So an Argonian, a Nord and a Dunmer walk into a priory... It felt like the beginning of a poor joke taught to first-years at the Bard's College and she was idly considering her own part of this slowly escalating mess that her brother had talked her into. Yashar had of course pitched it as something far nobler, of the needs of the Empire and all its citizens. Being a devout adherent to the Nine, it was becoming obvious as to why he himself had become involved in this hidden militia. It was true that the Dominion was an existential threat to the Empire, that much was clear to anyone who was capable or interested in looking beyond their own small part of Tamriel. Less so was the enthusiasm that the Dominion had for ensuring that only the correct gods were worshipped. She scanned across the gathered members, carefully considering what she could discern of them without approaching directly.
The Argonian in Legion gear was the least subtle of their number, and a curiousity at least for her. She had met few Argonians in her travels, and while they very much should not be considered the standard, still this one struck her as a bit off compared to the notions she previously held. But he was polite, disciplined and brought friends. Very well armed and similarly disciplined friends. This showed at the very least that whoever organized this had expectations of some trouble down the road at some point, as much was explained by the "confessor". Then another Argonian arrived, this time in chains and while she did not protest openly, Khaliya had the feeling that she would have rather been anywhere else. That also went inline with the Confessor's words, that some of them were not entirely here by sincere choice. Not like it was any of her business if some of the members of this expedition liked to put their hands or swords where they were unwelcome, so long as they respected her and her belongings.
A Dunmer woman and a Nord were the next to draw her eyes, the former seeming to be an effort at ensuring some cultural understanding could be found between the Empire and the potential new provinces. Few understood being outsiders of faith and culture as much as the Dunmer, from her understanding. That would at least bode well towards their negotiations, and more so as she listened to the woman speak her mind. The Nord was rather surprisingly taciturn for one of his people, at least from what she knew of them. Most Nords she had run across had been boastful, boisterous and rather loud and violent. This one though, she quietly considered if he was not quite the bruiser that most of his kind were, taking in his bearing and trying to get a read on him.
And then of course, came the cat. By the shining bitch's cold tits, that was the biggest Khajiit she had ever seen, and he seemed every bit the size of one who could have overshadowed her sister Roshanara. She didn't even know they could get that big, much less how a Khajiit could get that big. What did they feed him down in Elsweyr? Smaller, weaker Khajiit? Then she noticed the shackles, the bruises across the guardsmen attempting to guide the big furry ball of muscle into the priory. Now that was something she was more familiar with, and more so as he roughed up the guards a little more and helped himself to a bit of jerky. Someone straightforward, honest and very clearly capable of extreme violence at a moment's notice. She would just need to stick close to that one and be honest when speaking to him. Maybe use small words...
Finally, she came upon the Reachman. There was no mistaking what she was, not for a Breton, a Nord and by far not an Imperial. Khaliya knew a denizen of the Reach from both personal experience and that of her tribe. It was just a way they had about them, and while her tribe was on good relations with a few clans to the point of even claiming kinbonds, there were just as many if not more who still held a grudge over the death of Sharuk The Seven-Handed and his clan. She tried to discern if the woman had any identifiable markings, but her place in the priory made that difficult, and she gave up on the understanding that it was unlikely that particular grudge would be settled this day or at least on this expedition.
"With respect, I have the guidance of my ancestors." She said at last, gathering up her pack and adjusting the leather traveling clothes currently keeping her modest, if not well armored. Another glance around and it seemed clear that at least from first look she was the only one not openly armed, looking more like a provisioner or non-combatant and that was fine with her. If needs be, she would do her part but she was more comfortable with lending her assistance towards more diplomatic and constructive means.
Coming in when I can with MARSOC CSO, focus on Breaching and Demolitions. And eating all the crayons >:[
Name:
Karishma "Kari" Jha
Age: How old they are. The current year can be considered to be 2025ish for the sake of the RP
Gender:
Female
Nationality:
United States
Primary Role:
Breacher
Secondary Role:
Demolitions/Tech Specialist(Though very specialized)
Appearance:
A picture is preferred, a description is fine, a combination of both is perfect. Artwork is preferred, no photo references.
Bio: A short description (no more than a couple of short paragraphs) describing their key personality traits, outlook, and demeanor
Service History: A short blurb - no more than a few short paragraphs, or a bulleted list - describing their service history and key events in it up to this point
Other gear/weapons/equipment: Knives, grenades, sharp sticks; other equipment that is relevant to the plot or useful on missions.
Other useful information: Your characters hobbies and interests, or notable aspects of their family history or other such non-critical, but flavour stuff could go in here.
Wrapped in layers of masks and deceit, what may appear at first to be a noble lady of Rihad like her namesake with her rosy, almost light tones to her tanned and smooth skin, there is far more to her than at that first glance. It starts with the way she bears herself, just ever so distinctly aloof and with a subtle difference to those of the shaded cities. Every step is with a purpose, and a skilled eye can easily tell that it's not because she feels herself to own the very ground she walks upon, but that her mind is focused and determined. It comes with the sudden tensing of muscle that hadn't been obvious before, a woman who seemed rather soft and pampered suddenly revealing a life of hardship with the first tell of danger. With her heritage as a nomad of an Alik'ri tribe, all of this comes rather easily to Khaliya though, who bears the scars of that life plainly beneath soft silks, rough traveling leathers and ever so rarely the pale light of the moons. Small pink tears dot her sides and back where arrows or fangs broke skin, a few savage gashes ever so distinctly forming the shape of a large creature's maw framing her body showing where death nearly took her, and the calluses on her hands and feet tell the story of a young woman who did not have that easy life. But dark flowing ink also shows where she not only survived these encounters, but surpassed them and learned from them to better herself. In the twists and turns of the flowing Yokudan style, her accomplishments are there to be read by any fluent enough in the forgotten language, most prominent of which is the wyrm coiling around her arms up to her shoulders and neck to depict the greater duneripper that nearly took her life. But for all the hidden meanings and openly obvious signs of who and what she is, there is perhaps the most obvious. Despite how often she finds herself in combat or pretending to be someone she's not, there is always that rather girlish pixie-cut style she wears her white-blonde hair in, two long tails of hair banded with small Yokudan charms. And then there is that eerie silver tint to storm-gray eyes that shows her mixed heritage, a woman of many different worlds doing her best to blend in.
Personality
Tempered by a childhood living along the dunes of the Alik'r desert and the few years since leaving those familiar sands for the varied provinces of the Empire, Khaliya can be a woman hard to read at times, and quite straight forward at others. There is a genuineness to her willingness to help at a moment's notice, where she makes herself available to those in need to help guide them through whatever troubles they may have come into. Yet there is also that subtle ulterior motive as she learned while traveling with her people, in that it can always be easier to gain a read on someone when their own guard has come down. It is a subtle cunning in a way that is just barely visible in her eyes as she carefully watches her surroundings, constantly aware of herself as others view her, and the ever evolving way a person can be around others. To that end, who she really is, the quietly energetic and upbeat young woman looking towards an adventure around every corner, can often be masked by the practicality of wearing another face for the sake of learning more. But despite the cloak and dagger routine of her life's task, she still has a good heart and still seeks the best of others. That is because ultimately, she wants only to leave the world a better place than it was when she came to know it, just as her Yokudan ancestors taught.
Skills
Bladed Weapons
Borne of a life among the sands with her nomadic tribe, Khaliya was taught from an early age to familiarize herself with a sword and other manner of weapons to protect the tribe and hunt for it. While her skill with a bow leaves much to be desired, she took up enthusiasm for the sword and over years has become adept enough with it to have been named one of the foremost experts among her people. This was accelerated by her study of the Book of Circles and varied Yokudan legends until she was regarded as the first true Ansei in centuries. Truly Khaliya may have many skills and passions, but it is with a sword that she will always excel.
Armor Training
Almost as a matter of course, with a nomadic life there comes the need to be able to protect one's self with more than just a sword. Even the most skilled swordsman can still be taken out with an arrow to an uncovered head, and the sands of the Alik'r can be all the more deadly for those without the knowledge of how to dress for them while still maintaining protection. Primary for Khaliya and others in the tribe is learning how to dress for the heat of the day and the cold of the night, as well as how to fully utilize the bare minimum for protection against blades, arrows and worse. So it is that she's able to work folds of cloth mid-combat to snare blades when up close, using the cutting power against her opponent or reflexively bunching material up to soften concussive blows. But while she is adept in unarmored combat, she has also adapted quite well to lighter armors such as leather, cloth and even Altmeri/glass. Anything heavier would have been a detriment to someone of her size while traveling, so she remains unskilled in such things.
