Carantathraiel

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Sindri approached the rogue mage, unafraid of the conjured flames as she flicked her fingers and let her paralysis spell touch Brigit. As it took hold, Sindri could see the rigidity strike the Nord’s limbs and the hatred pour from her eyes. If Sindri let up her spell even a little, the mage would go for her throat and never let go. They may be distant kin, but they were kin indeed with how ruthlessly Nord’s fought like Reachmen.
“Walk.” Sindri ordered, gripping Brigit’s upper arm and pulling her away from the flames. Her spell was strong, but Brigit could swing her legs with some challenge. Sindri kept her own pace slow, her fingers digging into the woman’s muscles so she could sense any shift in her that was not related to her struggle to walk.

The argonian was speaking to her; Meen-La, if Sindri recalled correctly. Sindri leveled a glare in her direction until it became clear the female was not actually complaining. Then a grin cracked across the Reachwoman’s face. “Lopping off a head seems too easy, if you ask me.” Sindri purred as she forced Brigit nearer.
Brigit’s path was blocked by a stone, and Sindri gave her a little shove, and Brigit’s body tilted forward at a precarious angle, and she would have struck her face on the stony path were it not for the Reachwoman’s grip. “Crush her ribs and leave her to the birds? Well, perhaps, but I would like to sever her arm’s first. Formed atronach aside, I do not think she is skilled enough to conjure without her limbs.”
Brigit made a noise beside Sindri; some sort of growl or attempted argument, and Sindri merely glanced at her with complete disinterest as she continued marching the Nord forward.
To Arnvidr.

“The decision of her fate is yours, Nord.” Sindri declared, stopping some ten paces before the man to allow him a good look at his foe. “She is your enemy, and her fate is yours. Aside from that, I gathered over breakfast that you are our elected leader.”
Brigit’s bandits had been taken care of. Put to sleep or given over to Oblivion. Which reminded her.
“Cat. Kiffar, yes?” Sindri clarified. directing her gaze toward the large orange feline. For there was a second one, now. Another Khajiit who had approached from behind. “There is a living bandit behind me at my five o’clock. If want blood, I can release him from my sleeping spell and let you have a little fun.”

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

The fighting had begun, Sindri could hear that clearly enough through the scattered trees. She glanced to her right and sidestepped a tree, ensuring her way was clear and she could move unnoticed as she moved toward the next fighter. Most of them appeared to have given up their bows and instead unsheathed melee weapons to attack more directly. Still, Sindri crept.
Then she noticed the mer following her, and Sindri paused long enough to give her a questioning look. A secret turn-cloak, come to assassinate the witchling in the first of their combat? Sindri would not at all be surprised, and instantly allowed her magic to flow through to her fingertips in preparation for a fight.
But the female merely signalled to Sindri to be quiet and sneak, and the Reachwoman felt disappointed. No shit was the first tangible thought to cross her mind, and Sindri dispelled her magic as she turned away and continued on. She wouldn’t hold it against the female; perhaps she was not used to creeping through the woods, mountains, and rivers that made up the wildlands. She wore Redguard clothing, which implied to Sindri she spent much time in the fertile deserts west of here. She was perhaps out of her comfort zone.
Or, perhaps the Altmer in her needed to be in control, give orders. Regardless of the reason, Sindri continued on, creeping through the trees on silent feet.

Another sound met her ears; the summoning of something large, and Sindri’s head snapped toward where the fight was, where her new companions were. Abandoning her course, the Reachwoman veered right and weaved toward the sound of atronachs! A flicker of excitement shot through the witch like lightning, to see summoning magic that was fully formed and combative! And more, appeared to be taking different shapes!
But a motion to her left caught her attention, and Sindri felt herself be pulled back out of the clouds and to the ground. The mage who had summoned the atronachs was fleeing. Sindri pivoted yet again, ready to give chase whilst she debated on summoning more roots to secure the woman in place. A not so great idea, as surely the mage would just burn away her roots and flee, leaving them to deal with the dangerous and spreading fire.
Before Sindri could come to a decision on how to stop the mage, a wall of fire erupted before her. Huh. Sindri thought shortly. Not what she’d have done, but apparently it was quite effective.

“I would not move if I were you.” Sindri said to the mage as she stalked closer, her skirts dragging on a stone as she stepped over it. “You’ve several mages who are now quite annoyed for the trouble you’ve caused. A khajiit who is looking for a fight and is large enough to snap your spine like a twig. And an argonian I am quite sure would do criminal harm to you and not blink an eye.”
Sindri gave her a cold grin. “You’re outnumbered. Next move you make had better be in surrender or more than one of us will strike you with paralytic spells. Think your poor beating heart can handle that much?”

