Cazzer1604

The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal Library

As she stood next to Havfyg, Veta got herself together and began to reflect on the words she had heard, and to observe her comrades-in-chains. Veta had noticed the thinly-veiled threats of this ‘Caro’ towards the Emperor. His voice was raspy and gravelled, like that of an old man tired of war and tiring of life. As she peered over to inspect this mysterious, eloquent man, Veta instinctively reached for her non-existent sword with her right hand upon gazing upon him. The ‘man’ was that no longer, his hovering husk of a body was shrivelled and dried, barely held together from decomposition. ‘Caro’ was a Lich, or some other form of undead, that much was clear to Veta. She had heard stories of powerful undead whose wails of death echoed in caves where no sane adventurer dare enter, and who consume the souls of those unfortunate enough to cross paths with such revenants. And yet, the being who floated above the stone floor not meters away from here seemed harmless enough, civilised, even. Still, she would make sure to be cautious around it, she felt a coldness in the air surrounding the Lich.

The voice that came from beyond the corridor took Veta by surprise. It belonged to a tall and dark Dunmer, his eyes of amethyst shining even in the dim light of the dungeon. His disposition was one of uninterest, dismissal and a pretentious kind of boredom, and his impatience was abundantly clear in his words. There were certainly some characters in this rag-tag squad, and Veta couldn’t help but feel out of place within it. What had the Emperor planned for them?

Almost as if on cue, Havfyg gestured for the group to leave the cells, and whatever were-creature was imprisoned there, behind. The group of course followed, with the Dunmer eagerly storming ahead, and the Lich rising from the seated position it had taken whilst waiting.
As they scaled, trails of blood became increasingly prevalent, and the Emperor warned the group to maintain alertness as they reached a room after witnessing a butchered carcass of a man. What used to be furniture was splintered and broken, with claw marks and debris now the decorum. Whatever had caused this had clearly escaped through the open window, with a warm summer breeze a welcome sensation on Veta’s skin. The group readied for combat as a chest rumbled and shook. Havfyg broke it open after producing a magical weapon effortlessly, revealing a pathetic-looking man shuddering and weeping. The Emperor’s quick interrogation resulted in a brief yet decisive answer. A werewolf did this. What were the chances of two being in and around the Imperial Dungeon? Did this one arrive to terrorise with the intent of freeing the other? Were werewolves capable of such coordination? Veta was by no means an expert, perhaps they needed to find someone who was.

Veta felt the servant’s eyes inspecting her. She turned her head to meet his gaze, and saw the fear in his face and his quivering knees, but not one born of his near-miss with the werewolf. No, this was a different kind, and one stemming from herself and ‘Caro’. He began to cry incessantly after staring at Veta, and she felt confused. What had he seen in her? She had not seen someone cry in her presence since she had broken a boy’s arm in a fight during her youth, and certainly not like this.

Havfyg dismissed his servant’s emotional state as a symptom of skooma withdrawal, but Veta did not believe it. She had seen such effects before, when she had raided skooma dens hidden deep in the Great Forest, but hysterical sobbing had never been one of them. She decided not to question her Emperor as he handed her the sword that the treasured so much. She thought she would never again feel its perfectly-balanced weight in her hand, and felt a great rejoice as she grasped its handle. She heeded Havfyg’s suggestion of using the silver sword to combat the werewolf should any of them come across it.

Veta tried to locate her things amongst the rubble. She found her scabbard and belt, as well as the several pieces of her armour and brigandine, which she had left in her hotel room before she attempted the assassination of her target that had landed her in the Imperial Dungeons. How curious that they were here when they had no reason to be. Lastly, she had tracked down her helmet, but she paused as she noticed a robe lying next to it. It was creased and somewhat mangled from being thrown across the room, but its sigil was clear enough for Veta to interpret, she had seen it everyday for most of her life. It was the White Tree of Chorrol, exactly like the one on her sword’s pommel, but it did not belong to her. After equipping all of her gear, she waited by the edge of the room, her eyes fixed on the Chorrolian robes, waiting to see who, if anyone, would claim it. It could not be a coincidence that it was there, and she was fearful that one of the nobles form Chorrol could be nearby. As far as she knew, she was still wanted for questioning and was still blamed for the death of the Count.

