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Here's a character for the back burner - or not to be used at all. I just liked the idea so I worked on it. Finished on my phone so it might needs some edits, but enjoy Ms. Hypothetical.
Name: Wylendriel
Race: Bosmer
Family Origins: We shall say that she is a first generation immigrant. Though born in Valenwood, she went to Skyrim at a young age. She suffered her share of discrimination at the hands of the Nords, watched the civil war, and witnessed the dragons. Even so, she found her place as a respected healer through the chaos and need of her services were in no shortages. Though a follower of the Green Pact, she and many others follow a watered down version of it in an evolving world where they reject cannibalism.
Appearance: Her overall demeanor is unsuspecting; as humble as she is dressed, in the layered robes bequeathed to her by the temple where she worships her goddess, Kynereth. She is a Bosmer priestess, as gentle and dainty a thing as one might suspect, though agile like so many of her kind - lithe frame, and fit from hard work and Skyrim's unforgiving landscape, weighing in at 129 lbs. Short like rest, at 5,5", a heart-shaped face, an upturned button nose, and long, silky auburn hair braided up into a bun - she is a pretty face in an innocent sense, if a man could look past the those Bosmer eyes and the array of sharp teeth.
Her robes are made from hide on in the middle of layers for durability and protection, with wool stitched over the outside and treated with wax to protect against the rain. The inside of the robe is all grizzly bear fur. This make even applies to the hood, making this outfit a very heavy one to be lugging around - good for the regions of Skyrim, High Rock, and Wrothgar - less so anywhere else. Underneath her garments however, this young elf's sand colored skin is littered with scars, some small, and others very, very large. If one didn't know better, they would think she had died terribly and was brought back to life. As a part time alchemist who follows the Green Pact, her hands are stained and frequently smell... obnoxiously robust.
Age: 55
Equipment: She is not heavily equipped with much else other than her robes, satchel, a skinning knife, bandages, and a mortar and pestle. She wears an amulet of Kynereth that she holds onto during times of stress.
Miscellaneous: In her satchel are satchel are a number a things, such as an array of noxious smelling potions, cured and dried meats for the road, some alchemical ingredients that she has for the road, and a number of scrolls which include: a scroll of banish daedra, scroll of frost rune, as well as a scroll of mass paralysis and scroll of harmony. She is feels very stingy with the last two and will refuse to use them in all but the most dire of circumstances. The others she holds onto for emergency purposes. None of them hold potential for great harm.
Restoration:
(Wylendriel's long time commitment to Kynereth and her temple did not go without merit - she is valued as a healer, and has fixed up even gutted soldiers on the brink of death, even supplementing her magic with practical medical expertise. On the other side of the coin, she can use her knowledge of the body to cause someone great harm.)
(Staple spells: Grand Healing*, Circle of Protection*, Heal Other, Close Wounds, Greater Ward, Devour Health^, Absorb Fatigue^)
*These spells are taxing and are used when needed, and Wylendriel doesn't have the magicka reserves to use it repeatedly.
^These spells and spells of their kind are used as a last resort if Wylendriel is forced to defend herself.
Alchemy
(The Temple of Kyne has taught her many things about alchemy and how to heal not with magic, but Her Graciousness' gifts. Specially talented, perhaps, as her Green Pact forbids her from using vegetation in her potions. Working around that gave her a specialized niche in alchemy. Equally capable of crafting poisons, usually for the purpose of helping others build antibodies to them, much like a vaccine, but Molag Bal would have them be used for more nefarious purposes.)
One-Handed (Blunt)
(She has no practical experience with combat, but falls on instinct and intuition. Molag Bal's "gift", and this unnatural strength and prowess can trigger whenever she is threatened or enraged - or, with her soul is in the Lord of Schemes' hands, whenever she becomes enthralled.)
Conjuration
(Another one of Molag Bal's "gifts". These spells she doesn't practically know, and she actually struggles with learning them. Rather, you could say that this is the daedric prince's power, and chooses what she can cast assuming she is capable of it. There's a cruel irony to be found in that he chooses not to champion Wylendriel with the true Mace of Molag Bal, yet arms her with a spectral daedric mace anyways.)
(Staple spells: Bound Mace, Soul Trap, Summon Dremora, Summon Scamp)
Athletics
(Bosmer are naturally stringy and swift, and it only helps matters that Wylendriel enjoys field work and is prone to embarking on pilgrimages.)
