discovered. Her suitor was Donovan Kirkwall, a high ranking Knight in the Ironbrothers. The death of his oldest brother hit him hard, as it did his father. Unfortunately, his father began to blame Alim, citing that it was Alim's duty to keep tabs on his family, to protect them. It was his only duty, and he had failed. Father and son had such a heated argument that the common folk could hear it on the street passing by. It was later that night that Alim made a rash decision. He grabbed a small fortune of his father's money, only as much so it wouldn't be missed but just enough to give him some security, and he fled. He left the city, unable to go against his yearnings to break free any longer. He did not even tell Nalia, for fear of her rejection, for he would have asked her to go with him. Even to this day, he regrets that, and later swore to himself that he would never run from a loved one again.
He arrived in Hammerfell, hiring himself out as a guard for a caravan traveling through Bangkorai. He made it to the city of Skaven within the month. He had never been, and while deep within his heart he hoped he would find his mother, he knew he was here because it was the only convenient place he could end up at the moment. Still, he made the best of it. He sold his sword whenever he could, stealing food when in need but trying to keep his criminal activities to a minimum. Even a few months in the city, he realized the politics of Hammerfell was very abrupt and dangerous. The Crowns and The Forebears were often at odds with one another, though the Crowns seemed to fancy themselves as the rulers of Skaven.
He would remain in Skaven for a year, lending himself out as an extra sword for scouts or caravan guard duty, learning just how the warriors of Hammerfell fought. He went into mock combat with them once or twice, finding their dueling tactics fierce and tough to beat, and very unorthodox. While he wasn't helpless against them, after sparring, and then needing to fight Redguard raiders twice over the course of a year, he understood why they were referred to as the most feared warriors on Tamriel. These were his mother's people, and he felt somewhat more whole with having lived so very close to them.
A year had gone by, and the sun was just fading into the night as Alim made his way back from the marketplace. It seemed the fate decided he'd been walking in the wrong alleyway, for he was jumped by two Redguards. Without thought to the consequences, he unleashed his magic to defend himself (as well as his sword of course) and ran through one of the men, and the other ran.
To his growing horror, he realized just who he had killed. Kneeling down, he found the black and crimson sash of the Duskmoons, a group of Highwaymen and bandits that had made a name for themselves as ruthless cutthroats. Upon further inspection, he realized this man was Frajid, the cousin of the Duskmoon's leader, Jara. The one that got away would tell him who killed his cousin, and worse yet, that Alim was a mage.
He'd seen a few Duskmoon's on the streets, of course. That, and any rogue worth their salt knew to stay away or join them, at least in this section of the city. Alim also had an unfortunate altercation with them at one point, catching one of them cheating at a game in one of the local taverns he had been playing at. It led to Alim getting into a brawl with them, only for the fight to be halted by the appearance of their leader Jara, a man not known for his mercy, but was fair in this instance. He let Alim walk with only a minor beating. He would be far more creative with a punishment this time.
Needless to say, Alim went into hiding, taking no more contracts and keeping to himself. He felt the roads would be watched heavily by Duskmoon scouts, so he decided to lay low. The sun would rise and fall, and he would do his best to go near none of his usual haunts, which meant he decided to go to the one place that he had never been. Essentially, it was where the Crowns resided, the section of the city with the upper class. Towering spires, circular and oval in nature surrounded him like vast trees. Palaces stood between them, like soaring tidal waves of incredible architecture. He couldn't help himself, and began exploring, looking for good places to steal a trinket or two. The Crowns were not wanting, they would not miss a few jewels would they? He staked out the buildings, sleeping at the top of one of the spires. He could remain unseen if he wished, and so far his little project in the High Class area of Skaven was keeping his throat from being slit by the Duskmoons, who were surely looking for him now.
One night, he lay trying to sleep atop one of the spires, merely gazing at the moon and wondering what Nalia was doing. If she was looking at the same moon...
He shook the notion out of his head, and not moments after he had taken himself out of his reverie did he see a curious figure moving through the shadows.