To her surprise, Caro claimed the robes. She frowned and glared at the Lich as he put them over his frail body and his lifeless eyes met her stare. She must have answers, though she did not look forward to the prospect of communicating with this abomination. However the time was not now, she needed to have a private word with this ‘Caro’, but not so private as to be at his mercy if he turned nasty. But she made it a mission to find out exactly who he is, or was.

Veta felt much more comfortable once again in her second skin of steel and leather. Though she was still as confused as she was in her cell. The Emperor had not given much away of his plans, and even now he brooded in silence, overlooking a city that seemed to be celebrating something or another despite the troubles plaguing the province and continent. As the others began to leave for the city, Veta approached Havfyg somewhat nervously, although she attempted to hide her apprehension.

“Your Grace, forgive me. But what in Oblivion are we doing? Why have you released us, and to what end?”

The Emperor was not inclined to answer quickly. Instead, he waited a few moments longer observing the city before turning to face her with a response. "To the end of serving your Emperor. I trust you are used to following orders of your liege. This is no different.". Havfyg's words possessed undertones of a threatening nature, ice laced each syllable and authority backed them up. "But consider this your briefing", he said as he produced a letter from his robes and handed it to Veta, "Take some time to read it to familiarise yourself with your current utility to me".

Veta took the letter hesitantly. She did not care for such secrecy and intrigue, direct orders and clear goals and objectives were much preferred. She could not see how she qualified as a decent candidate for whatever Havfyg had planned, but at least it's better than the alternative of life spent in that prison cell.

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

@Cazzer1604 - That all looks pretty solid. Just to clarify; Jaron didn't receive permanent damage there? The CS is accepted. I've added them to the CS tab.

@Melkor

Nope, Jaron walked away relatively unscathed except the scar on his temple, extremely luckily.

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

I've updated my post @Melkor.

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

@Cazzer1604 Uhhh. Didn't we say no canon characters unless you do the IC at Harrenhal w/o a CS and pass a test? And weren't you the one that agreed with me that we should make original characters?

@Melkor

Ah shit, I dun goofed. Totally forgot about that, I randomised a random lord last night and then forgot that we weren't allowed canon characters.

I'll edit, creating a new character underneath Jonos.

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

Jaron Steed

Name: Jaron Steed

Age: 20

Sex: Male

Appearance: Short, dark hair. Stubble. Stern features but a friendly demeanour. Blue eyes. Slightly athletic build. 6ft 1". Scar on the end of his right brow, near his temple.

House: House Steed, Petty Lords of the Southstone

https://imgur.com/AeNemPy

Words: "We Mount Towards Glory"

Seat: Steedteat

Region: The Riverlands

Overlord: Lord Jonos Bracken

Profession/Title: Master of Horses at Stone Hedge

Religion: Faith of the Seven

Philosophy: Loyal and content with life, Jaron has no grand ambitions to achieve a higher place in life. He is perfectly happy tending to the fine horses of Stone Hedge and courting the sister of his lord. He, like most respectable men, has a code of honour and a sense of duty to those around him.

Bio: Born to a house that has served the Bracken family for generations now, Jaron is another loyal servant in a long line of Horsemasters. He is best friends with the youngest of the Bracken clan, Wyllis, and has a romantic relationship (insofar kept secret) with Catelyn Bracken, the sister of Lord Bracken. Jaron's father was killed a few years ago by bandits who had raided a harvest shipment that he was protecting. Jonos Bracken, stricken with the loss of his friend and bannerman, immediately send out a party to hunt down the aggressors, of which Jaron was eagerly keen to join.