Enchantment
(It's more like an amateur's interest, but hopes that she can eventually use the skill as a way to impart Kynereth's gift to others and blessing their belongings so that they may be protected.)
Acrobatics
(Bosmer are agile, and Wylendriel is no exception. She spent much of her time in the wilds, and she can climb trees with ease.)
Crime Committed: Molag Bal forced her to kill and cannibalize nords, and Wylendriel was caught in the act.
Character Background: Wylendriel was born in Valenwood, to a respected family that devoted their lives to Y'ffre in Elder Root, Grahtwood. They had taken the Green Pact and were loyally faithful to the religion like many Bosmer. So much, in fact, their first born and daughter Wylendriel was made to follow the Green Pact out the womb, and she would be raised to be a priestess also, and continue that family tradition, and be as respected as the rest of her family. It went this way for a couple years, but when the Aldmeri Dominion reformed again and kept a presence in Valenwood, they brought with them the Divines. Wylendriel's family did not expect her to discover Kynereth in the world around her.
She did not replace Y'ffre, no. Rather, the goddess only added to the enrichment of the Bosmer lady's world. If Y'ffre was the father, the state of existing, of only being - Kynereth was its force, passion, beauty and danger, she breathed the soul into life and made it beautiful. Life is essential, yes, as is being. But what would life be were it not the soul and beauty that made life worthwhile? This self-found philosophy touched Wylendriel so profoundly that she would later choose to be a priestess for her newfound Lady.
All that the Altmer's Dominion had brought with them were not so great, though. They brought also strife to some Bosmer communities. Rumors of purification spread across Valenwood, of massacres by the hands of Altmer inquisitors. Word had it that the victims were deserving of such a fate, unworthy savages, not befitting to be part of this grand alliance of Mer. Not many questioned it, they had this idea that their "close bond" with the Altmer was far too valuable to forsake. Wylendriel's family would of course be spared, being far too valuable and important to Bosmer society for execution. When a close friend of Wylendriel was ruthlessly slaughtered, she saw these purifications for what they really were: prejudiced racial genocide. They were the judge, jury, and executioner of any that the Altmer thought weren't good or "civilized" enough to be their underlings.
At the turn of her adulthood, Wylendriel defamed the Altmer's Dominion and fled Valenwood shortly after to the far corner of Tamriel, a long travel spanning years, attempting to evade the Dominion and with war waging around her as she went. It was by the war's end she eventually found herself in the wilds of southern Skyrim. She was picked up by a Markarth patrol in the Reach - under the watchful eye of the empire-faithful west, and allies of the Dominion, they did not immediately question her. However, fearful of the Dominion's discovery of her, Wylendriel fled once again once she was fed and rested towards the east, where the Nords of Eastmarch were notorious for their disdain of elven kind. This didn't worry her though; whatever vulgarity or mud they sling her way we're nothing compared to the punishment the Thalmor would deliver unto her.
She payed the carriage a hearty sum to take her to the other side of Skyrim, she landed in front of Whiterun. They learned that the road ahead was blockaded by bandits and the man refused to go further. From the beginning, things were hard, but she did what she could to get by. She found her place in the Temple of Kynereth in front of the Gildergreen, where her restoration and alchemy skills were highly valued. Her safety was assured, even if Whiterun was loyal to the Empire. Karl Balgruuf's temper and fierce protective nature was seldom challenged. Also being a servant of the goddess, she could find respite from the Dominion under the Jarl's protection.
The passing years earned her respect, and she witnessed wondrous things in this time such as the return of dragons and the attack on Whiterun by the Stormcloaks, which was successfully defended. It was many years after the civil war's end she decided to go on a pilgrimage to visit the Eldergleam. She hired mercenaries, Nords from Eastmarch, to escort her on her hike eastward and protect her from the likes of bandits or increase her chance of survival should a dragon find her...
But all went south once they circled around the mountain, High Hrothgar. In the middle of nowhere, miles from any sign of civilization, Wylendriel was struck by betrayal. She was mugged, beaten, stolen from, and raped, all in the name of Nord nationalism. Finally spat on and left for dead, Wylendriel was spending her final moments bleeding out and in prayer. First to her lady Kynereth, but as she felt her life slipping away, she prayed to any of the Divines. Her prayers went unheard, and with her consciousness on the verge of slipping, she made a final cry for mercy.