Escape Artist
Alongside the traditions of her people in song, dance and of course the martial arts of ancient Yokuda, there has also been another aspect of living the life of Alik'ri nomads. Because of how her people are regarded by most Redguards, Khaliya herself has learned the valued skill of masking who she is and wearing another persona like anyone else wears clothes. Names are like masks with histories draped over them, and the right name, the right mannerisms, the right way of speaking can get someone anywhere they want. It's become second nature to adapt to those around her to the point that she can even vanish in broad daylight, simply fading back into a crowd as if she was just another passerby. She also has a remarkable ability to find the quickest exit from a situation, both metaphorically and quite literally.
Infiltrator/Light Fingers
While not endorsed whatsoever by her father or her tribe, Khaliya did manage to pick up a few tricks from some rather unsavory contacts while among the cities of Hammerfell. It became first a game to play with the local Thieves Guild representatives as they communicated what information they had with the elders, and slowly she learned the makings of a good mark, how to read people and their potential wealth, as well as how to make it hers. It came with the ability to casually put her fingers in places they were certainly not welcome all the while with her mark right there oblivious until long after she had left. Her deftness also made her ideally suited for lockpicking, able to intuitively feel out the motions of the tumblers as they fall into place one by one. Of course it's not all picking pockets, locks and dealing in the shadows, as these primary skills in determining who to pick has made her ability to blend into crowds and social strata all the more potent.
Alchemy
While not particularly her forte, there is a degree of understanding of native flora and how best to use them, due in part from a life among the harsh sands of the Alik'r and the desolate eastern reaches of Hammerfell. Her mother also played a large part in teaching her what heals and what harms, focusing primarily on restorative medicine with limited resources.
Magic
Shehai- Second Class Ansei
Where the first spark came from can be argued as to whether it was her Yokudan heritage that she just so happened to inherit this gift, or the long study of the myths and realities of the Sword-Singers, or perhaps more practically when she first properly manifested the blade of light-made-steel. It is regardless, a gift that has not been seen for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years despite being what allowed those first Yokudans to settle Hammerfell and eventually become Redguards. Whether she goes by Ansei, Sword-Singer or even the more esoteric Sword-Saint, the truth of the matter is the same in that she has manifested the gift of the Shehai. First forged out of the battle of life and death she faced in the sands of the Alik'r, it is a weapon of unparralleled quality and might, and forever within her grasp so long as her will remains unbroken. Exactly what the Shehai is had always been debated fiercely of course, with the Psijic Order calling it a unique and unstudied magic native to Yokuda, implying that it may not be exclusive to them. The Yokudans of the First Era called it a manifestation of will, their warrior spirit in blade form. To Khaliya though, it is her make-way for lack of better words. From either hand she can summon the ethereal blades, the shape shifting depending on what she wills it to in the moment, from the curved scimitars native to her homeland to Legionary gladii and even the jagged edges of Morrowind glass.
Of course it is still no small feat to manifest the Shehai at all, and it is something she is always training in to keep it active for as long as possible. At first she was only able to manifest a single blade and for but a moment, but since her recovery and further practice she has now been able to keep it active for much longer and in both hands, something only rumored of the old Sword-Saints. There is a small matter though in her ascending to Second Rank Ansei, a rite in which she gave up a blade of significant importance to her to go further beyond her limitations. In seeking greater understanding of the Shehai mortal blades now no longer sit comfortably in her hands. Where before she could work a sword as if an extension of herself, it is becoming more and more difficult to hold a sword steady, her hands shaking as if unused to the weight. But for Khaliya it is a minor sacrifice to make when she knows she will always have her Shehai at the ready, and there is still much to learn.
Equipment
Personal Items
A book heavily wrapped in leather and silk Central Tamriel-geared traveling equipment, including fire-starting utensils, a small cookpot and a single bedroll with weather-proof leather tent. Assorted armor/clothing such as traditional Hammerfell Knight armor, light traveling leathers, a hooded poncho, a light furred coat and a set of priestess of Dibella vestments. Assorted lockpicking tools including a series of picks for regional locks, prybars, tension wrenches, a selection of "common keys" and a scroll of disintegrate. A Traveler's Guide to Herbalism, small guidebook to help identify local plants. Small selection of alchemical tools including a small mortar and pestle, and some empty flasks. Small leather fold with Imperial papers within identifying her as Khaliya al-Rihad and a handful of septims
As with many of the Yokudan myths and legends, the woman who would become Ansei did not start out gifted or soft in any way. Her life from birth had been one of the harsh desert sands, born among the nomadic tribes of the Alik'r who for one reason or another rarely visited the shade of the cities. Though in a way her life was a miracle in a way, as it had nearly never happened at all for her tribe's varied conflicts with neighboring provinces and within Hammerfell itself. One of those few who still hold true to the Warrior Wave philosophy, her people have lived a life of hardship for hundreds of years, seeking out any threats to Hammerfell no matter where they may dwell, and destroying them utterly. Whether it be the revered undead or a clan of Orsimer cursed by Malacath with a blood rage. It was the latter that brought her mother to her father, an Altmer woman gifted in restoration and dead set on sharing that gift with any in need of it. Her wanderings had brought her to a clan of Orcs beset by one tragedy after another, and soon she had been wed to the Chief and the thing thought impossible came to their clan. Peace.
But it didn't last long, as their blood boiled from the merest of slights, and eventually one of their clan struck a Redguard merchant down in cold blood, drawing the attention of the Alik'ri tribe. A mission of destruction was undertaken, with the only survivors being the youngest and eldest of Orcs, as well as Terandil of Shimmerene and her two unborn children. Jakir, the chief of the Alik'ri tribe, walked out of the main building of the stronghold a shaken man and gave the order himself, what had transpired between himself and the Orsimer chief remaining secret to this day. Of course, news spread quickly of the razing of the clan's land and soon an army began to draw against the Alik'ri. Little by little they were driven into a pass that was to be their grave until Jakir himself negotiated with the Reachman warleader, and showed that his people had taken in the most vulnerable of the Orcs as well as the Altmer Terandil.
Many tense years passed since that day, and on the eve of the seventh Khaliya was born to Terandil and Jakir, the two having found a love for each other in their time among the sands. Of course her childhood was a rather rough one though, not just for the biting winds of blown sand, or of the merciless sun during the day and the bone-chilling cold of night, but for her older step-siblings Yashar and Roshanara who had been fully adopted by the Alik'r since then. With half-orcs as siblings, she quickly learned to toughen up for the rough-housing of children, and over the years was made all the better for it. While her kin and tribespeople were given towards more martial skills because of their lifestyle, Khaliya found herself gifted in particular with the blade. As others branched and learned more of song, dance, pottery or weaving she did much the same, but always her eye was drawn more and more to the sword.
It was found all the more in the tales of the Ansei and her people's Yokudan history told through the songs of her tribe. Each was a tale of great heroes fighting the demons of their homeland, or fighting to secure a new home which future generations would call Hammerfell. And while most were told their song, dance and copious embellishment, there were a rare few which Khaliya became uniquely suited for. It started as just a whim on a visit to Rihad, she was a fresh teenager and already assisting on the hunts and defense rotas, and her father and uncle had just begun a tale of Frandar Hunding. Normally the tale would be told with a sword-dancer playing out the role of the hero himself as the elders spoke in reverent tones of his many deeds, but for some time her cousin who would have normally performed the role had been working off an injury. So without even asking for permission or waiting for the two to say something against it, she took up the ceremonial swords and simply joined in mid-act.
At first it was simply the usual crowd of spectators, a few elders watching with respect and curious younger passerby who perhaps had not heard the stories told in such a way. Steel caught the light as trailing red cloth painted the strokes of killing blows millenia past, Khaliya putting to work all the practice over the last few years to try and recreate what she had seen. She knew the steps as well as anyone else in the tribe, and she knew the story better than even her father at times, it being a favorite of hers. There was something else about acting it out though. More and more she let the crowd fade and the words guide her hands and feet, until at last she came to a standing rest and felt the heat of dozens of eyes staring at her and the wave of applause. Her performance had drawn quite the crowd with her easy motions, the swords lighter than air in her hands and acting more like an extension of herself than steel and silk. It was certainly a surprise, but she made herself quite scarce after a few stepped forward asking her name, the calls following her family as they headed back to the caravan to count coin and get ready for the night.