Not below, for even he couldn't see the street well from so high up. But across. Upon one of the other spires, a lithe figure climbed expertly. As he made his way into the moonlight, Alim could see a wicked Knife clenched in the man's teeth.
Alim acted on impulse, making his way down his own spire and upon the closest parapet, his footfalls silent as he traversed the architecture to chase this man who must have had ill intent. He was halfway up the spire in pursuit when he heard a distant cry, and the young Spellsword thief pushed himself to greater speed. Moments later, he vaulted through the oddly shaped window into the chambers of a beautiful Crown woman, who was fighting for her life against this black clad assassin.
She was trained well, having held her own with her curved blade for close to a minute. But any misstep and the Knife wielder would have her. Alim leaped, and sliced the man on the back, causing him to stagger forward, right into the woman's blade. It erupted out of his back, and he slumped forward.
Alim asked if she was harmed, and she shook her head, unable to decipher if Alim was an enemy or not. He explained he was...in trouble in other parts of the city and thought to remain here, to stay hidden. He had seen this man climbing up, and went to investigate. She believed him, introducing herself as Savranah Mirel, and offered one of her necklaces in thanks for his good timing and helping hand. He was going to deny it, because in good faith he was probably going to steal what she was going to give him just then anyway. But...he was a bit enthralled by how pretty she was, and he let her go and get it without saying a word. As she went to fetch it, he slipped the Duskmoon sash onto the dead man's belt, to give the Duskmoons something to worry about now.
When she presented him with the necklace, they both shared a smile, and he graciously accepted. "On one condition," he told her.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Tell whoever asks, it was stolen." he said with a grin and a wink. She was confused, but nodded. He disappeared out the window, with a new jewel and perhaps a reputation.
Naturally, he couldn't stay here, and traveled to Helgathe. It reminded him of the coastal cities of High Rock somewhat, and he stayed there for a time. Two months, he reckoned.
The first two weeks in, he began wearing the jewel the High born had given him. He had thought to sell it, but there was a sense of honor, and indeed haughty arrogance, that had him keep it to wear.
His arrogance, for once, rewarded him. He feared hunters going after him, but instead he received a small contract from what he later to learn was the thieves guild. Despite his thieving and roguish behavior in his younger years, he never did seek the Guild, nor was he sought after. It seemed the reputation of his last altercation had caught up with him.
Once he had stolen a mere trinket from one of the more fortified towers overlooking the city, he began to take other jobs and he gained a few contacts, though when he found an opportunity to earn a living another way, he took it. Not because thieving wasn't exciting, but he found he wanted a blade in his hands again.
He set up as a crewman and hired sword for the ship called the SilverSaber. It was a warship now used for hauling cargo up and down Hammerfell and Cyrodiil, sometimes smuggling in Elsweyr. He only felt it was going to be a temporary job, perhaps for a few months. Alim spent three years in the crew, working his way up from deckhand to Quartermaster. He fought in four engagements, using his magic and sword skills to great effect. One particular instance where he was grievously sick in, and he managed to kill one Imperial who went bellow decks to the crews quarters by casting feather on his sword, his weakened body able to spin his blade nearly as deftly as he would normally.
It was nearing his fourth year when they took a special job to haul cargo to Elsweyr. Unfortunately, the ship was badly damaged in a storm and could not make it to its destination. Most of the crew drowned, but a few managed landfall on the shores of Elsweyr. It was a strange land, hot and humid with lowlands surrounded by lone hills of jungle. He was one of the few to live, and couldn't find more than a few corpses having washed ashore. He had kept a hand on his sword, but it was badly soaked and he set it in the sun for a long while to make sure it had as little rust as possible.
He made his way into the countryside and to Torval, where he was cared for by a Khajiit named S’Zin and his three children. During his state of heat exhaustion and starvation, he heard many strange rumors around town that confirmed the rumors he had heard at sea. Many Khajiit were disappearing into the wilderness for no true reason. He found himself in the position to find out why. Once he was healthy, he felt compelled to offer his help. On his honor, and with a few other Khajiit to aid him, they went out in search of recent disappearances.