A gutteral, malevolent voice filled her mind. "I can save your life," it offered, "for now, if you would pledge your soul to me."
Blinded by desperation, she accepted the offer.
She awoke several days later in the small village of Ivarstead. Seemingly recovered completely, covered in gruesome looking scars - as it happens, a hunter found her unconscious a couple miles out, but said he found her unharmed. If he didn't know better, it looked as though she lied down and took a nap... were her clothes not torn in several places, mostly over her chest and around her waist. Physically, she felt fine save for a gross feeling pit in the center of her chest. It felt empty.
As recalled back to the last thing she could remember, the horrifying scenes of her abusers wracked her mind, the mere memory was torture and she no longer felt at home in her own skin - as her memory returned, so did the same malevolent voice.
"It is good that you've finally awakened." It said. "I am Molag Bal, the Prince of Domination, and you are the servant of my will. You are a lucky one, for I offer you an opportunity at revenge. The lord of domination does not take kindly to being slighted. His servants, his possessions - not to be meddled with. You are my hand of domination! To be on its receiving end is sacrilege... and must be punished."
Wylendriel accepted the daedra' promise for revenge, and with the prince's omnipresence and guidance, was able to track her attackers with ease. A cabin in Eastmarch, virtually spitting distance away from Windhelm. There was no plan of action. Fueled by the daedra' power, she kicked open the door and caught all three of them by surprise - followed by horror as they recognized her face.
Wylendriel yelled in an otherworldly voice, accompanied by Molag Bal.
"You think you can dominate me?" She said. "You think you can hide from me?!"
Two scrambled for their weapons and one rushed her unarmed - she grabbed him by the throat with one hand with crushing force, and a green aura surrounding her crushing hand as the nord's energy was being sapped. An ethereal daedric mace rippled into existence in her other hand as she pinned the man against the door frame, and promptly caved the nord's skull in.
It was at this point that Wylendriel's sanity snapped back, and came to realize the full horror of what was occurring- but she had no control. The second and third nord came rushing. One swing knocked the second one away immediately, and another swift swing knocked away the third - destroying his spine through the fur armor. Wylendriel watched but could not move as her body moved on its own. She turned to the second, squirming on the ground. She dropped onto her knees over his body, one palm firmly placed on his chest. It glowed green and the man's stamina was steadily drained away, fueling repeated rage-filled swings of the the spectral mace into the nord's head until virtually nothing was left but shards of bone and liquified gore. The third met the same fate.
Wylendriel was traumatized by this act of merciless, unspeakable violence committed by her own hand - even if it was done to her attackers. After their deaths, Molag Bal seemed to have disappeared. His voice never seemed to return. She prayed and prayed but the Divines were deathly silent. She feared they had forsaken her. She pledged to reject the daedric Lord of Domination and sought to prove it through a pilgrimage around Tamriel, visiting sacred shrines.
That's how she came to High Rock. She was halfway through, just after finding her prayers to Zenithar, did the unthinkable occur: Molag Bal began speaking again.
He shouted in her ears, "Foolish mortal, do you think you can be rid of me so easily?!"
Control of her body was wrested from her like a marionette on strings. He continued, "My pawns should know better than to rebel against my will. Your soul is forfeit! Now what would be a fitting punishment...?"
All the while a fellow worshipper was fretfully watching Wylendriel being suspended in a crucifixion pose.
"I know just the thing you could do to redeem yourself." Molag Bal said to her. Wylendriel's body was jerked to the side and pounced upon the Zenithar worshipper. Molag Bal laughed a spine-chilling cackle. "You are mine, I know every little detail about you... and as I understand it, you Bosmer have the lovely little tradition of cannibalizing your kills, don't you?"
"Please... don't..." Wylendriel begged as she wept tears over the Breton.
"You are as disrespectful to your traditions as you are to me... how pathetic! Know that I will enjoy this!"