The posse quickly tracked down the perpetrators, and Jaron was the one to slay his father's murderer. He felt empty afterwards, yet would have plunged his steel into the bandit's heart time and time again. Jaron managed to move on with his life, he had to, to look after his widowed mother and younger sister the best he can. Not embittered by the experience Jaron continues with his life, learning to appreciate the positive aspects of it while he can. He hopes soon to marry Catelyn Bracken and raise a family with her, Jonos would surely agree to it, he had no grand plans to wed his siblings to prestigious men of nobler houses. A happy life seems within grasp!

Armament: A steel sword, 'Hoof's Thorn', with navy bands engraved into the handle and black horse hair stemming from the pommel.

Other Notable Equipment: As master of the stables of Stone Hedge, Jaron has the power to requisition horses and a few men should he need to, and has a reasonable amount of autonomy and authority given to him from his lord, castellan and master-at-arms, with Jaron being on good terms with all three.

Jaron possesses a loyal and well-trained thoroughbred horse called Deynum.

Other: Jaron is a calm, collected individual, professional in his tasks and responsibilities as Master of Horses at Stone Hedge. He is jovial and pleasant to be around, and a natural charmer amongst friends and romantic interests. His only flaw is that he tends to show off, a side effect of his success as a racer of equines. He is fiercely loyal to his family and those he cares about, and is not above violence if someone forces his hand. Somewhat optimistic in a dreary world, he has yet to experience the true horrors of the world and of war.

Sample Post: Open meadows, a gentle breeze and an uninterrupted spring's sunshine bearing over the proceedings of the land. 'What's not to love?', thinks Jaron as Deynum canters below him. The grass yields beneath the horseshoes of the gracious steed, his coat grey as winter's fog and his mane like silk. Jaron pats his horse on the neck, approving of the smoothness of his ride. Not for his own comfort, no, for that of his nobleborn passenger straddling behind him, who is unused to the dire hardships of horseback travel.

"Such a fine day, I can hardly believe that that downpour happened just the other day!", came a softly spoken voice from behind Jaron's ears. So spoke Catelyn Bracken, one of the many ladies of Stone Hedge, and a dear friend of Jaron, although recently he has been thinking there may be something more mutually felt between them. Jaron audibly agreed in earnest, it was indeed a lovely occasion for a trip out with his closest companions.

"Should we rest by the oak over there?", bellowed a different voice, belonging to Wyllis Bracken, the youngest sibling of Lord Jonos, and Jaron's closest confident and friend. The suggestion was mutually accepted, and after hitching the horses underneath the sprawling shadow of the oak tree, the band of three began to gossip, eat and drink while relaxing under the midday sun. Eventually, jovial tipsiness turned into drunken self-assuredness, which culminated in Wyllis convinced that THIS time, he'd finally beat Joran in a horse race, stating that 'all men are equal after a couple of 'skins of wine'.

Yet again, Joran beat Wyllis by a fair amount, however that was not the most memorable event of the day. Of course, it was for Joran, for what happened next knocked the memory right out of him. Celebrating his victory, Joran was detailing his superiority of horsemanship abilities, proudly exclaiming that his family had been the fastest riders this side of the Narrow Sea for generations, and he was not about to let that title slip in his lifetime. In his hubris, he had wandered right behind Wyllis' horse, and the last thing Joran remembered was a snort and the sound of a horse shifting before everything went black.

The maester exclaimed that Joran was extremely lucky to be alive, and luckier still to keep his wits about him afterwards. Many a man had gone lame in the head after an unfortunate incident with a horse, but Joran was not one of them. Other men would have suffered from a phobia of horses since, but not Joran, such a commitment would go against every bone in his body and the pre-determined destiny running through his veins

The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal Library

Today was the twenty-fifth. The twenty-fifth day that Veta has been constrained to her cell, inhaling with each breath the dankness that oozed from the walls and the musk of dried blood and piss. She was allowed free movement within her quarters, whatever ‘free’ could mean; the guards had clearly not pegged her for a particularly dangerous mage. The same could not be said for others surrounding her. She had heard hushed orders from guards concerning sand and oil, procedures that befall the more magically-oriented criminals of Tamriel.

