TheFox

Be a Viking! Complementary dragon included (clutch that egg!).

Oh yes sounds fun! Interested!

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

It is quite alright boah *Arthur Morgan voice*

No worries you take care of yourself first and find us when you're feeling ready.

what's up fam!

*Hears the galloping of a horse coming closer, looks up suddenly to see...something appear! That color, dark as night, eyes fiery red,...Shadowmare!*

Well hello there and welcome!
As Ordsmed said above, you'll definitely will find stuff to your liking here.
Enjoy and have fun!

Time to Write

Hello and welcome!

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

CS is up ;)

Outlaws Til the End - A Wild West RP

Ben Masters

The only things I trust are my horse and my guns.

Ben Masters

youtube.com/watch?v=56mHjE4WTI4&ab_ch…

Name: Benjamin 'Ben' Masters
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Occupation: Stable boy, street kid
Faction: Been with the McCullen-Rainwater gang since his 15
Family: Father Robert Masters former rancher (Died during the Civil War), Mother Eliza Baker (Died of illness), no other family that he knows of.

Horse:

Galahad

Equipment: A colt SAA with black handle, an Evans Repeating Rifle, bowie knife, bed roll, red scarf, black gambler hat, buttoned leather vest, gray saddle pants and leather brown boots with spurs.

Skills: Gang gave him much of his 'education'.
Horseback riding: Knows his way around horses since he was a child.
Explosives: Knows enough to understand how to blow open a safe or where to place them for maximum effect.
Guns: Taught himself how to shoot at first, learned the rest when he was in the gang.

Personality: You can without a doubt call him ruthless and cold-blooded and has no problem shooting somebody. Always takes what he wants and doesn't take no for an answer. Fiercely loyal to the gang. Does not drink alcohol because, as he says, you never know when you have to pick up your guns.

Likes/Dislikes:
Likes: Honesty, money, women and the occasional killing of somebody.
Dislikes: Betrayal and the law.

Backstory: Born somewhere in the state of Texas in 1861, while the country was engulfed in a terrible civil war in which his father lost his life. Benjamin knew only his father from the stories his mother told him and the picture she had of him. His mother, Eliza, struggled to make ends meet and more often than not, men who represented the bank came knocking. When his mother died after weeks of being ill, Benjamin was eight at the time, the bank confiscated the house and he was sent to an orphanage. It was there that he learned to fight. Older boys were constantly bullying and beating him without ever receiving punishment. He felt miserable yet he always tried to stand up for himself even if it meant he would receive even more beatings.

One day, when he was eleven, he got into a fight and it ended with the other boy dying. It had been an accident, the boy had fallen badly hitting his head and did not get up anymore. Benjamin strangely did not feel any remorse, since it had been one of the older boys who had been bullying him ever since he had arrived in the orphanage. After it had happened, he ran away and hid in barns or sheds knowing they were searching for him. Eventually he got on board of a train, where he snuck into cattle wagon. He did not know after how many stops they found him but the rancher, who owned the cattle, decided to take him in and made him into a stable boy. The foreman of the ranch however did not like Benjamin one bit and treated him harshly and with disdain. Benjamin decided not to let it bother him too much and his life at the ranch was better than it had been the last years. Until he got accused of stealing. The law was send and they did not believe him when he told them he didn't do what he was accused of. When the officers of the law found the things tucked away amongst his belongings, they also found out that he was a runaway from the orphanage and that a boy had died because of him.

Only by sheer luck he managed to escape the law, stole a horse and ran as fast and far as he could.

The years that followed had not been better for him, years where he did everything to survive. He sold the horse and bought a gun, he started to steal and rob people. At times he even got paid to kill someone. He never stayed in one place too long, to keep evading the law. It was a hard life and there were times where he almost gave up on it. Then he was found by Elijah Rainwater and his life changed once more.

"I'm roundin' up a posse!"

Looks fun tbh if not considered dead i'm interested

S̴T̴O̴R̴M̴C̴L̴O̴A̴K̴ : Rise of Tyranny (SHELVED, PM or DM me for inquiry.)

Near Whiterun, 10th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 205

Steel blue eyes, peering from behind helmet, focused on the enemy before him. The large warhammer he was wielding came down with enough force it almost broke the shield his opponent was carying. The warrior grinned, a terrifying sight, with his eyes filled with hate. Once more came a blow so hard it forced the other to his knee. In a desperate attempt, he raised his shield to try to block what came next. As the warhammer was lifted to come crashing down, his steel sword pierced the belly of the warrior. His grin turned into a grimace of pain and he grunted lowly, almost animal like. His eyes remained as they were, filled with a hatred the other could not understand. The hammer came down and all went black.