Just like that, the daedric prince forced the wood elf's body to cannibalize the Breton alive as tears streamed down her face. A cacophony of screams and sobbing ensued, alerting the local guard. Wylendriel narrowly escaped, knowing there was no chance at redemption being locked behind bars. Later that night she prayed an unanswered prayer to the daedric prince - to allow her to finish her pilgrimage and present the lord with an opportunity that had yet been presented to him: the opportunity to dominate a Divine. While Wylendriel has faith that the divines could easily cleanse the daedra and recover her soul, Molag Bal has so far remained silent and is permitting her pilgrimage, indicating that she might have appealed to his arrogance and lust for power...
Fighting Style: If she can help it, Wylendriel won't. Aside from being a healer at heart, the stress of combat combat and strong anger or fear actually has her run the risk of succumbing to Molag Bal's curse, serving as further encouragement to avoid the fray. Say she succumbs, though: she calls upon daedric strength to overpower her foes and also summons a bound mace. Then she can use her restoration skills to drain away her foes' health or stamina, rendering them weak and helpless as she beats them repeatedly into the ground until they're liquified. As an unwilling agent of the Prince of Domination, his will serves him to have her do just that. Her mind is not so clouded and her willpower not so weak that she cannot tell between foe or ally, however. In this respect, her "hulk mode" has her serve as a glass cannon. Crippling and executing enemies, but totally armorless and lacks the natural durability to take very many blows herself.
Personality: Recent events have left her timid, afraid to get close to people as she does not want to put anybody at risk. Yet, there also exists an element of distrust, but not so pervasive that it can conflict with her relationships with people, just that she has learned over the years to put her own life in her own hands instead of in the hands of others. She has great potential for love, platonic or otherwise, but fearfully rejects any oncoming advances. Continuing with this theme of duality of withrawn concern, she, as suggested before, prefers to take measures into her own hands. While some of it may come from a priestess' humility in not wanting to burden others with her own initiative, it too comes from that distrust factor. Unaccountable variables could compromise the outcome, and therefore she would prefer to do it herself and take responsibility for any failure should they occur. Insisting to her that it does not have to be that way, that she can rely on others sometimes, is a vain effort. She is stubborn and caught up in her own ways and sense of responsibility, and would just as quickly sit them down by force if they continue to pester her.
Wylendriel is not callous however. Her forceful or commanding tone is useful for bedside manner, and her timid nature is thrown out the window when her areas of responsibilities (healing, sermon, etc.) come around. This dutiful disposition is tempered with motherly care, putting every ounce of effort into making sure her patients have a healthy recovery. Additionally, she is nonjudgmental of the other races or so much as arrogant of her elvish heritage or racist to differing races, even to the Nords. She understands that she entered Skyrim during a time of fear and struggle. Instead, she believes that there is something to learn from every culture. However, she is understandably cautious while approaching Nords (or any mortal race, considering the Dominion's siege on the rest of Tamriel).
Even through her endearing visage, it is not difficult to tell that there is something more beneath the surface, despite the genuine care she shows her patients. That is a guilty conscience, and the doubt of her faith to her Lady. This guilt best summarizes her inner workings, her real self. She feels guilty for making the decision of accepting Molag Bal's deal, and thereby choosing a daedra over Kynereth, and she feels guiltily about her growing doubt in the Nine. After all, had they not left her to die, at the hands of her betrayers? For Arkay's sake, perhaps it would be right for her to die, but where was Stendarr's mercy? Or Kynereth's gift to her faithful? Then comes the feelings of guilt regarding that sense of entitlement and her expectations of the gods. She is torn in many different ways and wishes for peace to ease that discord, and there's little question why she has so little inner strength to spare.
With all her years as a healer and priestess under her belt, she thought herself ready for death, but in the end she found herself no more at peace than the lost and wounded souls she preached to. She beats herself up for it and belittles herself, and Molag Bal's corruption further taints her. With all of this inner turmoil, Wylendriel is convinced there is no saving one such as herself. In the end though, she has come to find that there is greater justice to be found in healing as many as she can than in taking the easy way out. After some time and coming to terms with herself, she feels that it would be best to work at bettering herself one step at a time, and that the first step would be to remove the daedra's influence once and for all - which in itself is a monumental task, but prays that the mercy of the Nine Divines would be as such that they would cleanse her spirit: the final shreds of her faith clings to this desperate gambit, the deciding act that would finally determine the outcome of it.
Font Colour: darkolivegreen
"Blessings upon you, child of Nirn. May her Grace's wind guide your footsteps.