But it wouldn't be quite over for her by any means. Over the next few days as they rested and traded within Rihad there came numerous requests both to have another performance with the young sword-dancer and to know her name. Her father was equal parts frustrated and proud, one in having seen his daughter take up an honored role with such excellence, and the other in having to now deal with repeated advances from Hammerfell knights wanting to bring her into their order. Crimson Sands, Opal Watch, Rihadi Wardens, even the Sentinel White-Cloaks, each of them made it a point to try and speak with Khaliya either with or without her father present in order to convince her to give up the nomadic life and become a knight. "One with such skills cannot belong to the sands alone." As they said repeatedly, their goals clear as they sought her only for her skills and the potential glory for their own individual orders. All were of course turned away, and not always by her father. His word was final, but she had found her frustration mounting as the day they would leave Rihad could not come faster.
On the final day her last admirer arrived at the camp, just as they were hitching the camels and packing the last of their goods for the long road. Unlike the varied orders he came not with a grand escort, no banners, no emblems or symbols of office. There was no intent to impress, ingratiate, beg or intimidate for her attention. Instead the aging man presented himself to her and her father as a keeper of the old ways. He was just a man with a book, one that could be of use to a girl with so much potential, as he said of Khaliya. The book itself looked every bit older than the man, wrapped in delicate silks that preserved it from the arid heat and showed that while he himself looked nearly destitute, that it held more wealth than all of Hammerfell to him. It was offered freely with no expectations, the old man merely suggesting that it would be of interest to Khaliya and could help her make her own way some day in the future.
The significance of this gesture wouldn't be understood until far from Rihad, when she unwrapped the silks and stared at the interlocking rings on the cover, Yokudan script showing the title and author as something quite extraordinary. Within her hands was the Book of Circles, and not just some copy done clumsily by Cyrodillic hands or some Scholar who had never held a blade before. It was done in the tradition of the old Ansei, passed from teacher to student with the intent for them to one day write their own. The pages were old and weathered, the ink older than her entire tribe and calling back to another age where their traditions were a way of life to more than just a scant hundred. And there on the first page in the flowing script of a warrior wielding a pen instead of a blade, the name "Frandar Hunding". All of these books were written much the same, the man who had written the first given the honor of the first page of every copy written by every following Sword-Saint. This was to Khaliya, one of the most significant treasures she had ever seen, and her family knew it as well, allowing her the time to study it more than she had ever delved into any book before.
Days turned to weeks on the road, her feet stirring the sands in one rota after the other. Weeks became months, the sword of her father singing along the wind with a fervor of a woman who had realized her life's purpose. Months shifted into years one after the other and Khaliya had read the Book of Circles front to back, practiced every maneuver back to front and almost memorized the sword strokes that were meant for a blade infinitely lighter than the steel she held.
With three, almost four years passing since being gifted the Book of Circles, life had shifted quite drastically for Khaliya. Now sixteen she was leading expeditions across the sands ahead of the tribe, pathfinding for her people to avoid the dangers lurking beneath the dunes. The slightest mistake could lead to the death of dozens, far too many for any tribe, much less one who had made themselves known to seek out and destroy the undead, a taboo among all Redguard. That was why a good eye was often times more valuable than a strong arm, and she had learned all too well the little details that others missed. The way the dunes shift ever so slightly in the distance, ripples across the surface and the occasional breach of stone hinting at the lurking teeth and claws waiting for passing prey. Heat hazes could distort the horizon in more subtle ways, making one think an oasis was far closer than reality, if it was even there to begin with. Of course the haze was the lesser effect of such punishing heat, and she knew that spending too much time on the sands was lethal even under the shade of the main caravan.
So she learned to read the sands, to listen to and feel the winds, taking in all the signs that a skilled navigator could use to find their way to the sea. Yet it was on a day when she was relied upon most that she would be challenged by her greatest foe. Her brother Yashar had been spending the last couple years with her uncle along the northern shores, and Roshanara primarily stuck with their mother and the main caravan in case some danger bypassed the sentries. On this day she was out ahead with a dozen men walking the sands, feeling out a safe route towards Sentinel and avoiding the fringes of Craglorn. The sands had been whipped into a frenzy by westerly winds heated by the sun and driving the dune rippers into a maddened hunger. Each of the western sentry groups had encountered lesser rippers that would have normally never attacked a group like that, and the tribe as a whole knew that soon there would need to be a decision made. Either press on towards Sentinel regardless of the rippers and the approaching sandstorm, or break east and enter Sunforge. The latter had been regarded as a non-starter for years, ever since the conflict at the pass had nearly destroyed their tribe in Craglorn, they had kept their distance from the region and the many Orsimer strongholds that retained a grudge.
Sentinel though… Yashar was likely to be there, but the most pressing issue was that it was still more than three days of hard travel even if the camels were pressed without rest. All that could be done was to continue on with caution, to keep both options open until the very last moment. That was as her father had taught her, to never close a door until sure that it held no benefit. Pressing forward through the gusting winds and darkening skies there was the ever present looming danger of what may lie beneath, Khaliya herself on point and cresting each dune carefully. Little by little they made their way, glancing between the skies above, to the west and east, and in the far distance the banners of their tribe showing them on their way. That was a distraction though and she knew it. The tribe would be fine as long as they focused on their duty, to keep any dangers from the main caravan. Just one last dune before they would enter into the hinterlands where the sand would start to shift to rock and dirt. The wind shifted the sands around this one as it crested high into the horizon, looming like a barrier in their journey and curling towards them as a break against sea-borne winds. Though the closer her party got to the dune the more something seemed off. It was as if the dune had not formed over eons of gentle desert winds but… Too late they realized the danger they had come upon, one that they were trying to deliberately steer the caravan away from. Without hesitation Khaliya ordered a runner back to divert the tribe east and closer to the border to Sunforge. All she and her scouts needed to do was carefully maneuver themselves around the dune and leave marks for those to follow. But as they closed in and began to skirt around, the sands shifted. Great spires of hardened carapace erupted from the peaks of the dune, pitted and scored by years of desert life. A rumbling came from beneath them, disturbing the sands under their feet as the shape of the dune writhed back and forth lazily, and for a fraction of a moment in the darkening twilight of the impending sandstorm, they saw it.
Murderous intent gleaming behind eyes that had seen many tribes such as hers come and go, the shifting of sands across eras and the death of empires. It was a creature as old as the sands themselves and one of the most feared beings in all the Alik'r. To the Forebears within their safe cities and the Imperial travelers, it was just myth and legend, some creature from the Merethic that had long since passed. For her and the other Alik'ri tribes though, they knew it as the Greater Duneripper. A duneripper that had survived through its adulthood to become an elder and like all of their kind, old age was barely an inconvenience. All Khaliya remembered of what was to follow was a whisper under the howling sands as the creature slowly dove into the earth, meter after meter of ancient terror…
Dunefather. It would be several weeks later that Khaliya would find herself in Sentinel, her mother resting beside the bed she lay in and a dull pain all over her body that told her that she had been through something rather significant. Fresh scars lay under the bandages wrapping her entire torso and lower body, flashes of that encounter in the sands and a bright spear of light erupting from her hands in a moment of stress. Her family would take the next few days between her resting to fill her in on what had happened. During the sandstorm that had engulfed the tribe's caravan and the scouting parties, her own had encountered a greater duneripper of significant size, one believed to be the Dunefather himself. That was something of debate among the tribe though, but they knew it to be a rather significant threat and six of their people were dead with several others wounded just as Khaliya had been. What was of particular note though was not their harrowing encounter with the Duneripper or the hastened march towards Sentinel, but in how it had been fended off and sent back into the sands. The survivors of her party spoke of how one by one each of them had been pulled beneath the sand screaming, only blood and cloth remaining as they were picked off. Suddenly Khaliya had been dragged down next, and the duneripper crested from the surface with her clinging on as best she could, sword simply slipping off the carapace of the beast. Everyone had thought her lost as she disappeared into its maw, only for a moment later to hear her voice knowing it to be one of anguish, and instead a blade made of pure starlight erupting from the top of the duneripper's skull and swinging outward. That had been enough for it to drop the wounded woman back onto the sands and retreat, not willing to continue that fight.