She wasn’t overly keen on mages. Magic was fine. Parlour tricks and spells that have utility, such as the ones her mother taught her, were one thing. The ability to burn entire villages with fireballs was another, and she knew well that those who seek such power often let it corrupt them. She has previously put down such dangerously curious individuals who could not handle such destructive responsibility.

Veta had spent these few weeks reflecting on her life over the past year or so. The decisions that had led her here, the regrets she had. But mostly she had nurtured remorse of her reality, the fact she was never going to get back the life she had, due to her failure and her naivete. Exercise was her only other activity in her dark cell, though she did not particularly enjoy getting her face close to the floor when she undertook push-ups, she felt vulnerable to catch a disease and promptly die an agonising death. Perhaps such a fate was the only way to escape these walls. She had seen nobody since she was thrown into the cell. No taunting from the guards, no indication of any trial or further justice. Just a stone-walled room and a bucket, with hints of the outside world teasing her through sunlight piercing a narrow slit at the top of the back wall.

Until now.

Veta jumped up from her bed as she heard stone scratching stone, the first foreign sound she had heard for some time. She heard authoritative footsteps echoing in the corridor, pausing frequently before continuing. The steps got closer and closer until they stopped right outside her cell. Staring in, with an expression of smug contempt, was a burly man with sharp eyes and a beard of hay. Even from the dim lighting, Veta could see a scarline hugging the left side of his face, a vulgar reminder of battles long since fought. His garments were certainly of noble origin. No, regal origin.

Vera’s eyes widened as she began to realise who this might be. She had never seen the man before, but there was an air of unspoken authority of the absolute kind surrounding this man, an indescribable feeling of dominance and well-deserved self-righteousness. This man, Veta suspected, was the King of Kings, the Emperor himself. Something in her heart told her so, but she knew not why or how. She just knew. By this point, he had ceased his staring, and had returned to somewhere else in the block. Moments after, the distinct sound of metal bouncing on stone echoed throughout the dungeon, and Vera’s eyes locked onto the ring that had made its way into her cell.

“Put those on. Then we’ll talk.”

The former-knight hesitated at first. Such a demand was much like asking to eat an unknown mushroom in a forest littered with the corpses of the curious. However, she reasoned that if the Emperor wanted her dead, she would be in a wagon to a mass grave, alongside many others who had stood in the way of Havfyg I the Dragonborn, or had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time during his wars of (re)conquest.

With nought else as an alternative, Veta reluctantly placed the ring on her littlest finger of her left hand. If the need came to amputate it, at least it would be her least useful finger on her non-sword hand. She patiently waited for the next command, or the next inkling of what exactly was happening, and why the Emperor felt the need to socialise with criminals in such a dire setting.

The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal Library

Veteria Venenum

Name:
Veteria ‘Veta’ Venenum

(“Veta the Valorous”)
(“The Whore-Knight of Chorrol”)

Birthsign:
The Serpent

Race:
Imperial (with Breton grandparents)

Appearance:
Tall for a woman, but not extraordinarily so, Veta was never quite the effeminate maiden her mother wanted her to be. She possesses strong facial features, yet remains attractive to most men should they not be intimidated by her sturdy build and piercing glare. She wears her dark, straight hair shoulder-length, and ties it in a messy bun should the need arise to equip her helmet; “truly damned are the men who do not see Veta’s hair touch her armour”. Her jawline could cut through bone, while her deep green eyes can and does cut through souls, should they scowl at anyone who irks her. Veta’s nose has been slightly imperfected thanks to a couple of breaks during training and skirmishes, slightly crooked in the bridge, yet this gives her face character and an unspoken story. While most do not witness it, she carries a stab wound just above her right hip, inflicted by an assassin who had targeted her liege. The attacker did not survive the encounter gladly.

When not in her armour, Veta dresses fairly conservatively and dons masculine clothing with little embroidery or bling. However, she is not against wearing dresses should the occasion call for it; after all, even knights need to scrub up well from time to time.