Name: Wylendriel
Race: Bosmer
Family Origins: We shall say that she is a first generation immigrant. Though born in Valenwood, she went to Skyrim at a young age. She suffered her share of discrimination at the hands of the Nords, watched the civil war, and witnessed the dragons. Even so, she found her place as a respected healer through the chaos and need of her services were in no shortages. Though a follower of the Green Pact, she and many others follow a watered down version of it in an evolving world where they reject cannibalism.
Appearance: Her overall demeanor is unsuspecting; as humble as she is dressed, in the layered robes bequeathed to her by the temple where she worships her goddess, Kynereth. She is a Bosmer priestess, as gentle and dainty a thing as one might suspect, though agile like so many of her kind - lithe frame, and fit from hard work and Skyrim's unforgiving landscape, weighing in at 129 lbs. Short like rest, at 5,5", a heart-shaped face, an upturned button nose, and long, silky auburn hair braided up into a bun - she is a pretty face in an innocent sense, if a man could look past the those Bosmer eyes and the array of sharp teeth.
Her robes are made from hide on in the middle of layers for durability and protection, with wool stitched over the outside and treated with wax to protect against the rain. The inside of the robe is all grizzly bear fur. This make even applies to the hood, making this outfit a very heavy one to be lugging around - good for the regions of Skyrim, High Rock, and Wrothgar - less so anywhere else. Underneath her garments however, this young elf's sand colored skin is littered with scars, some small, and others very, very large. If one didn't know better, they would think she had died terribly and was brought back to life. As a part time alchemist who follows the Green Pact, her hands are stained and frequently smell... obnoxiously robust.
Age: 55
Equipment: She is not heavily equipped with much else other than her robes, satchel, a skinning knife, bandages, and a mortar and pestle. She wears an amulet of Kynereth that she holds onto during times of stress.
Miscellaneous: In her satchel are satchel are a number a things, such as an array of noxious smelling potions, cured and dried meats for the road, some alchemical ingredients that she has for the road, and a number of scrolls which include: a scroll of banish daedra, scroll of frost rune, as well as a scroll of mass paralysis and scroll of harmony. She is feels very stingy with the last two and will refuse to use them in all but the most dire of circumstances. The others she holds onto for emergency purposes. None of them hold potential for great harm.
Favored Skills:
"Be honest to me and I will lend you my hand. Lie to me and you will receive it."
Highly proficient:
Restoration:
(Wylendriel's long time commitment to Kynereth and her temple did not go without merit - she is valued as a healer, and has fixed up even gutted soldiers on the brink of death, even supplementing her magic with practical medical expertise. On the other side of the coin, she can use her knowledge of the body to cause someone great harm.)
(Staple spells: Grand Healing*, Circle of Protection*, Heal Other, Close Wounds, Greater Ward, Devour Health^, Absorb Fatigue^)
*These spells are taxing and are used when needed, and Wylendriel doesn't have the magicka reserves to use it repeatedly.
^These spells and spells of their kind are used as a last resort if Wylendriel is forced to defend herself.
Moderately proficient:
Alchemy
(The Temple of Kyne has taught her many things about alchemy and how to heal not with magic, but Her Graciousness' gifts. Specially talented, perhaps, as her Green Pact forbids her from using vegetation in her potions. Working around that gave her a specialized niche in alchemy. Equally capable of crafting poisons, usually for the purpose of helping others build antibodies to them, much like a vaccine, but Molag Bal would have them be used for more nefarious purposes.)
One-Handed (Blunt)
(She has no practical experience with combat, but falls on instinct and intuition. Molag Bal's "gift", and this unnatural strength and prowess can trigger whenever she is threatened or enraged - or, with her soul is in the Lord of Schemes' hands, whenever she becomes enthralled.)
Conjuration
(Another one of Molag Bal's "gifts". These spells she doesn't practically know, and she actually struggles with learning them. Rather, you could say that this is the daedric prince's power, and chooses what she can cast assuming she is capable of it. There's a cruel irony to be found in that he chooses not to champion Wylendriel with the true Mace of Molag Bal, yet arms her with a spectral daedric mace anyways.)
(Staple spells: Bound Mace, Soul Trap, Summon Dremora, Summon Scamp)
Somewhat proficient:
Athletics
(Bosmer are naturally stringy and swift, and it only helps matters that Wylendriel enjoys field work and is prone to embarking on pilgrimages.)