Luckily for her the main caravan had hastened to catch up once the sandstorm hit, and that had been when her mother saw the bloodied sands and her daughter barely clinging to life. From there they had set a maddened pace all the way to Sentinel, their rush nearly finding the city guard upon them if it weren't for Yashar there to vouch for them and the state of many of their scouts. But it was all past now, and all she had to do was look towards the future, one that seemed a little strange especially for she remembered little of the event. One visitor in particular though provided some insights, the same elder who had given her the Book of Circles now came to her as she recovered from her ordeal, and just as before he came with a gift free of expectations and once more, he gave her a choice. He sat beside her bed and offered the stories of old Yokuda and the Warrior Waves, some of which she knew already but not in the same ways. There were the same figures of old, the same heroic deeds, but this time a sudden clarity on those myths. Ansei they were called, a word whose meaning had been lost over the eras and merely relegated to the ancient heroes. Gone had been the truth of it, and the myths of warriors of peerless skill losing the why and how. To be an Ansei was to be a Sword-Singer of pre-eminent skill, a holder of the Shehai and one of unshakeable will and righteousness.
And what the Shehai was, it was something she had awakened within herself. The sons and daughters of Yokuda all held this gift within themselves, as the elder told her, but some were more capable of reaching for it than others, and of them there were further separations still. As he taught her of this ancient art, he told her of how she had taken the first step. Through a moment of extreme stress and a display of incredible willpower, she had refused to accept her death and chose to make-way in whatever manner she could. That was when the Shehai erupted from her hands in a display of starlight-made-steel. Try as she might though, she couldn't replicate the same blade she had awoken, only vague shapes clinging to her palms. Even that was remarkable, as all who witnessed it seemed to find their faith in Hoonding there before her, but she would need to steel herself in order to surpass this, and that was a final gift given without expectation.
Three weeks after her awakening of sorts, she embraced her mother and father for what may be the last time, having settled on what she must do with her life. The book had shown her another way of life, anchored her passions into something real. The duneripper had challenged her and through force of will she had not been found wanting. The elder had given her a light along the path before her and signposts pointing the way. With those three she was for the first time filled with determination, something her father Jakir would not stand in the way of, and her mother Terandil would see to it that at least she would have someone to rely upon along the way. Though their hearts ached for it, she was given her father's sword once more, even knowing what must be done with it, and her elder brother and sister would accompany her to provide some much needed assistance when needed, but to also ensure she would never be without a friend. Then with all said and done, she set out for that first step on the road to becoming a true Sword-Saint. It was a simple matter on the surface, to give up her most prized possession to Hoonding and offer it as a blade for those in need. Yet one never does give up their father's sword with ease…
That was two years ago and since then Khaliya has been steadily advancing towards a dream she never knew. The Shehai comes to her hands when called, a blade shimmering and sharper than any she had ever known or ever will know, so long as her will is focused. With the increasing tension in the Empire things have been more and more rough out on the road though, as the growing influence of the Aldmeri Dominion has made people wary of Elves of most kinds, and often distrusting of strangers. She can still count on friends on the road though, and from time to time has made herself an ally of the strangest people across the varied lands. One of those a fellow Redguard of the Blades, who after a long and rather tumultuous journey through the Dragontail Mountains that neither wishes to recount, ended up being owed a favor. Though Khaliya will attest that it was more her being owed the favor, regardless she has found herself surrounded by strangers and being told of a rather bold plan to go and forge diplomatic links between the Mede Empire and Orsinium.
Were it not for her half-siblings Roshanara and Yashar already at the Orcish city, she would have suggested at the least her brother instead. But That appears to be a problem for a different day, and at the very least the Empire seems intent on seeing this one through, hopefully before the Bretons or Nords sack the city again.
I think that will about do it, worked through what needed fixed and decided to put her half-siblings already in Orsinium. A secret tool that will help us later. Maybe. Hopefully lmao.
Age: 18 Race: Redguard/Altmer Appearance
Wrapped in layers of masks and deceit, what may appear at first to be a noble lady of Rihad like her namesake with her rosy, almost light tones to her tanned and smooth skin, there is far more to her than at that first glance. It starts with the way she bears herself, just ever so distinctly aloof and with a subtle difference to those of the shaded cities. Every step is with a purpose, and a skilled eye can easily tell that it's not because she feels herself to own the very ground she walks upon, but that her mind is focused and determined. It comes with the sudden tensing of muscle that hadn't been obvious before, a woman who seemed rather soft and pampered suddenly revealing a life of hardship with the first tell of danger. With her heritage as a nomad of an Alik'ri tribe, all of this comes rather easily to Khaliya though, who bears the scars of that life plainly beneath soft silks, rough traveling leathers and ever so rarely the pale light of the moons. Small pink tears dot her sides and back where arrows or fangs broke skin, a few savage gashes ever so distinctly forming the shape of a large creature's maw framing her body showing where death nearly took her, and the calluses on her hands and feet tell the story of a young woman who did not have that easy life. But dark flowing ink also shows where she not only survived these encounters, but surpassed them and learned from them to better herself. In the twists and turns of the flowing Yokudan style, her accomplishments are there to be read by any fluent enough in the forgotten language, most prominent of which is the wyrm coiling around her arms up to her shoulders and neck to depict the greater duneripper that nearly took her life. But for all the hidden meanings and openly obvious signs of who and what she is, there is perhaps the most obvious. Despite how often she finds herself in combat or pretending to be someone she's not, there is always that rather girlish pixie-cut style she wears her white-blonde hair in, two long tails of hair banded with small Yokudan charms. And then there is that eerie silver tint to storm-gray eyes that shows her mixed heritage, a woman of many different worlds doing her best to blend in.
Personality
Tempered by a childhood living along the dunes of the Alik'r desert and the few years since leaving those familiar sands for the varied provinces of the Empire, Khaliya can be a woman hard to read at times, and quite straight forward at others. There is a genuineness to her willingness to help at a moment's notice, where she makes herself available to those in need to help guide them through whatever troubles they may have come into. Yet there is also that subtle ulterior motive as she learned while traveling with her people, in that it can always be easier to gain a read on someone when their own guard has come down. It is a subtle cunning in a way that is just barely visible in her eyes as she carefully watches her surroundings, constantly aware of herself as others view her, and the ever evolving way a person can be around others. To that end, who she really is, the quietly energetic and upbeat young woman looking towards an adventure around every corner, can often be masked by the practicality of wearing another face for the sake of learning more. But despite the cloak and dagger routine of her life's task, she still has a good heart and still seeks the best of others. That is because ultimately, she wants only to leave the world a better place than it was when she came to know it, just as her Yokudan ancestors taught.
Skills
Bladed Weapons
Borne of a life among the sands with her nomadic tribe, Khaliya was taught from an early age to familiarize herself with a sword and other manner of weapons to protect the tribe and hunt for it. While her skill with a bow leaves much to be desired, she took up enthusiasm for the sword and over years has become adept enough with it to have been named one of the foremost experts among her people. This was accelerated by her study of the Book of Circles and varied Yokudan legends until she was regarded as the first true Ansei in centuries. Truly Khaliya may have many skills and passions, but it is with a sword that she will always excel.
Armor Training
Almost as a matter of course, with a nomadic life there comes the need to be able to protect one's self with more than just a sword. Even the most skilled swordsman can still be taken out with an arrow to an uncovered head, and the sands of the Alik'r can be all the more deadly for those without the knowledge of how to dress for them while still maintaining protection. Primary for Khaliya and others in the tribe is learning how to dress for the heat of the day and the cold of the night, as well as how to fully utilize the bare minimum for protection against blades, arrows and worse. So it is that she's able to work folds of cloth mid-combat to snare blades when up close, using the cutting power against her opponent or reflexively bunching material up to soften concussive blows. But while she is adept in unarmored combat, she has also adapted quite well to lighter armors such as leather, cloth and even Altmeri/glass. Anything heavier would have been a detriment to someone of her size while traveling, so she remains unskilled in such things.
Escape Artist
Alongside the traditions of her people in song, dance and of course the martial arts of ancient Yokuda, there has also been another aspect of living the life of Alik'ri nomads. Because of how her people are regarded by most Redguards, Khaliya herself has learned the valued skill of masking who she is and wearing another persona like anyone else wears clothes. Names are like masks with histories draped over them, and the right name, the right mannerisms, the right way of speaking can get someone anywhere they want. It's become second nature to adapt to those around her to the point that she can even vanish in broad daylight, simply fading back into a crowd as if she was just another passerby. She also has a remarkable ability to find the quickest exit from a situation, both metaphorically and quite literally.
Infiltrator/Light Fingers
While not endorsed whatsoever by her father or her tribe, Khaliya did manage to pick up a few tricks from some rather unsavory contacts while among the cities of Hammerfell. It became first a game to play with the local Thieves Guild representatives as they communicated what information they had with the elders, and slowly she learned the makings of a good mark, how to read people and their potential wealth, as well as how to make it hers. It came with the ability to casually put her fingers in places they were certainly not welcome all the while with her mark right there oblivious until long after she had left. Her deftness also made her ideally suited for lockpicking, able to intuitively feel out the motions of the tumblers as they fall into place one by one. Of course it's not all picking pockets, locks and dealing in the shadows, as these primary skills in determining who to pick has made her ability to blend into crowds and social strata all the more potent.