Background:
Born in a shepherding hamlet just outside of Chorrol, Veta vividly remembers seeing the Count and their band of Knights riding through Chorrol when she visited the city for supplies with her mother and father, and how fascinated she was by the shining armour and the aura of chivalry and honour they emitted. She knew from then that she was not destined to a life of sheep and wool-weaving. She trained hard each day whenever she could, beating up the local boys easily once she practiced for long enough and hard enough until she had exhausted her potential within her home setting.

After begging for her parents’ permission, they reluctantly but proudly allowed their daughter to become a squire in service to a Knight of Chorrol, a man called Percius the Bard. While unorthodox, Veta managed to secure her position due to a combination of her diligent personality, her skills and potential as a fighter and a word from her father who had the good graces of the Chorrol court from his days as an adventurer.

Veta grew up to become a fiercely competent woman-knight, growing up alongside the future Count and becoming a well-respected figure in the court and the city, feared for her ferocious abilities as a hand-to-hand fighter. She eventually surpassed all of her peers to become personal bodyguard to the Count, and the court of course noticed their close, and some would say intimate, relationship, which was the subject of much intrigue during times of peace. She dealt with local banditry and wildlife problems with professional efficiency, and helped the City Guard maintain law and order within the walls of Chorrol.

These happy years were cut short with the sudden death of her liege, by assassination via poison. She can remember the panic and awe of dread as the Count choked and vomited blood after consuming his third glass of wine, and the shock and horror of the Count’s face as he died slowly and painfully. Suspects were drawn quickly, with Vera becoming the prime target for the townfolk’s rage and the court's scapegoat; some thought she committed the heinous crime, others were convinced of her part in it, most saw her failure to protect the Count as unacceptable. Her old mentor Percius, now retired, saw fit to help Veta escape in the night as her guilt became increasingly concrete in the eyes of the city. Veta looked back at Chorrol for the last time in tears as her horse cantered into the Great Forest.

The experience somewhat broke Veta’s once-cherished sense of chivalry and honour. She had more than fulfilled her duty, serving her lord faithfully and competently for years. And yet the town and her ‘friends’ in the court turned on her in an instant. Word had spread across the realm of her apparent guilt, and while she was not a wanted woman in the eyes of Imperial Law, no lord would have her services. After all, who would want a knight suspected to seduce and then poison her liege?

With little other option, and with cynicism corrupting the outlook of this once-decorated knight, Veta began working as a thug- and assassin-for-hire, putting her skills of swordsmanship and unarmed fighting to use, combined with her imposing presence. Veta would often meet her targets on the road while they were travelling, challenging and slaying any escorts in her way. Poison achieved what upfront duels could not, and in an ironic twist of fate, Veta had become what her accusers back in Chorrol claimed her to be – a corrupted knight who utilised poison for murder.

Personality:
Despite her recent experiences, Veta does maintain a sense of duty and honour in her everyday life, remaining courteous and chivalrous to most she comes across, but without the pretence of friendliness or gregariousness. She was never much of a talker, but is polite enough to return conversation should it find her and is pleasant enough socially. However, she possesses a fiery temper that, when ignited, is difficult to quell. Some said that her within her green eyes lies a candle, one that can easily burst into a wildfire should she be pressed. She can also be impatient and has little time for laziness or incompetence, often being short with people should a situation frustrate her. She is not without a sense of humour, but rarely quips herself, preferring to subtlety tease instead of joke.

Not a natural leader, Veta struggles without someone to serve, but she will not pledge her loyalty or friendship to anyone unless they prove to her that they deserve it. Her current situation and recent jaded view on life has enabled her to get her hands dirty in the world of assassination and thuggery, and will not hesitate to intimidate or (if needs be) murder in order to get a job done. However, she has her limits, and will not accept jobs that target innocents or anyone she deems is not worthy of death. Fortunately, individuals who have earned the ire of those who are willing to pay to have someone kill them tend not to be the best of souls, and Veta has insofar only had to kill corrupt officials, irritant bandits and greedy merchants. She does not kill incessantly, and prefers as little bloodshed as possible; if a combatant yields before her, she will show them mercy. Old habits tend to die hard.