Enchantment
(It's more like an amateur's interest, but hopes that she can eventually use the skill as a way to impart Kynereth's gift to others and blessing their belongings so that they may be protected.)
Acrobatics
(Bosmer are agile, and Wylendriel is no exception. She spent much of her time in the wilds, and she can climb trees with ease.)
"The things that I've done... the things that were done to me... I wish I could forget it all, I wish I could take it all back. But I know that is not what the Divines want from me. No, they would have me take what I could from it - and use it to better the world. Such is my role on Nirn."
Crime Committed: Molag Bal forced her to kill and cannibalize nords, and Wylendriel was caught in the act.
Character Background: Wylendriel was born in Valenwood, to a respected family that devoted their lives to Y'ffre in Elder Root, Grahtwood. They had taken the Green Pact and were loyally faithful to the religion like many Bosmer. So much, in fact, their first born and daughter Wylendriel was made to follow the Green Pact out the womb, and she would be raised to be a priestess also, and continue that family tradition, and be as respected as the rest of her family. It went this way for a couple years, but when the Aldmeri Dominion reformed again and kept a presence in Valenwood, they brought with them the Divines. Wylendriel's family did not expect her to discover Kynereth in the world around her.
She did not replace Y'ffre, no. Rather, the goddess only added to the enrichment of the Bosmer lady's world. If Y'ffre was the father, the state of existing, of only being - Kynereth was its force, passion, beauty and danger, she breathed the soul into life and made it beautiful. Life is essential, yes, as is being. But what would life be were it not the soul and beauty that made life worthwhile? This self-found philosophy touched Wylendriel so profoundly that she would later choose to be a priestess for her newfound Lady.
All that the Altmer's Dominion had brought with them were not so great, though. They brought also strife to some Bosmer communities. Rumors of purification spread across Valenwood, of massacres by the hands of Altmer inquisitors. Word had it that the victims were deserving of such a fate, unworthy savages, not befitting to be part of this grand alliance of Mer. Not many questioned it, they had this idea that their "close bond" with the Altmer was far too valuable to forsake. Wylendriel's family would of course be spared, being far too valuable and important to Bosmer society for execution. When a close friend of Wylendriel was ruthlessly slaughtered, she saw these purifications for what they really were: prejudiced racial genocide. They were the judge, jury, and executioner of any that the Altmer thought weren't good or "civilized" enough to be their underlings.
At the turn of her adulthood, Wylendriel defamed the Altmer's Dominion and fled Valenwood shortly after to the far corner of Tamriel, a long travel spanning years, attempting to evade the Dominion and with war waging around her as she went. It was by the war's end she eventually found herself in the wilds of southern Skyrim. She was picked up by a Markarth patrol in the Reach - under the watchful eye of the empire-faithful west, and allies of the Dominion, they did not immediately question her. However, fearful of the Dominion's discovery of her, Wylendriel fled once again once she was fed and rested towards the east, where the Nords of Eastmarch were notorious for their disdain of elven kind. This didn't worry her though; whatever vulgarity or mud they sling her way we're nothing compared to the punishment the Thalmor would deliver unto her.
She payed the carriage a hearty sum to take her to the other side of Skyrim, she landed in front of Whiterun. They learned that the road ahead was blockaded by bandits and the man refused to go further. From the beginning, things were hard, but she did what she could to get by. She found her place in the Temple of Kynereth in front of the Gildergreen, where her restoration and alchemy skills were highly valued. Her safety was assured, even if Whiterun was loyal to the Empire. Karl Balgruuf's temper and fierce protective nature was seldom challenged. Also being a servant of the goddess, she could find respite from the Dominion under the Jarl's protection.
The passing years earned her respect, and she witnessed wondrous things in this time such as the return of dragons and the attack on Whiterun by the Stormcloaks, which was successfully defended. It was many years after the civil war's end she decided to go on a pilgrimage to visit the Eldergleam. She hired mercenaries, Nords from Eastmarch, to escort her on her hike eastward and protect her from the likes of bandits or increase her chance of survival should a dragon find her...