Alchemy
While not particularly her forte, there is a degree of understanding of native flora and how best to use them, due in part from a life among the harsh sands of the Alik'r and the desolate eastern reaches of Hammerfell. Her mother also played a large part in teaching her what heals and what harms, focusing primarily on restorative medicine with limited resources.
Magic
Shehai- Second Class Ansei
Where the first spark came from can be argued as to whether it was her Yokudan heritage that she just so happened to inherit this gift, or the long study of the myths and realities of the Sword-Singers, or perhaps more practically when she first properly manifested the blade of light-made-steel. It is regardless, a gift that has not been seen for centuries, perhaps even thousands of years despite being what allowed those first Yokudans to settle Hammerfell and eventually become Redguards. Whether she goes by Ansei, Sword-Singer or even the more esoteric Sword-Saint, the truth of the matter is the same in that she has manifested the gift of the Shehai. First forged out of the battle of life and death she faced in the sands of the Alik'r, it is a weapon of unparralleled quality and might, and forever within her grasp so long as her will remains unbroken. Exactly what the Shehai is had always been debated fiercely of course, with the Psijic Order calling it a unique and unstudied magic native to Yokuda, implying that it may not be exclusive to them. The Yokudans of the First Era called it a manifestation of will, their warrior spirit in blade form. To Khaliya though, it is her make-way for lack of better words. From either hand she can summon the ethereal blades, the shape shifting depending on what she wills it to in the moment, from the curved scimitars native to her homeland to Legionary gladii and even the jagged edges of Morrowind glass.
Of course it is still no small feat to manifest the Shehai at all, and it is something she is always training in to keep it active for as long as possible. At first she was only able to manifest a single blade and for but a moment, but since her recovery and further practice she has now been able to keep it active for much longer and in both hands, something only rumored of the old Sword-Saints. There is a small matter though in her ascending to Second Rank Ansei, a rite in which she gave up a blade of significant importance to her to go further beyond her limitations. In seeking greater understanding of the Shehai mortal blades now no longer sit comfortably in her hands. Where before she could work a sword as if an extension of herself, it is becoming more and more difficult to hold a sword steady, her hands shaking as if unused to the weight. But for Khaliya it is a minor sacrifice to make when she knows she will always have her Shehai at the ready, and there is still much to learn.
Equipment
Personal Items
A book heavily wrapped in leather and silk Central Tamriel-geared traveling equipment, including fire-starting utensils, a small cookpot and a single bedroll with weather-proof leather tent. Assorted armor/clothing such as traditional Hammerfell Knight armor, light traveling leathers, a hooded poncho, a light furred coat and a set of priestess of Dibella vestments. Assorted lockpicking tools including a series of picks for regional locks, prybars, tension wrenches, a selection of "common keys" and a scroll of disintegrate. A Traveler's Guide to Herbalism, small guidebook to help identify local plants. Small selection of alchemical tools including a small mortar and pestle, and some empty flasks. Small leather fold with Imperial papers within identifying her as Khaliya al-Rihad and a handful of septims
As with many of the Yokudan myths and legends, the woman who would become Ansei did not start out gifted or soft in any way. Her life from birth had been one of the harsh desert sands, born among the nomadic tribes of the Alik'r who for one reason or another rarely visited the shade of the cities. Though in a way her life was a miracle in a way, as it had nearly never happened at all for her tribe's varied conflicts with neighboring provinces and within Hammerfell itself. One of those few who still hold true to the Warrior Wave philosophy, her people have lived a life of hardship for hundreds of years, seeking out any threats to Hammerfell no matter where they may dwell, and destroying them utterly. Whether it be the revered undead or a clan of Orsimer cursed by Malacath with a blood rage. It was the latter that brought her mother to her father, an Altmer woman gifted in restoration and dead set on sharing that gift with any in need of it. Her wanderings had brought her to a clan of Orcs beset by one tragedy after another, and soon she had been wed to the Chief and the thing thought impossible came to their clan. Peace.
But it didn't last long, as their blood boiled from the merest of slights, and eventually one of their clan struck a Redguard merchant down in cold blood, drawing the attention of the Alik'ri tribe. A mission of destruction was undertaken, with the only survivors being the youngest and eldest of Orcs, as well as Terandil of Shimmerene and her two unborn children. Jakir, the chief of the Alik'ri tribe, walked out of the main building of the stronghold a shaken man and gave the order himself, what had transpired between himself and the Orsimer chief remaining secret to this day. Of course, news spread quickly of the razing of the clan's land and soon an army began to draw against the Alik'ri. Little by little they were driven into a pass that was to be their grave until Jakir himself negotiated with the Reachman warleader, and showed that his people had taken in the most vulnerable of the Orcs as well as the Altmer Terandil.
Many tense years passed since that day, and on the eve of the seventh Khaliya was born to Terandil and Jakir, the two having found a love for each other in their time among the sands. Of course her childhood was a rather rough one though, not just for the biting winds of blown sand, or of the merciless sun during the day and the bone-chilling cold of night, but for her older step-siblings Yashar and Roshanara who had been fully adopted by the Alik'r since then. With half-orcs as siblings, she quickly learned to toughen up for the rough-housing of children, and over the years was made all the better for it. While her kin and tribespeople were given towards more martial skills because of their lifestyle, Khaliya found herself gifted in particular with the blade. As others branched and learned more of song, dance, pottery or weaving she did much the same, but always her eye was drawn more and more to the sword.
It was found all the more in the tales of the Ansei and her people's Yokudan history told through the songs of her tribe. Each was a tale of great heroes fighting the demons of their homeland, or fighting to secure a new home which future generations would call Hammerfell. And while most were told their song, dance and copious embellishment, there were a rare few which Khaliya became uniquely suited for. It started as just a whim on a visit to Rihad, she was a fresh teenager and already assisting on the hunts and defense rotas, and her father and uncle had just begun a tale of Frandar Hunding. Normally the tale would be told with a sword-dancer playing out the role of the hero himself as the elders spoke in reverent tones of his many deeds, but for some time her cousin who would have normally performed the role had been working off an injury. So without even asking for permission or waiting for the two to say something against it, she took up the ceremonial swords and simply joined in mid-act.
At first it was simply the usual crowd of spectators, a few elders watching with respect and curious younger passerby who perhaps had not heard the stories told in such a way. Steel caught the light as trailing red cloth painted the strokes of killing blows millenia past, Khaliya putting to work all the practice over the last few years to try and recreate what she had seen. She knew the steps as well as anyone else in the tribe, and she knew the story better than even her father at times, it being a favorite of hers. There was something else about acting it out though. More and more she let the crowd fade and the words guide her hands and feet, until at last she came to a standing rest and felt the heat of dozens of eyes staring at her and the wave of applause. Her performance had drawn quite the crowd with her easy motions, the swords lighter than air in her hands and acting more like an extension of herself than steel and silk. It was certainly a surprise, but she made herself quite scarce after a few stepped forward asking her name, the calls following her family as they headed back to the caravan to count coin and get ready for the night.
But it wouldn't be quite over for her by any means. Over the next few days as they rested and traded within Rihad there came numerous requests both to have another performance with the young sword-dancer and to know her name. Her father was equal parts frustrated and proud, one in having seen his daughter take up an honored role with such excellence, and the other in having to now deal with repeated advances from Hammerfell knights wanting to bring her into their order. Crimson Sands, Opal Watch, Rihadi Wardens, even the Sentinel White-Cloaks, each of them made it a point to try and speak with Khaliya either with or without her father present in order to convince her to give up the nomadic life and become a knight. "One with such skills cannot belong to the sands alone." As they said repeatedly, their goals clear as they sought her only for her skills and the potential glory for their own individual orders. All were of course turned away, and not always by her father. His word was final, but she had found her frustration mounting as the day they would leave Rihad could not come faster.
On the final day her last admirer arrived at the camp, just as they were hitching the camels and packing the last of their goods for the long road. Unlike the varied orders he came not with a grand escort, no banners, no emblems or symbols of office. There was no intent to impress, ingratiate, beg or intimidate for her attention. Instead the aging man presented himself to her and her father as a keeper of the old ways. He was just a man with a book, one that could be of use to a girl with so much potential, as he said of Khaliya. The book itself looked every bit older than the man, wrapped in delicate silks that preserved it from the arid heat and showed that while he himself looked nearly destitute, that it held more wealth than all of Hammerfell to him. It was offered freely with no expectations, the old man merely suggesting that it would be of interest to Khaliya and could help her make her own way some day in the future.