Typical Equipment:
- Fine steel longsword with an ivory-white tree on the pommel and branch engravings along the cross-guard, reflecting her time as a Knight of Chorrol.
- Steel armour breastplate, gauntlets, greaves, and spaulders, all enchanted with resistance to magic.
- Steel ‘armet’ style helmet with visor.
- Steel-studded leather brigandine vest lined with navy cloth over the breastplate.
- Dark cloth pants and leather riding boots.
- Dark cloak with sheep’s wool lining for cold weather.
- Several potions and poisons both sedative and lethal inside a leather satchel.
- A strong, stocky grey roan horse called Caval, who has been her companion for 5 years.

Why Vera was left to rot in the Imperial Prison:
Vera received a job from an anonymous individual, who only communicated via envoys and dead drops. The target? An advisor to a member of the Elder Council, who had ordered the murder of a mining town in order to take it over for his own benefit (which Veta verified before carrying out the deed). While Veta was relatively new-blooded in her career as an assassin, and felt out of her depth with such a task, the money offered was incredibly good and would afford her a lot of freedoms in life, perhaps enough to purchase land and a property to call her own, to properly start over.

She opted to use a disguise of an Imperial Guard to get into the chambers of the elder council, and poison the advisor in his sleep. On her way to his chambers, she was stopped by a suspiciously overly-zealous guard, who had her searched and found the poison. She was then seized and taken to the Imperial Prison to be tried for attempted murder.

Skillset:
Veta has received a great deal of formal training as a chivalrous knight, supplemented by her own homegrown talent for brawling and ferocious natural strength. Specialised in knightly longsword techniques, she is a more-than competent fighter who could hold her own against most of what north-western Cyrodiil could throw at her. She has basically spent her whole adult life in heavy armour, and wears it like a second skin, enabling her to move, dodge and run with ease where most would struggle should they don her armour. Her getting used to the weight of her armour like this gives her a huge forces behind her punches and strikes, which she used often when swordfighting in her own style of brawling-sword combat; a powerful slash is often followed by a furious gauntlet-encased haymaker that could shatter skulls.
Her father, being an adventurer and herbalist, taught her everything he knew about potions and poisons and the herbs and ingredients that went into them. This empowered Veta to be able to craft potent concoctions to heal or harm as required, being able to identify wild flowers and plants easily. This has come into its own with her recent career change, but public knowledge of these skills might have encouraged it to occur in the first place.

Her mother was a healer in the hamlet Veta grew up in, but not before she spent part of her life in the circus. Therefore, Veta was taught some Restoration magic to heal what natural produce could not, as well as aspects of Illusion and Alterations magic that circus tricksters had taught her mother; such things include turning a iron mallet into the weight of a feather and back again, or transmuting materials into others, or walking on water momentarily. While not fundamental to her skillset, it has come in handy from time to time, from impressing courtiers to getting her out of tight spots.

Spells:
- Healing Hands
- Heal Self
- Open Lock (Novice-level)
- Feather (objects, say on her own armour if she needs to sprint)
- Burden (objects)
- Water Walking
- Water Breathing
- Telekinesis (very weak)
- Candlelight

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

I mean, I don't think the main point of RPing is to take charge of pre-established characters in the lore.

It's to take inspiration from a pre-defined world to create your own characters and make your own stories. It's not about changing the outcome of Robert's Rebellion by creating a Dornish beast of a knight that slices Bobby B in half on the Trident. Its about creating a character that reacts, adapts and responds to the world around them and creates interesting narratives that are fun to engage in.

As least for me, anyway.

The Elder Scrolls: The Infernal Library

Veteria Venenum

Name:
Veteria ‘Veta’ Venenum

(“Veta the Valorous”)
(“The Whore-Knight of Chorrol”)

Birthsign:
The Serpent

Race:
Imperial (with Breton grandparents)

Appearance:
Tall for a woman, but not extraordinarily so, Veta was never quite the effeminate maiden her mother wanted her to be. She possesses strong facial features, yet remains attractive to most men should they not be intimidated by her sturdy build and piercing glare. She wears her dark, straight hair shoulder-length, and ties it in a messy bun should the need arise to equip her helmet; “truly damned are the men who do not see Veta’s hair touch her armour”. Her jawline could cut through bone, while her deep green eyes can and does cut through souls, should they scowl at anyone who irks her. Veta’s nose has been slightly imperfected thanks to a couple of breaks during training and skirmishes, slightly crooked in the bridge, yet this gives her face character and an unspoken story. While most do not witness it, she carries a stab wound just above her right hip, inflicted by an assassin who had targeted her liege. The attacker did not survive the encounter gladly.