But all went south once they circled around the mountain, High Hrothgar. In the middle of nowhere, miles from any sign of civilization, Wylendriel was struck by betrayal. She was mugged, beaten, stolen from, and raped, all in the name of Nord nationalism. Finally spat on and left for dead, Wylendriel was spending her final moments bleeding out and in prayer. First to her lady Kynereth, but as she felt her life slipping away, she prayed to any of the Divines. Her prayers went unheard, and with her consciousness on the verge of slipping, she made a final cry for mercy.
A gutteral, malevolent voice filled her mind. "I can save your life," it offered, "for now, if you would pledge your soul to me."
Blinded by desperation, she accepted the offer.
She awoke several days later in the small village of Ivarstead. Seemingly recovered completely, covered in gruesome looking scars - as it happens, a hunter found her unconscious a couple miles out, but said he found her unharmed. If he didn't know better, it looked as though she lied down and took a nap... were her clothes not torn in several places, mostly over her chest and around her waist. Physically, she felt fine save for a gross feeling pit in the center of her chest. It felt empty.
As recalled back to the last thing she could remember, the horrifying scenes of her abusers wracked her mind, the mere memory was torture and she no longer felt at home in her own skin - as her memory returned, so did the same malevolent voice.
"It is good that you've finally awakened." It said. "I am Molag Bal, the Prince of Domination, and you are the servant of my will. You are a lucky one, for I offer you an opportunity at revenge. The lord of domination does not take kindly to being slighted. His servants, his possessions - not to be meddled with. You are my hand of domination! To be on its receiving end is sacrilege... and must be punished."
Wylendriel accepted the daedra' promise for revenge, and with the prince's omnipresence and guidance, was able to track her attackers with ease. A cabin in Eastmarch, virtually spitting distance away from Windhelm. There was no plan of action. Fueled by the daedra' power, she kicked open the door and caught all three of them by surprise - followed by horror as they recognized her face.
Wylendriel yelled in an otherworldly voice, accompanied by Molag Bal.
"You think you can dominate me?" She said. "You think you can hide from me?!"
Two scrambled for their weapons and one rushed her unarmed - she grabbed him by the throat with one hand with crushing force, and a green aura surrounding her crushing hand as the nord's energy was being sapped. An ethereal daedric mace rippled into existence in her other hand as she pinned the man against the door frame, and promptly caved the nord's skull in.
It was at this point that Wylendriel's sanity snapped back, and came to realize the full horror of what was occurring- but she had no control. The second and third nord came rushing. One swing knocked the second one away immediately, and another swift swing knocked away the third - destroying his spine through the fur armor. Wylendriel watched but could not move as her body moved on its own. She turned to the second, squirming on the ground. She dropped onto her knees over his body, one palm firmly placed on his chest. It glowed green and the man's stamina was steadily drained away, fueling repeated rage-filled swings of the the spectral mace into the nord's head until virtually nothing was left but shards of bone and liquified gore. The third met the same fate.
Wylendriel was traumatized by this act of merciless, unspeakable violence committed by her own hand - even if it was done to her attackers. After their deaths, Molag Bal seemed to have disappeared. His voice never seemed to return. She prayed and prayed but the Divines were deathly silent. She feared they had forsaken her. She pledged to reject the daedric Lord of Domination and sought to prove it through a pilgrimage around Tamriel, visiting sacred shrines.
That's how she came to High Rock. She was halfway through, just after finding her prayers to Zenithar, did the unthinkable occur: Molag Bal began speaking again.
He shouted in her ears, "Foolish mortal, do you think you can be rid of me so easily?!"
Control of her body was wrested from her like a marionette on strings. He continued, "My pawns should know better than to rebel against my will. Your soul is forfeit! Now what would be a fitting punishment...?"
All the while a fellow worshipper was fretfully watching Wylendriel being suspended in a crucifixion pose.
"I know just the thing you could do to redeem yourself." Molag Bal said to her. Wylendriel's body was jerked to the side and pounced upon the Zenithar worshipper. Molag Bal laughed a spine-chilling cackle. "You are mine, I know every little detail about you... and as I understand it, you Bosmer have the lovely little tradition of cannibalizing your kills, don't you?"
"Please... don't..." Wylendriel begged as she wept tears over the Breton.
"You are as disrespectful to your traditions as you are to me... how pathetic! Know that I will enjoy this!"