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Her steps devoured the road again. Back along the Orange road, which she’d traveled innumerable times. Her belly was full, her boots comfortable, the urge to shift and run wild minimal. The sun rose before them, urging their traveling party to pull their hoods down over their eyes or bow their head to protect their vision. Sindri’s eyes roamed the road, marking each stone, branch, and dip along her path.

The company was quiet. The silence was full of a tension that made Sindri wonder what had been spoken after she’d fled the chapel. When she’d taken the chapel woman’s option of rest and all but fled the too-solid structure, they’d been discussing how to approach Bruma, who would take lead, what cover they would claim.
Looking around, she still was not sure of what had been said, but the nord appeared to be taking the mantle of chief, judging by how many times he’d given orders here and there. Sindri was surprised the male Altmer had not elbowed his way into the position of authority, but suppose the fact that he was here on this particular mission spoke volumes about his taste for control.
The other altmer, the female, didn’t puzzle the witch as much.
Though, quite a few were looking toward the large khajiit, but that was no surprise. Something that large and needed to be watched, and that he’d joined their group in chains didn’t help his reputation.
And the lizard who was too clearly indoctrinated was absent. Fired? Stormed out? Sindri didn’t bother asking.

The summer breeze blew and Sindri’s head tilted back, her eyes closing as the warmth brushed her cheeks like an old friend. The aroma of seasonal vibrant flowers, the healthy trees, the distant scent of petrichor sent the witch miles away for a few footsteps. To when she was small and chasing foxes and catching grasshoppers. Wading in the streams to the west of these lands and wondering why she had to wait until the fish was cooked before she could devour it and fill her complaining belly.

Then there was a different scent.
Sweat. Steel. Ale. Sulfur. Faint, the wind had shifted in another direction, but it had been enough for Sindri.
Her eyes opened and she swept an icy glance across the hills before she landed on the khajiit. Judging by his bored expression -if Sindri could identify what boredom looked like on a khajiit’s countenance- he hadn’t noticed.
Or he wasn’t bothered by it. Too many here smelled of sweat and steel. Magicka and paper, too. Scholars; too many of them.
Still, it didn’t sit well with the Reachwoman, and Sindri veered to her left, stepping off the path swooping to pick up a flower along her way. If they were being watched, perhaps she would appear as a woman gathering supplies. Perhaps she was off to relieve herself.
Nearly immediately after, the songbirds went silent, both sending a brush of relief down Sindri’s nape that she had not lost her mind, and a brush of anticipation.

Things were about to get interesting.

Whistles tickled her ear, and Sindri quickly hopped behind a tree as arrows thudded into the soil. Peering over her shoulder, she did a quick count of how many of the militia were still standing and had taken defensive positions, then Sindri whirled around and moved swiftly across the uneven terrain.
Her ears picked up conversation as she stalked; a scholar’s squabble. So, perhaps things were getting interesting, but not quite as interesting as they could. The ambushing group was clearly new at this. They should have attacked earlier and used the sun against the militia.
Sindri rolled her eyes at herself, wondering whose side she was on as she bent and half-crawled up the last of a hill.

An archer knelt on the hill. He did look very Nordic. A bandit brute. So, maybe they weren’t all scholars afterall. Her eyes swept his posture; one knee planted on the ground, the other heel firm and toes pointed toward his target; her new cadre.
So be it.
Summoning her magic, roots rose swiftly from the ground and coiled around the calves of the thug, then squeezed tight. Alarmed, the bandit lowered his bow as he glanced down. He wobbled. His head snapped up as Sindri moved in the man’s peripherals and grinned wickedly. He paled. Sindri flicked her wrist and the man dropped heavily to the ground before he could scream, her sleeping spell taking effect swiftly.
Her roots released him and sunk back into the ground as she slunk toward her next victim.

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

The chapel woman spoke again, clarifying that it was a hope that these talks would end with the worship of Talos, and Sindri felt her upper lip curl behind the fabric that covered her mouth. Of course, she mentally sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she blinked slowly and turned her attention to a nearby brazier before moving on to the imperial-dressed Argonian. The tone of his response caught her curiosity, her eyes wandered again, her thoughts connecting dots. Drawing marks in the soil.

Sindri was frowning thanks to the context of her thoughts when the Nord stepped forward and expressed his suggestion for how to approach Bruma and their task. Followed by the too-large Khajiit (honestly, Sindri wasn’t aware they could get so big, what did his parents feed him, dragons? Perhaps he was the reason they were gone!) who said they should introduce one another and get their rest.
She had a mind to agree, if only because she did not wish to waste any more time within the confines of this chapel.