One week out in their venture, they found Khajiit and Man tracks near one of the jungle hills further east, inland. They found an entrance under the waterfall of vines, making their way in, until they found themselves in a surprisingly dank cavern.
Alim and the Khajiit with him explored the lower depths of the hillside cavern, finding small sleeping areas and bags of supposedly stolen goods, but no people. That is, until they made it three corridors deep, and found the cavern they were in sloping upwards. It led to an upper landing that overlooked the inner canyon of a large cavern. At the center of it was nearly a dozen bound Khajiit, and swordsmen discussing heatedly on how to deal with the intruders that had tripped their traps.
Many of them ran outwards to find those who dare intruded on what was transpiring here. S’Zin and the other Khajiit went back to ambush them, for there was no other way out than where the captors were headed. Alim promised them he would free the Khajiit captives, and he shimmied down the upper cavern to the lower canyon, his sword drawn as he cautiously approached.
A man garbed in black cloth approached him, a one handed blade pointed at Alim's throat. In his offhand, he held a book bound in red and black leather. He asked Alim what his purpose here was, though the Spellsword knew he wouldn't get out of here if he simply walked away. It only took a short exchange of words before he realized this man's goal. To kill the Khajiit for their corpses, and perhaps to harness their life energies for himself. Alim struck the Necromancer first, but his blade was blocked with a deft movement.
The two dueled before the bound Khajiit, the prisoners knowing whoever won this fight decided their fates. Luckily, Alim was victorious after a minute of suspense, using a counter riposte that sent the necromancer stumbling back and bleeding into the stone. The book in his offhand fell onto the ground before Alim, scuffing his boot and opening by its front cover. He was about to kick it away when he saw a familiar script engraved just behind the cover. It was Beric's name penned into the book. It took him many moments to move, but when he did so, it was almost as if he was moving with a mechanical stiffness as he freed the Khajiit. He took a night or two to think on it in his own way, withdrawing into himself. He decided not to remain too long, and felt a wanderlust to flee this place. The book haunted him as he continued to flee the land that brought this revelation, and brought so many questions.
He traveled through the lands of Cyrodiil, heading along the northward roads until he came upon the Black Road leading to Chorrol. He barely made it past a few bandits, and arrived in Chorrol. He stayed there for a few days, road weary. After his time was done, he decided to head northward along the Orange Road. He thought it would be a quiet journey before he came upon footpads robbing a Dunmer merchant. There were four in all, but Alim came upon them from their flanks in a surprise attack, opening with his sword bursting into flames and searing the leader in the back (mid speech). With that, he charged forward on his horse to cut one down before he could properly defend himself.
The Dunmer merchant attempted to flee, but was stabbed by one of the highwaymen as Alim fought the second, finishing them both individually after having received a rough gash across his head and shoulder, as well as a stroke upon his blade that had broken it through its center. He wiped the blood from his vision, but realized he could not heal the wound in the dying Dunmer merchant. The Dunmer thanked him for attempting to help, but asked two boons of Alim. To take a letter to the Dunmer's sister (named Ferain, a smith), and to take his fine steel longsword as a gift for Alim's aid.
Alim traveled northward with his new blade and a final mission. He had just given the Dunmer's sister her letter when he signed onto Ashav's group, and helped stop a plot with the group.
Capabilities
§ Attributes
§ Skills
§ Weaknesses
Major: Agility, Minor: Willpower
§ Skills
- One Handed Blade (Expert)
- Alteration (Adept)
- Enchanting (Adept)
- Sneak (Adept)
- Acrobatics (Apprentice)
- Light Armor (Novice)
- Athletics (Novice)
- Pick Pocketing (Novice)
§ Weaknesses
Risk Taker: While he isn't an idiot, and indeed knows the value of a sneak attack, he tends to fight more enemies than he can handle, overestimating his abilities. He sometimes performs maneuvers that could endanger himself, such as leaping upon an enemy from up high or fighting on uneven footing.
Criminal/Incriminating Record: He is a known thief in Hammerfell, and a known escapee (and granted, thief) from High Rock. While it is unlikely he will be pursued to Skyrim, he knows he's made many enemies and pursuers over the years. Someday it might come back to bite him in the ass.