Dar'jhan woke up in pain, in a fur covered bed, and groaned as he touched his head. It was pounding as if being hit by a blacksmith hammer and he pitied the anvil that had to deal with this all day long. He noticed that his head was bandaged and so was his left arm. His attempt to raise himself off the bed failed as pain shot through him again and he sunk back into the straw pillow. He narrowed his eyes trying to get his bearings as he tried to look around, not knowing where he was. The woodwork and stone hearth reminded him of a cabin, the likes you see in the wilds of Skyrim, and the furs, hides and animal heads hanging on the wall told him that most likely this was the home of a hunter. Across from him, a mounted sabre cat head looked back at him, making him feel very uncomfortable. In the light of the fire burning in the hearth, he could see another bed, a small cupboard and a large wooden table on which he could smell, more than he could see, the food set on the table. At least his nose was working. His stomach reacted to the smell with a growl and Dar'jhan wondered how long he hadn't eaten.

How long have I been here? Where is here?

A door opened, letting the cold wind come in which made the fire in the hearth flicker. A cough and a stomping of feet later a broad shouldered, tall man entered wearing clothes made out of all different kinds of fur. He had no hair on his head but the beard he wore was dark and impressive to say the least. Though strokes of silver in it revealed that he wasn't that young any more. His whole demeanour said that he was a Nord. And a bulky one at that. The Nord's eyes turned towards Darj'han, who was trying to get up once more, and a friendly smile formed on his face.

“Oho! You are finally awake! Good. Good! When we found you I wasn't too sure you would live!”

His voice was hard and loud, the laugh that followed even more so and Dar'jhan raised his hand back to his head to try and calm the pounding inside.

“Ulfhild! Our guest has awoken!” The voice boomed out through the open door.

“I thank you for your kindness...uh...” His voice was hoarse from not using and his throat felt dry.

“My name is Brandr Stone-Biter, my Khajiit friend. And this...” A young and small child entered the room with a curious look in her eyes and a smile much like her Brandr. “...Is my daughter Ulfhild.”

“Hi!” She waved enthusiastic. “I was the one who found you and asked to take you with us. Papa first thought you were a bandit but...”

“Ulfhild get some food for our guest, he must be famished.” His voice, though stern, still got a bit softer and his eyes told Dar'jhan that he loved his daughter very much. Eyes only a parent could have for his child.

“Yes papa.” She walked to the table and started to gather things on a plate while Brandr turned towards a wooden keg and grabbed two mugs.

“My name is Dar'jhan. Or Half-moon as some call me.” His stomach growled and his mouth started to water from anticipation.

“Dar'jhan Half-moon eh?” Brandr said as he was filling the two mugs with mead. When he handed one of the mugs to Dar'jhan he looked him up and down with a worried look. “How are you feeling?”

“As if I have been trampled by an entire herd of mammoth.” Came the honest reply while Dar'jhan groaned and grimaced.

“If that would have been the case not even the Divines could have patched you up.” Brandr smirked and even Dar'jhan chuckled even though it still hurt him. He drank from the mug and a warm glow entered his stomach. He let out a sigh of bliss. Then he looked around with a confused look. “Where...am I?”

“You are in our humble home near Whiterun. We fished you out of the White River some...three days ago and...Whoa, what do you think you're doing?”

Dar'jhan was trying to get out of bed and started to search for his things, seeing that he was only wearing pants and nothing else. His steps were not steady at all and his legs felt wobbly.

“I have to go. My caravan...Do you know anything about it?”

“We only found you and no one else.” Brandr tried to stop him and make him sit down again but Dar'jhan was stubborn and tried to make his way outside.

“I have lost so much time already...I...” He almost fell down and finally he let himself guided back to the bed where he had spent the last three days. Meanwhile Ulfhild, who had been waiting and watching, handed him a plate filled with cheese, chicken breasts, baked potatoes and a small loaf of bread. Dar'jhan waved his hand as a sign of gratitude and bowed his head. His energy had not been completely restored and he cursed himself for being in this situation.

“I don't think it is wise to go out as you are now.” Brandr took a chair and sat down on it while Dar'jhan decided and started to eat from the platter.

“Tell me, my friend. What happened to you?”

Dar'jhan told the Nord everything he knew and still remembered. How they had been on their way, a caravan of six, two guards and 4 merchants, towards Riverwood and planning on making a stop near Falkreath. Even though it was not a big city still the merchants believed that perhaps they could earn some coin. The other guard had rather gone straight back over the border and home, having enough of the troubles that had been brewing in Skyrim. He believed that it was not safe for them anymore and insisted repeatedly to return home. But the merchants pressed on. Around Riverwood they got attacked by a band of thugs. They had been heavily armed, more than the average bandit, so one could think they were Stormcloak soldiers but they were not wearing the Blue uniforms from which they are known. Nevertheless they were eager to fight and it took Dar'jhan all he knew to try and keep them away from the caravan. Until a warhammer ended the fight for him and all went black.