“I am known around Bruma. I move in and out frequently as a hired mercenary. Magic, tracking. Other skills.” The witch added more quietly as an afterthought. “But the woman gave us hours before we depart. We should rest while we can. I, at the very least, need a drink. We have a long journey to Bruma, enough time to decide our course of action, so perhaps for now we table it in trade for rest and introductions.”
Sindri raised a pale hand to gesture to the Khajiit. “Kiffar. Meen-La.” She gestured to the brighter of the two Argonians. The only two, thus far, who had spoken their names. Sindri sighed, then pulled the cloth from her face to expose her mouth. “You can call me Sindri.”

“Tomorrow, any who have not changed their minds and skulked away into the hills should find me beyond the wall for a meal of venison. And perhaps we can discuss with one another why we were recruited into this. Surely it is not just for our pretty faces.”

Stepping back and around the Dunmer beside whom she stood, Sindri made for the door. “Until tomorrow.” She raised a hand to wave as she departed.

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

"Forgive me for intruding, but that does not seem to matter. We will be mere escorts and whatever happens otherwise is none of our business. Is that correct, Confessor?"

@Rune_Alchemist

Sindir’s head turned toward the Argonian, her annoyance over this talk of the Nine so-called-Divines momentarily diminished over her interest in the speaker. The lizard’s words sunk in a second later, and Sindri couldn’t help but accept them.

It is our hope that with the embrace of the Wrothgar Mountains and Orsinium, plus The Reach and its silver and soldiers, they will one day see Talos' light. The chapel woman had said. A hope, not a requirement, although Sindri still felt as if it were hypocritical to guide anyone toward this end when they were not believers, themselves.

Even the present Nord refused Talos, even if he accepted the offer. Sindri’s head swiveled toward him. That was interesting. Her countenance remained blank as she took in the details of this strange Nord for only the pace of a few heartbeats before she turned and looked back to the chapel woman.
Sindri leveled her cold gaze at the woman, as if daring her to express that this business with their chosen Gods be the Gods of all involved. Considering the number of their gathered party who refused her blessing, hopefully she would realize her work was cut out for her.

The other Argonian, the one dressed in Imperial garb, began to speak to the single Dunmer, discussing how to get through to Bruma without drawing so much attention. From drawing reinforcements in Imperial numbers to using magic to hide them.
Down to dressing up as Legion soldiers to blend in.

“Honestly,” Sindir interjected with a tsk, gesturing to the many figures present. ”I quite doubt they’d have gone through the trouble of selecting a group such as this if they wanted us to appear to be forge-mold soldiers marching through a city. Look at us. Mer, Nord, Argonian, and a Khajiit the size of a giant. We’re not blending into anything. I suggest we use that."

Sindri jerked her chin toward the Legion Argonian. ”We’ll be questioned and put on record for having entered the city. Then perhaps only some of us enter the city, or we produce a cover for our entry. A lie about why we are there that would be believed. Having been in and out of Bruma, I know they do not refuse those with a reliable reason for entry. We give them one. Surely we can collectively come up with something. Or we can use him.” Sindri added, gesturing to the large cat.

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

The air was uncomfortably warm inside the chapel. The air outside of it had been pleasantly cold, the aroma of the mountain trees and flora lingering in the air. In here, though, the lit braziers made the air thicker, the incense they burned clouding her nostrils and making the woman feel too enclosed. She began to sweat beneath her cloak, which she’d refused to remove in the hopes that she would not be within the confines of these walls for very long.

Her eyes wandered those gathered. One Dunmer. Two Altmer. An Imperial. A Nord. And two Argonians.
These held her attention the longest; Sindri had never been so close to one of the lizard-folk. Her glances were quick so as to avoid inflicting insult, her eyes noting the bright scales of one, talons of the other. Of course, her mind wandered to the alchemical composition of each, and if she were to gather a shed scale or broken talon, what would come of them.
What did she know about Argonians? Very little, but she had a feeling there was something of their make-up that would prove interesting.

Sindri’s attention went to the Nord next, her pale gaze wandering his robes, though before she could build a single thought, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and Sindri shifted her weight from one foot to the other just as the chapel doors swung open.
Her skin crawled as if a handful of spiders were fleeing for cover across her skin as Sindri took note of the giant khajiit that ducked through the threshold. Her attention lingered on him as he strolled in under heavy guard. Wounded guard, Sindri noted, the metallic stink of blood was faint but present amidst an onslaught of other scents.

Sindir rubbed her hands together, then pulled the cowl of her cloak over her mouth a nose.