Conjuration Hatred/Fear: Due to his time in Hammerfell, as well as the incident with his late brother Beric, he has an uncomfortable relationship with Conjuration, which borderlines on a phobia when it comes to Necromancy. It brings him vivid dreams of mutilated innocents and his brother's tarnished image laughing at him.
Hero Complex: He's far less of a hero than most Knights or Goodly Crusaders, but he has a nasty habit (at least in his opinion) of getting involved in things he shouldn't to help others. He has a soft spot for helping women in need, though it's not done him a disservice...so far.
Childhood Back Injury: Being an avid climber in his youth, it was one day before the 10th year of his life that he fell from a dozen feet off the ground to hit a chair with his lower back. It broke a vertebrae, and while the healing spells allowed to bone to mend, it left him with musculature problems in his lower back. While he still climbs and leaps and spins, he needs to stretch every morning or risk being stiff the rest of the day. If his lower back is hit with sufficient force again, he'll need a serious healer in order to function normally.
Criminal/Incriminating Record: He is a known thief in Hammerfell, and a known escapee (and granted, thief) from High Rock. While it is unlikely he will be pursued to Skyrim, he knows he's made many enemies and pursuers over the years. Someday it might come back to bite him in the ass.
Conjuration Hatred/Fear: Due to his time in Hammerfell, as well as the incident with his late brother Beric, he has an uncomfortable relationship with Conjuration, which borderlines on a phobia when it comes to Necromancy. It brings him vivid dreams of mutilated innocents and his brother's tarnished image laughing at him.
Hero Complex: He's far less of a hero than most Knights or Goodly Crusaders, but he has a nasty habit (at least in his opinion) of getting involved in things he shouldn't to help others. He has a soft spot for helping women in need, though it's not done him a disservice...so far.
Childhood Back Injury: Being an avid climber in his youth, it was one day before the 10th year of his life that he fell from a dozen feet off the ground to hit a chair with his lower back. It broke a vertebrae, and while the healing spells allowed to bone to mend, it left him with musculature problems in his lower back. While he still climbs and leaps and spins, he needs to stretch every morning or risk being stiff the rest of the day. If his lower back is hit with sufficient force again, he'll need a serious healer in order to function normally.
§ Spells
- Feather
- Shield
- Water Walking
- Water Breathing
- Open
- Fire (Sword Enchantment)
- Storm (Sword Enchantment)
- Banish (Sword enchantment)
§ Tactics
Alim has always been varied on how he chooses to fight his foes, due to his wide ranging skill-set of spells and melee attacks. When fighting a single opponent, he tends to fight one on one via his sword, though he isn't above using enchantments on his blade. If he is fighting multiple opponents, he opens with an offensive spell/rush attack, or he dispatches one or two foes with a sneak attack to demoralize his opponents before fighting them more traditionally with his blade.
§ Relations & Affiliations
- Thieves Guild
- Ferain (Dunmer Smith)
- Savranah Mirel (High-Born Crown woman)
- S’Zin and his Village (Khajiit)
§ Opinions
(For group members; fill after IC introduction)
§ Other
...
Inventory
§ Cash
§ Keys & Lockpicks
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
§ Clothing & Armor
§ Weapon & Ammo
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
§ Jewelry & Valuables
§ Books & Documents
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
§ Load Bearing Equipment
§ Other
23 Gold
§ Keys & Lockpicks
...
§ Tools & Crafting Materials
4 Soul Gems
§ Clothing & Armor
Chainmail, Hammerfell Garb, Cloak.
§ Weapon & Ammo
Fine Steel Longsword, Iron Dagger
§ Potion & Arcane Supplies
4 Soul Gems
§ Jewelry & Valuables
- Savranah's Necklace
- 3 Amethysts
- 2 Diamonds
§ Books & Documents
...
§ Food/Drinks/Ingredients
- Flask of Wine
- Bottle of Water
- Venison
§ Load Bearing Equipment
Rucksack
§ Other
...
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