The significance of this gesture wouldn't be understood until far from Rihad, when she unwrapped the silks and stared at the interlocking rings on the cover, Yokudan script showing the title and author as something quite extraordinary. Within her hands was the Book of Circles, and not just some copy done clumsily by Cyrodillic hands or some Scholar who had never held a blade before. It was done in the tradition of the old Ansei, passed from teacher to student with the intent for them to one day write their own. The pages were old and weathered, the ink older than her entire tribe and calling back to another age where their traditions were a way of life to more than just a scant hundred. And there on the first page in the flowing script of a warrior wielding a pen instead of a blade, the name "Frandar Hunding". All of these books were written much the same, the man who had written the first given the honor of the first page of every copy written by every following Sword-Saint. This was to Khaliya, one of the most significant treasures she had ever seen, and her family knew it as well, allowing her the time to study it more than she had ever delved into any book before.
Days turned to weeks on the road, her feet stirring the sands in one rota after the other. Weeks became months, the sword of her father singing along the wind with a fervor of a woman who had realized her life's purpose. Months shifted into years one after the other and Khaliya had read the Book of Circles front to back, practiced every maneuver back to front and almost memorized the sword strokes that were meant for a blade infinitely lighter than the steel she held.
With three, almost four years passing since being gifted the Book of Circles, life had shifted quite drastically for Khaliya. Now sixteen she was leading expeditions across the sands ahead of the tribe, pathfinding for her people to avoid the dangers lurking beneath the dunes. The slightest mistake could lead to the death of dozens, far too many for any tribe, much less one who had made themselves known to seek out and destroy the undead, a taboo among all Redguard. That was why a good eye was often times more valuable than a strong arm, and she had learned all too well the little details that others missed. The way the dunes shift ever so slightly in the distance, ripples across the surface and the occasional breach of stone hinting at the lurking teeth and claws waiting for passing prey. Heat hazes could distort the horizon in more subtle ways, making one think an oasis was far closer than reality, if it was even there to begin with. Of course the haze was the lesser effect of such punishing heat, and she knew that spending too much time on the sands was lethal even under the shade of the main caravan.
So she learned to read the sands, to listen to and feel the winds, taking in all the signs that a skilled navigator could use to find their way to the sea. Yet it was on a day when she was relied upon most that she would be challenged by her greatest foe. Her brother Yashar had been spending the last couple years with her uncle along the northern shores, and Roshanara primarily stuck with their mother and the main caravan in case some danger bypassed the sentries. On this day she was out ahead with a dozen men walking the sands, feeling out a safe route towards Sentinel and avoiding the fringes of Craglorn. The sands had been whipped into a frenzy by westerly winds heated by the sun and driving the dune rippers into a maddened hunger. Each of the western sentry groups had encountered lesser rippers that would have normally never attacked a group like that, and the tribe as a whole knew that soon there would need to be a decision made. Either press on towards Sentinel regardless of the rippers and the approaching sandstorm, or break east and enter Sunforge. The latter had been regarded as a non-starter for years, ever since the conflict at the pass had nearly destroyed their tribe in Craglorn, they had kept their distance from the region and the many Orsimer strongholds that retained a grudge.
Sentinel though… Yashar was likely to be there, but the most pressing issue was that it was still more than three days of hard travel even if the camels were pressed without rest. All that could be done was to continue on with caution, to keep both options open until the very last moment. That was as her father had taught her, to never close a door until sure that it held no benefit. Pressing forward through the gusting winds and darkening skies there was the ever present looming danger of what may lie beneath, Khaliya herself on point and cresting each dune carefully. Little by little they made their way, glancing between the skies above, to the west and east, and in the far distance the banners of their tribe showing them on their way. That was a distraction though and she knew it. The tribe would be fine as long as they focused on their duty, to keep any dangers from the main caravan. Just one last dune before they would enter into the hinterlands where the sand would start to shift to rock and dirt. The wind shifted the sands around this one as it crested high into the horizon, looming like a barrier in their journey and curling towards them as a break against sea-borne winds. Though the closer her party got to the dune the more something seemed off. It was as if the dune had not formed over eons of gentle desert winds but… Too late they realized the danger they had come upon, one that they were trying to deliberately steer the caravan away from. Without hesitation Khaliya ordered a runner back to divert the tribe east and closer to the border to Sunforge. All she and her scouts needed to do was carefully maneuver themselves around the dune and leave marks for those to follow. But as they closed in and began to skirt around, the sands shifted. Great spires of hardened carapace erupted from the peaks of the dune, pitted and scored by years of desert life. A rumbling came from beneath them, disturbing the sands under their feet as the shape of the dune writhed back and forth lazily, and for a fraction of a moment in the darkening twilight of the impending sandstorm, they saw it.
Murderous intent gleaming behind eyes that had seen many tribes such as hers come and go, the shifting of sands across eras and the death of empires. It was a creature as old as the sands themselves and one of the most feared beings in all the Alik'r. To the Forebears within their safe cities and the Imperial travelers, it was just myth and legend, some creature from the Merethic that had long since passed. For her and the other Alik'ri tribes though, they knew it as the Greater Duneripper. A duneripper that had survived through its adulthood to become an elder and like all of their kind, old age was barely an inconvenience. All Khaliya remembered of what was to follow was a whisper under the howling sands as the creature slowly dove into the earth, meter after meter of ancient terror…
Dunefather. It would be several weeks later that Khaliya would find herself in Sentinel, her mother resting beside the bed she lay in and a dull pain all over her body that told her that she had been through something rather significant. Fresh scars lay under the bandages wrapping her entire torso and lower body, flashes of that encounter in the sands and a bright spear of light erupting from her hands in a moment of stress. Her family would take the next few days between her resting to fill her in on what had happened. During the sandstorm that had engulfed the tribe's caravan and the scouting parties, her own had encountered a greater duneripper of significant size, one believed to be the Dunefather himself. That was something of debate among the tribe though, but they knew it to be a rather significant threat and six of their people were dead with several others wounded just as Khaliya had been. What was of particular note though was not their harrowing encounter with the Duneripper or the hastened march towards Sentinel, but in how it had been fended off and sent back into the sands. The survivors of her party spoke of how one by one each of them had been pulled beneath the sand screaming, only blood and cloth remaining as they were picked off. Suddenly Khaliya had been dragged down next, and the duneripper crested from the surface with her clinging on as best she could, sword simply slipping off the carapace of the beast. Everyone had thought her lost as she disappeared into its maw, only for a moment later to hear her voice knowing it to be one of anguish, and instead a blade made of pure starlight erupting from the top of the duneripper's skull and swinging outward. That had been enough for it to drop the wounded woman back onto the sands and retreat, not willing to continue that fight.
Luckily for her the main caravan had hastened to catch up once the sandstorm hit, and that had been when her mother saw the bloodied sands and her daughter barely clinging to life. From there they had set a maddened pace all the way to Sentinel, their rush nearly finding the city guard upon them if it weren't for Yashar there to vouch for them and the state of many of their scouts. But it was all past now, and all she had to do was look towards the future, one that seemed a little strange especially for she remembered little of the event. One visitor in particular though provided some insights, the same elder who had given her the Book of Circles now came to her as she recovered from her ordeal, and just as before he came with a gift free of expectations and once more, he gave her a choice. He sat beside her bed and offered the stories of old Yokuda and the Warrior Waves, some of which she knew already but not in the same ways. There were the same figures of old, the same heroic deeds, but this time a sudden clarity on those myths. Ansei they were called, a word whose meaning had been lost over the eras and merely relegated to the ancient heroes. Gone had been the truth of it, and the myths of warriors of peerless skill losing the why and how. To be an Ansei was to be a Sword-Singer of pre-eminent skill, a holder of the Shehai and one of unshakeable will and righteousness.
And what the Shehai was, it was something she had awakened within herself. The sons and daughters of Yokuda all held this gift within themselves, as the elder told her, but some were more capable of reaching for it than others, and of them there were further separations still. As he taught her of this ancient art, he told her of how she had taken the first step. Through a moment of extreme stress and a display of incredible willpower, she had refused to accept her death and chose to make-way in whatever manner she could. That was when the Shehai erupted from her hands in a display of starlight-made-steel. Try as she might though, she couldn't replicate the same blade she had awoken, only vague shapes clinging to her palms. Even that was remarkable, as all who witnessed it seemed to find their faith in Hoonding there before her, but she would need to steel herself in order to surpass this, and that was a final gift given without expectation.