When not in her armour, Veta dresses fairly conservatively and dons masculine clothing with little embroidery or bling. However, she is not against wearing dresses should the occasion call for it; after all, even knights need to scrub up well from time to time.

Background:
Born in a shepherding hamlet just outside of Chorrol, Veta vividly remembers seeing the Count and their band of Knights riding through Chorrol when she visited the city for supplies with her mother and father, and how fascinated she was by the shining armour and the aura of chivalry and honour they emitted. She knew from then that she was not destined to a life of sheep and wool-weaving. She trained hard each day whenever she could, beating up the local boys easily once she practiced for long enough and hard enough until she had exhausted her potential within her home setting.

After begging for her parents’ permission, they reluctantly but proudly allowed their daughter to become a squire in service to a Knight of Chorrol, a man called Percius the Bard. While unorthodox, Veta managed to secure her position due to a combination of her diligent personality, her skills and potential as a fighter and a word from her father who had the good graces of the Chorrol court from his days as an adventurer.

Veta grew up to become a fiercely competent woman-knight, growing up alongside the future Count and becoming a well-respected figure in the court and the city, feared for her ferocious abilities as a hand-to-hand fighter. She eventually surpassed all of her peers to become personal bodyguard to the Count, and the court of course noticed their close, and some would say intimate, relationship, which was the subject of much intrigue during times of peace. She dealt with local banditry and wildlife problems with professional efficiency, and helped the City Guard maintain law and order within the walls of Chorrol.

These happy years were cut short with the sudden death of her liege, by assassination via poison. She can remember the panic and awe of dread as the Count choked and vomited blood after consuming his third glass of wine, and the shock and horror of the Count’s face as he died slowly and painfully. Suspects were drawn quickly, with Vera becoming the prime target for the townfolk’s rage and the court's scapegoat; some thought she committed the heinous crime, others were convinced of her part in it, most saw her failure to protect the Count as unacceptable. Her old mentor Percius, now retired, saw fit to help Veta escape in the night as her guilt became increasingly concrete in the eyes of the city. Veta looked back at Chorrol for the last time in tears as her horse cantered into the Great Forest.

The experience somewhat broke Veta’s once-cherished sense of chivalry and honour. She had more than fulfilled her duty, serving her lord faithfully and competently for years. And yet the town and her ‘friends’ in the court turned on her in an instant. Word had spread across the realm of her apparent guilt, and while she was not a wanted woman in the eyes of Imperial Law, no lord would have her services. After all, who would want a knight suspected to seduce and then poison her liege?

With little other option, and with cynicism corrupting the outlook of this once-decorated knight, Veta began working as a thug- and assassin-for-hire, putting her skills of swordsmanship and unarmed fighting to use, combined with her imposing presence. Veta would often meet her targets on the road while they were travelling, challenging and slaying any escorts in her way. Poison achieved what upfront duels could not, and in an ironic twist of fate, Veta had become what her accusers back in Chorrol claimed her to be – a corrupted knight who utilised poison for murder.

Personality:
Despite her recent experiences, Veta does maintain a sense of duty and honour in her everyday life, remaining courteous and chivalrous to most she comes across, but without the pretence of friendliness or gregariousness. She was never much of a talker, but is polite enough to return conversation should it find her and is pleasant enough socially. However, she possesses a fiery temper that, when ignited, is difficult to quell. Some said that her within her green eyes lies a candle, one that can easily burst into a wildfire should she be pressed. She can also be impatient and has little time for laziness or incompetence, often being short with people should a situation frustrate her. She is not without a sense of humour, but rarely quips herself, preferring to subtlety tease instead of joke.