Just like that, the daedric prince forced the wood elf's body to cannibalize the Breton alive as tears streamed down her face. A cacophony of screams and sobbing ensued, alerting the local guard. Wylendriel narrowly escaped, knowing there was no chance at redemption being locked behind bars. Later that night she prayed an unanswered prayer to the daedric prince - to allow her to finish her pilgrimage and present the lord with an opportunity that had yet been presented to him: the opportunity to dominate a Divine. While Wylendriel has faith that the divines could easily cleanse the daedra and recover her soul, Molag Bal has so far remained silent and is permitting her pilgrimage, indicating that she might have appealed to his arrogance and lust for power...
Fighting Style: If she can help it, Wylendriel won't. Aside from being a healer at heart, the stress of combat combat and strong anger or fear actually has her run the risk of succumbing to Molag Bal's curse, serving as further encouragement to avoid the fray. Say she succumbs, though: she calls upon daedric strength to overpower her foes and also summons a bound mace. Then she can use her restoration skills to drain away her foes' health or stamina, rendering them weak and helpless as she beats them repeatedly into the ground until they're liquified. As an unwilling agent of the Prince of Domination, his will serves him to have her do just that. Her mind is not so clouded and her willpower not so weak that she cannot tell between foe or ally, however. In this respect, her "hulk mode" has her serve as a glass cannon. Crippling and executing enemies, but totally armorless and lacks the natural durability to take very many blows herself.
Personality: Recent events have left her timid, afraid to get close to people as she does not want to put anybody at risk. Yet, there also exists an element of distrust, but not so pervasive that it can conflict with her relationships with people, just that she has learned over the years to put her own life in her own hands instead of in the hands of others. She has great potential for love, platonic or otherwise, but fearfully rejects any oncoming advances. Continuing with this theme of duality of withrawn concern, she, as suggested before, prefers to take measures into her own hands. While some of it may come from a priestess' humility in not wanting to burden others with her own initiative, it too comes from that distrust factor. Unaccountable variables could compromise the outcome, and therefore she would prefer to do it herself and take responsibility for any failure should they occur. Insisting to her that it does not have to be that way, that she can rely on others sometimes, is a vain effort. She is stubborn and caught up in her own ways and sense of responsibility, and would just as quickly sit them down by force if they continue to pester her.
Wylendriel is not callous however. Her forceful or commanding tone is useful for bedside manner, and her timid nature is thrown out the window when her areas of responsibilities (healing, sermon, etc.) come around. This dutiful disposition is tempered with motherly care, putting every ounce of effort into making sure her patients have a healthy recovery. Additionally, she is nonjudgmental of the other races or so much as arrogant of her elvish heritage or racist to differing races, even to the Nords. She understands that she entered Skyrim during a time of fear and struggle. Instead, she believes that there is something to learn from every culture. However, she is understandably cautious while approaching Nords (or any mortal race, considering the Dominion's siege on the rest of Tamriel).
Even through her endearing visage, it is not difficult to tell that there is something more beneath the surface, despite the genuine care she shows her patients. That is a guilty conscience, and the doubt of her faith to her Lady. This guilt best summarizes her inner workings, her real self. She feels guilty for making the decision of accepting Molag Bal's deal, and thereby choosing a daedra over Kynereth, and she feels guiltily about her growing doubt in the Nine. After all, had they not left her to die, at the hands of her betrayers? For Arkay's sake, perhaps it would be right for her to die, but where was Stendarr's mercy? Or Kynereth's gift to her faithful? Then comes the feelings of guilt regarding that sense of entitlement and her expectations of the gods. She is torn in many different ways and wishes for peace to ease that discord, and there's little question why she has so little inner strength to spare.
With all her years as a healer and priestess under her belt, she thought herself ready for death, but in the end she found herself no more at peace than the lost and wounded souls she preached to. She beats herself up for it and belittles herself, and Molag Bal's corruption further taints her. With all of this inner turmoil, Wylendriel is convinced there is no saving one such as herself. In the end though, she has come to find that there is greater justice to be found in healing as many as she can than in taking the easy way out. After some time and coming to terms with herself, she feels that it would be best to work at bettering herself one step at a time, and that the first step would be to remove the daedra's influence once and for all - which in itself is a monumental task, but prays that the mercy of the Nine Divines would be as such that they would cleanse her spirit: the final shreds of her faith clings to this desperate gambit, the deciding act that would finally determine the outcome of it.
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