The large beast spoke, insisting on compliance while mentioning having thrown a horse, and Sindri’s left eyebrow rose.The guard left, and the khajiit offered a fanged smile that could have chilled the blood of lesser folk.The size of his teeth made Sindir wrinkle her nose as she turned to face the chapel speaker.

The woman spoke, setting before them their purpose. Sindri’s eyes wandered again, taking in the expressions and reactions. It was doubtful that any of them arrived here without at least an inkling of why they’d been recruited. The heavier details, of course, would have been left out until they were gathered here under the cover of darkness.
Through the day, Sindri had loitered unceremoniously in the cemetery behind the chapel, enjoying the breeze, the sun’s warmth, and the view of passers-by. When the sun had set, she’d moved down the road for a clear view of the chapel, watching those who entered for clues.
Chorrol was a Colovian town, which made it quite easy to pick out which pedestrians were not local. Like herself. Sindir had watched until at least half a dozen of those whom she assumed to be the recruited had slunk in through the chapel doors before she’d gathered her things and followed.
Tolerating the unease of having such a roof over her head, Sindri focused on the instructions, warning, and stipulations that came with their accepting the job.
As well as the offer of a blessing of Talos.

Sindri took a half step back away from the woman, offering a curt shake of her head in declination.

“Is this a requirement?” She began, her eyes on the robed woman. “That these provinces must worship Talos in order to be accepted into the Empire? Not all of those within the . . . embrace of the Empire accept Talos. Those to whom we will speak do not. I know without doubt that not all of those within this building choose to do so. Or do you simply add it because you have chosen to worship as such?”

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

@WSilversun@Rune_Alchemist, accepted unless @Carantathraiel has any objections.

@Letter Bee

Not a one

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Excellent, I cannot wait to see what she does :smile:

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

I assume she won't raise her scales at taking instruction or orders from the imps in charge?

The Elder Scrolls: Before the Great War

Name: Auron Falareth
Race: Altmer
Appearance:

Auron stands tall at 6’3”, with a slender yet athletic build that reflects his noble upbringing and years of training. His golden-blonde hair is slightly tousled, reaching above his shoulders. His features are distinctly altmer. He has sharp angular features, emerald green eyes, and of course, the pointed ears. He carries himself with the grace and poise of nobility.

He dresses in finely crafted elven light armor, reinforced with leather for flexibility and adorned with subtle gold etchings that reflect his heritage. Beneath it, he wears forest green robes with gold trim. A green cloak, fastened by an emerald brooch, drapes over his shoulders. A leather harness carries his elven longsword, scrolls, and pouches for potions, while a small emerald pendant, a keepsake from his mother hides under his armor.

Age: 28

Skills: Swordsmanship, Destruction Magic (Lightning focus), Alteration magic, Speech

Personality: Auron carries himself with the grace and poise of Altmer nobility. He’s formal, well-spoken, and sometimes a little too proper, often resorting to the rigid etiquette drilled into him during his upbringing. At first, this can make Auron appear aloof, distant, or even snobbish. He may seem overly critical of others’ “improper” behavior without meaning to. He simply defaults to what he knows. Unlearning these behaviors is hard.

However, beneath all of his nobility quirks, lies a genuinely sweet and caring soul. Auron struggles to express emotions directly but shows his compassion through actions. Auron believes in the ideals of loyalty and honor. His greatest strength is his empathy. He sees the struggles of the people of Tamriel, and fights for them, even if he hides this compassion behind his noble demeanor.

He struggles with guilt over his family’s role in the thalmor’s attrocities, and his believed failure to stop it sooner. He also has trouble saying “I care” without sounding stiff or awkward.

Bio: Born as Auron Falareth of House Falareth, a respected noble house. Auron grew up in Summerset, where power was everything. House Falareth aligned itself with the Thalmor, providing mages and diplomats to support the Dominion’s growing influence. Groomed as an heir to the house, Auron was expected to serve the Thalmor and uphold their authority.

However, during a diplomatic mission to Cyrodiil, Auron witnessed the Thalmor’s brutality as they purged Talos worshippers, burning homes and executing innocents. This moment shattered his faith in his people’s ideals and forced him to question his family’s allegiance. When he spoke out, he was branded a traitor and hunted.

Auron fled Summerset with nothing but his skill, wit, and a desire to atone for the sins of his family. The Hidden Militia found him in Cyrodiil, where he offered his sword and magic to the Empire, believing it to be the only chance to stand against the Thalmor’s cruelry. Auron fights not only for Tamriel’s unity but also to carve out his own destiny, free of his family’s shadow.

@Crimson Flame

characters is one tab over ^ ^
[edit] for easy finding later, i dont think anyone minds it being here, too