Not a natural leader, Veta struggles without someone to serve, but she will not pledge her loyalty or friendship to anyone unless they prove to her that they deserve it. Her current situation and recent jaded view on life has enabled her to get her hands dirty in the world of assassination and thuggery, and will not hesitate to intimidate or (if needs be) murder in order to get a job done. However, she has her limits, and will not accept jobs that target innocents or anyone she deems is not worthy of death. Fortunately, individuals who have earned the ire of those who are willing to pay to have someone kill them tend not to be the best of souls, and Veta has insofar only had to kill corrupt officials, irritant bandits and greedy merchants. She does not kill incessantly, and prefers as little bloodshed as possible; if a combatant yields before her, she will show them mercy. Old habits tend to die hard.

Typical Equipment:
- Fine steel longsword with an ivory-white tree on the pommel and branch engravings along the cross-guard, reflecting her time as a Knight of Chorrol.
- Steel armour breastplate, gauntlets, greaves, and spaulders, all enchanted with resistance to magic.
- Steel ‘armet’ style helmet with visor.
- Steel-studded dark leather brigandine vest lined with navy cloth over the breastplate.
- Dark cloth pants and leather riding boots.
- Dark cloak with sheep’s wool lining for cold weather.
- Several potions and poisons both sedative and lethal inside a leather satchel.
- A strong, stocky grey roan horse called Caval, who has been her companion for 5 years.

Why Vera was left to rot in the Imperial Prison:
Vera received a job from an anonymous individual, who only communicated via envoys and dead drops. The target? An advisor to a member of the Elder Council, who had ordered the murder of a mining town in order to take it over for his own benefit (which Veta verified before carrying out the deed). While Veta was relatively new-blooded in her career as an assassin, and felt out of her depth with such a task, the money offered was incredibly good and would afford her a lot of freedoms in life, perhaps enough to purchase land and a property to call her own, to properly start over.

She opted to use a disguise of an Imperial Guard to get into the chambers of the elder council, and poison the advisor in his sleep. On her way to his chambers, she was stopped by a suspiciously overly-zealous guard, who had her searched and found the poison. She was then seized and taken to the Imperial Prison to be tried for attempted murder.

Skillset:
Veta has received a great deal of formal training as a chivalrous knight, supplemented by her own homegrown talent for brawling and ferocious natural strength. Specialised in knightly longsword techniques, she is a more-than competent fighter who could hold her own against most of what north-western Cyrodiil could throw at her. She has basically spent her whole adult life in heavy armour, and wears it like a second skin, enabling her to move, dodge and run with ease where most would struggle should they don her armour. Her getting used to the weight of her armour like this gives her huge force behind her punches and strikes, which she uses often when swordfighting in her own style of brawling-sword combat; a powerful slash is often followed by a furious gauntlet-encased haymaker that could shatter skulls (and has).

Her father, being an adventurer and herbalist, taught her everything he knew about potions and poisons and the herbs and ingredients that go into them. This empowered Veta to be able to craft potent concoctions to heal or harm as required, being able to identify wild flowers and plants easily. This has come into its own with her recent career change, but Chorrol's public knowledge of these skills might have encouraged it to occur in the first place.

Her mother was a healer in the hamlet Veta grew up in, but not before she spent part of her life in the circus. Therefore, Veta was taught some Restoration magic to heal what natural produce could not, as well as aspects of Illusion and Alterations magic that circus tricksters had taught her mother; such things include turning a iron mallet into the weight of a feather and back again, or transmuting materials into others, or walking on water momentarily. While not fundamental to her skillset, it has come in handy from time to time, from impressing courtiers to getting her out of tight spots.

Spells:
- Healing Hands
- Heal Self
- Open Lock (Novice-level)
- Feather (objects, say on her own armour if she needs to sprint)
- Burden (objects)
- Water Walking
- Water Breathing
- Telekinesis (very weak)
- Candlelight

A Splintered Realm. (GOT AU)

I'm in. I'll get writing a character.