Three weeks after her awakening of sorts, she embraced her mother and father for what may be the last time, having settled on what she must do with her life. The book had shown her another way of life, anchored her passions into something real. The duneripper had challenged her and through force of will she had not been found wanting. The elder had given her a light along the path before her and signposts pointing the way. With those three she was for the first time filled with determination, something her father Jakir would not stand in the way of, and her mother Terandil would see to it that at least she would have someone to rely upon along the way. Though their hearts ached for it, she was given her father's sword once more, even knowing what must be done with it, and her elder brother and sister would accompany her to provide some much needed assistance when needed, but to also ensure she would never be without a friend. Then with all said and done, she set out for that first step on the road to becoming a true Sword-Saint. It was a simple matter on the surface, to give up her most prized possession to Hoonding and offer it as a blade for those in need. Yet one never does give up their father's sword with ease…
That was two years ago and since then Khaliya has been steadily advancing towards a dream she never knew. The Shehai comes to her hands when called, a blade shimmering and sharper than any she had ever known or ever will know, so long as her will is focused. With the increasing tension in the Empire things have been more and more rough out on the road though, as the growing influence of the Aldmeri Dominion has made people wary of Elves of most kinds, and often distrusting of strangers. She can still count on friends on the road though, and from time to time has made herself an ally of the strangest people across the varied lands. One of those a fellow Redguard of the Blades, who after a long and rather tumultuous journey through the Dragontail Mountains that neither wishes to recount, ended up being owed a favor. Though Khaliya will attest that it was more her being owed the favor, regardless she has found herself surrounded by strangers and being told of a rather bold plan to go and forge diplomatic links between the Mede Empire and Orsinium.
Were it not for her half-siblings Roshanara and Yashar already at the Orcish city, she would have suggested at the least her brother instead. But That appears to be a problem for a different day, and at the very least the Empire seems intent on seeing this one through, hopefully before the Bretons or Nords sack the city again.
Cin Vhetinla'braar // The Hall of Kings // Mandalore - Evening
Forty floors above the city streets the main hall was a flurry of activity as Mandalorians of thirty clans moved to ensure their appropriate place in the feast and the placement of visitors from nearly a hundred worlds and polities. Already numerous minor diplomats and officials had arrived, those who did not necessitate an announcement had been allowed to attend early and with the bounty of food making its way to each of the large tables arrayed in the hall it was hard to argue against such an invitation. As the secretary to the Mand'alor and one of the highest ranking individuals in the Republic, Jaessih was uniquely positioned to advise the arrangements of this feast, and it was of particular importance to see to everyone's needs while not ignoring the importance of this day for her people. Against advisement from Satine, she had dressed as normal, a simple suit in dark blues that was more professional and practical rather than some of the elaborate affairs that others attended in.
She had keen eyes on every little thing ongoing, and ears on the conversations already brewing around the event. It was mostly idle gossip between Corellians and some of the smaller state dignitaries, but she noticed one or two curious about when the Mand'alor would be making his presence known as well as if there were more Jedi from the Enclaves attending. Assuth Brug was working overtime on ensuring there wasn't too much concern there, the man one of the so-called "New Mandalorians" of Satine's attempt at pacifism decades earlier, but also dedicated to the ideal of this new republic. Rather brutish in appearance, he was often mistaken for one of the traditionalists but his lack of beskar and his distaste for violence soon convinced others away from such notions. Unfortunately though for her musings of the feast to be and visitors to come, Assuth was approaching her with that look that told her he was going to insist on her explaining something herself to someone.
"Madam Secretary." "Yes, Assuth?"
Another issue had been at hand as well, and she would have much preferred to take a step away from the great hall to deal with that, having sent out orders to an outer fleet and needing to check the status of that particular affair. But it seemed the Fallen Kings had other ideas. Assuth held in his hand a dataslate with some information on it regarding a few particular ambassadors.
"Really?" "Yes, madam. Really." "Very well then, inform them that we understand their positions back in the Authority, and respect them moreso for taking the risk to travel through occupied territory to make their request in person to the Mand'alor. However at the moment, the Paladin is engaged in other affairs that require his immediate attention and cannot grant any further audiences."
Assuth took notes as she spoke, the man diligently recording the relevant information as she herself watched the delegation from Seswenna arguing with each other across the hall. Though herself and others supported the rebellious states as best they could and offered their steadfast protection should they gain independence… This was rarely enough for those under Grievous' thumb, and some even in the Mandalorian Republic were making efforts to do more… Aggressive actions. It was something known about on the upper levels and coming into issue more than once when an explanation was required on those rare occasions the CIS actually chose to take action against them. But that was an ongoing issue as well, and more than once both herself and the Paladin had warned the CIS against testing them.
"Now, that will likely not be enough to sate them, and before they can get a word in to voice their protest you are to inform them that for the first time in thousands of years, they get to sit at a feasting table and partake of meat hunted by and prepared personally by a living Taung."
Silence followed as Assuth narrowed his eyes, his tolerance for politicking bullshit notably much less than hers and that was saying something.
"Madam… Isn't that stretching things? Wouldn't Atin Dral be frustrated by such an embellishment of-"
Jaessih cut him off with that kind of smug grin that only came from someone who knew exactly what they were doing and how it would play out, a rather catlike expression to say the least.
"Atin did lead the hunting party for most of the previous few days, and it can be attested that there were multiple beasts he slew personally, so in a way he did hunt a few of the animals presented. And he did assist in the preparation of a few, as well as guide others in the traditional dressing of the rest of the hunt, so it can also be said that there are a few plates upon these tables that Atin did in fact, prepare himself."
"Madam… Are you sure you're not Corellian?"
She gave a light chuckle at the insinuation, but brushed it off fairly quickly afterwards, turning her attention back to her own personal datapad and running through the series of things that needed to be taken care of before the event could begin in earnest. The Empress of the Renkar Imperium needed an appropriate announcement, and she glanced to the entrance hall to see banners being prepared for just such a moment, alternating holobanners that could be adjusted to display a series of crests and emblems depending on need. Then there were a few Corellians, one of which was going to be quite the headache but she couldn't outright refuse a member of the Greens. And a few others besides, including of all people an Argent Templar. A pause came as she considered that and slowly turned to face Assuth who was still standing there with a look on his face that showed his impatience.
"There is something else?" "Well, yes Madam. A young woman presented herself not too long ago for an audience with the Mand'alor, and while we did turn her away initially it appears that she's been rather insistent." "Alright, so what backwater, rebellion, or otherwise inconsequential system is she representing and why is her audience deemed more important than that of say, the Eriadu Authority?"
For his credit, the man took most matters seriously and rarely dismissed others no matter their particular eccentricities. This time though, he looked slightly perturbed and for the sake of keeping things more confidential, he showed the world in question to Jaessih. And that was quite the curious world indeed, one that was entirely unexpected.
"Are… You sure about that?" "Quite so, as while the young woman herself is… Well, eccentric to say the least, she did have a guardian attending her who not only corroborated her status as a foreign dignitary but…" "But…?" "She did not arrive on Mandalore alone. Apparently she is accompanied by what her guardian would only describe as a high-ranking administrator within their nation, and officially their regent." "... Fuck." "Precisely madam."
Right, appreciate the time taken with it and the corrections, though I'm going to bring that Anaxes thing up at some point lol. So go ahead and put The Lions of Alsakan in the characters tab and get to posting.
30km from the GRM-ISL Demarcation Line // CIS Providence-class Dreadnought The Silent Harbinger // Serenno
Before them were the stars of this distant backwater of the galaxy, the Outer Rim stretching out in every direction with only the rising of the proper Core every so often to remind the crew of their lost home. Hierarch-General Ezuntan Vokroi clenched his fist around the arm rest of the command throne, his eyes narrowing as once more on schedule, the Mandalorians made their showing with that damnedable Kandosii. This was the dance they had done once a day every day for the last decade, his fleet on one side of the line and theirs on the other. Protecting the traitors from the justice of his Supreme General. The Neimoidian adjusted the collar of his uniform, checking the seals of his suit and doing one last pressure check.
"All hands." He began, looking out over the other Neimoidians gathered on the bridge, all wearing combat EVA suits like him, the armored plates weathered and worn from battle. Each mark told of the battles during the Clone Wars they had fought through, being the rather few of their people who had actually fully committed to the war. Unlike the cowards back home who had cut and run at the first opportunity, the first moment their ideals were challenged and when Grievous became the sole authority of the CIS. Not Vokroi or his Koru Bloodsworn. They had immediately taken the knee before Grievous and sworn blood oaths to him personally, swearing to never rest until even the very idea of the Republic was shattered and reduced to ashes. And that was why it was Vokroi and the Bloodsworn attending what others may have called a punishment or a political reassignment.
He understood the importance of even the smallest duties, and knew that only him and those loyal like him could be trusted to commit to Grievous' designs. It was here that one of the key efforts would be undertaken, the one to finally bring the traitors to justice and show that the Confederacy was unshakeable.
"Prepare for escalation scenario thirty-two aurek. Let's see if the Mandalorians are sober enough or if they've been celebrating their so-called republic."
A chorus of affirmatives to his command came from the crew as they went to secure their helmets, and Ezuntan did the same. There would be no risks taken even if the Independent Systems League were cowards and hid behind their Mandalorian guard dogs. Everything was accounted for under the scenarios painstakingly drafted by him and his command staff, with probability assessments all pointing towards yet another failure to incite, but he wanted to be sure they were prepared in case of a proper escalation. It was the goal, so it only made sense to do so. "Combat seals good Hierarch!"
"We have weapons lock on point seventeen, preparing torpedoes!"
"Vultures departing, Hierarch!"
"Sensor suite executing maneuver four, setting distortion to maximum."
The tension of imminent battle set in, every instinct driving him to drive his warship forward and into the guns of the Mandalorians. It was the addiction of war that both he and his crew had cultivated over the years of the Clone Wars and the following conflict with the Empire. But though his soul yearned for battle, for the destruction of his enemy in righteous combat, he tensed his hands upon the arms of the command chair, thumbing the buttons to release a fresh round of combat stimms into the ports of his combat suit. The rush came as a chemical burn through his veins, heightening senses and sharpening focus as the rest of the crew around him did the same. War was fresh on the air and he breathed it in, exhaling the command that would kick off yet another provocation.
"All ships, begin scenario."
30km from the GRM-ISL Demarcation Line // GRM Kandosii Dreadnought Aranaka // Serenno
Gerig Dral sat back in the command throne on the bridge, idly watching the stars pass by as he had done every day for the last six months on this rotation. As a void-captain of some middling experience, he had long since given up on counting those pinpricks of light and determining how many of them had shifted position since his last patrol, though he rather enjoyed telling the new bloods to do so. They were the same distant stars he had seen while serving for the Hutts, and the same ones they were now as he served with the Mandalorian Republic's navy, and would be the same stars perhaps a thousand years from now. The only thing that would change would be the flags orbiting each of them, and while the kids were talking up the glories of Mandalore and the Paladin… Well he, like many of the older Mandalorians knew their history well enough that theirs was a culture led only by the strong and eventually someone with a bigger stick would come along. For now though, this Mand'alor seemed better than a good number through history.
Who held command never much mattered to him though, thinking back to the numerous clients of his past and the Hutts especially in just how immoral they had been. All he really cared about were those under his command, a hand coming up to trace along a scar running down his jaw and remembering the worst of those assignments. He cut an imposing figure by any means, the typical "Mandalorian brute" as the Corellians attested, someone who had spent a lifetime at war and showed the scars for it.
"Alor'ad, our friends are back."
Heka Dral, another of the clan, called back from navigations and sensors, pulling up the contact on screen and soon enough the oversized and rather phallic looking ship was in view. It had been a regular show every other day or so, and to date Gerig had yet to rise to the bait. They knew the game pretty well, as he and his crew had done the exact same tactic before while in their days as petty mercs. Still, she was a rather hefty bitch in his mind, well over a kilometer in length and bristling with enough weapons to give even a beskar-clad Kandosii some trouble. His ship wasn't, and that was enough to give some pause every time the provocation came. But still, every time he was tempted just a little to hock a baradium-tipped missile right back at the Neimoidians and see just how battle-hardened they really were.
"Alright, keep an eye on them Heka and let me know when it's party time."
The only difference today, as opposed to most, is that a good number of his crew were taking a bit of rec time to celebrate the republic. Heka, one of the younger lads and rather fresh to Clan Dral was here of his own volition, not really having much family due to his old clan being a smaller one that had been absorbed into Dral. It was the same for him personally, and he had respect for the Dral for that, as well as how they didn't treat them any differently for it. So as much as he really wanted to start that fight with the Neimoidians… He couldn't disrespect his Alor or his fellow Clan by losing control so easily. At least…
"Alor'ad… We have an encrypted message?"
"From who? We're supposed to be on isolated patrol."
Gerig watched the view screen ahead for a moment, seeing the ponderous shifting of the Providence class dreadnought just thirty kilometers away and clearly beginning one more attempt at provocation. The dusty grey of his helmet came into vision just off to his side, and begrudgingly he sat upright to slip it on over his head, at first not bothering to engage the seals as he figured this was just a Founding Day message sent in solidarity. Slowly the decrypter worked at unlocking the message and then he watched the full script work down his viewscreen. Without a word he thumbed the buttons on the right arm of the command throne, sending out general quarters across the ship. The alarms set into motion immediately as he continued reading through the text, his heart pounding in his chest as he felt the weight of what he read sinking in.
"Sir?"
"All crew!" His command came out over the intercom systems as general quarters orders were given in Mando'a across all decks. "General quarters, general quarters! Seal all bulkheads and stow all gear!" Gerig turned to the incoming crew, boots thudding across the deckplating as they went to their stations and started securing their beskad for combat. "Khala, give me a hard burn to starboard, I want armor front." An affirmation came from the woman beside Heka as both of them began sharing information on the status at hand and working to assess combat scenarios. To his side another Mandalorian came to station at weapons, and he turned to give his orders.
"Raiki, give me status on our missiles."
"We've got thirty Jaro primed and ready to arm and launch at your command, Alor'ad."
Silence fell over the bridge for a moment, only the ship's alarms filling the pause as a dozen helmets turned to look at their captain, wondering if this was just a drill, or if something had changed. He dismissed the order from his screen and took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come and the consequences of this one action. He knew what would come of this, what his crew would have to do in order to survive. But he was confident in their skills, even the new blood on board. They had trained for this, and over everything else… They were Mandalorian. They would either emerge victorious or join with the Manda. Gerig ensured the magnetic locks on his boots were active and rested back into the command throne, watching as the streak of a green turbolaser bolt came from the Providence dreadnought across the line. Just as expected, it skipped across the deflector shields as it had always done, and just as expected there was that hail from the CIS captain surely to be giving platitudes of some kind of malfunction. But this time he declined the hail.
"Raiki. Put two down their throat. And make sure our Gra'tua are prepared to intercept incoming fighters."
Keldabe // Mandalore
The sounds of music and festivities filled the air throughout the capital, of revelry from millions of not just Mandalorians but all who had come to partake in the culture and celebrate with them. Mock fighter battles took place overhead alongside yet more racing and contests of strength drew thousands to the various venues. Musicians of every species and nationality held concerts drawing the crowds and competing with everything else ongoing. Yet as the star began to slip over the horizon darkening the skies, a sound built up from the center of the city and intensifying with each passing moment. It began as a few steadily sounding the beginning of the true celebration, and then dozens of drums joined in. The pounding rhythmic sound filled the air and resonated within all across the capital city. Hundreds more sounded as other halls joined in, drowning out the gunfights, the fighter battles over head and soon enough even the concerts.
Then thousands of drums beating in the same song, a chanting building up as thousands more voices joined in. It was the song of their people celebrating unity like no other. For millennia they had been scattered, broken and taken as little better than petty mercenaries. And though it had been twenty-five years since the founding of their republic… This felt like the solidification of their efforts, a realization that this was not just some small thing that would fade. For those not of the Mandalorians it was a terrifying moment, seeing the unity of their people as it had been witnessed few times before. Images of the crusades came to mind especially for the Corellians, and some wondered if this was the start of something and not just the celebration of something already done.
But for the Mandalorians they raised their voices to the song of Vode An, finding solidarity in their fellows even of rival clans. Thousands upon thousands filled the feasting halls of the Administrative district, drinking and eating among friends, family and strangers alike. The Great Feast of the Clans had begun, ushering in a new era for all Mandalorians…
Andre Valias
Lunamaria Hawke
FourtyTwo
Rune_Alchemist
wintersoldier
Neziul
vietmyke
Noctis
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