“The jarl needs to know about this, though I don't know if he will be willing to help with how things are going at the moment. When jarl Balgruuf was still in charge it would not have been a problem and I'm sure he would have sent Irileth his housecarl to investigate but with Vignar Gray-Mane...Ah what am I saying. Don't worry my friend. Even the jarl must realize that bands of bandits preying on caravan must be stopped. You eat and rest. Tomorrow you and I will go to Whiterun and speak to the jarl. One more day will not make a difference.”

Somehow Dar'jhan wasn't too sure of that yet he decided to listen to Brandr and agreed.

The Elder Scrolls: Stormcrown Interregnum

Balance

It was a cool night. The moons Masser and Secunda were standing high in the starry sky. The lantern lit streets of Rimmen were deserted but you could hear the sweet, melodious tones of a musical instrument gently flowing on the wind. Like almost every night, Cyllandra was sitting on a plateau overlooking the market below, its stalls now empty, playing her flute. Her right leg hung over the edge, her foot swaying while she played with closed eyes. It was a very old tune and was the first her father had taught her to play.

In her mind she was not in Elsweyr anymore but instead she was transported to her home in Valenwood where the light of the sun barely shines through the leaves and she was not sitting on stone but on a low branch of a graht-oak. Her fingers moving up and down the holes of the flute in a slow but fluid motion and when she inhaled she could faintly smell the scent of the river near her home. She saw the smiling faces of her parents and her sister waving and yelling for her to come down. But a shadow came over the faces of her parents and they disappeared, same happened to her sister. A darkness fell over her mind and Cyllandra opened her eyes as she let the song end, stretching the last note until she was out of breath. She was back in Elsweyr. Her home, parents and sister were long gone now. It felt almost like a different life. A tear was slowly making its way down her cheek and she wiped it off with a quick stroke of her hand.

“It was very beautiful.”

Cyllandra almost jumped up when she heard the warm voice of Bandras, her Khajiiti tutor, coming from behind her. She was shocked she had not hear him coming and turned her face away from him so he would not see that she had wiped away a tear earlier.How long had he been standing there? Perhaps he had already noticed it but if so he did not let it show.

“This one knew when he heard the sound that it was Cyllandra.” He said as he walked over to her right side. “Mind if I sit down?”

She replied with a shrug, already knowing that he was going to sit down next to her no matter what she said. After months of training with him, she could say she knew well enough how and who Bandras was. He sat down with a deep sigh and looked up towards the sky.

“The night is nice for music,” he continued “The skies are clear and lit with a thousand and one stars.” She glanced at him, pondering. In the light of the moons his fur had gotten a silvery glow, his face a relaxed sort of bliss and his eyes were brightly reflecting the light they had caught. He was not as young as he used to be but he had a certain refined charm. Cyllandra shook her head as she noticed she was staring and looked at her flute instead, turning it in her hands.

“What song were you playing?” His eyes did not leave the sky and his voice got a softer glow.

“It is called 'The Trees of Valenwood'.” She said trying to sound casual, afraid he would sense her thoughts.

“Ah yes. Bandras could hear the emotion. Cyllandra misses home, yes?” He had turned his eyes towards her, a smile on his face.

“Wherever I go, I always carry my home with me.” She said holding the flute in front of her. Though she herself was doubting if she was really talking about her flute. Bandras nodded slowly and looked at the flute in her hand before turning his gaze back to the sky. For a while both sat there in silence, each with their own thoughts.

“Can you play the song once more?”
She hesitated but gave eventualy a short nod and put the flute to her lips. Bandras closed his eyes while she played for the second time her song that reminded her of home.

When the song ended, Bandras gave a soft sigh and got up on his feet with a grunt. He turned towards her and bowed his head in gratitude.

“I thank you for the song. It warmed the heart of this old Khajiit. I am heading home now and Cyllandra should not stay here for too long either. Tomorrow the sun will be even more hot than today and lesson will be about balance. We start early do not forget.”

With that said he started to walk away, his tail moving from left to right with every step, until she could not see him any more. Cyllandra groaned. Balance? She was a Bosmer. Her whole life she spent amongst the trees and their branches. Balance is something you learn quick. The hard way. What more could he teach her about that? She was trying to imagine how that lesson would be. She only hoped it did not involve something where she had to stand on a boat and had to keep her balance while he was rocking it. A good thing Khajiit don't like water that much.

She suddenly felt very tired and decided to take on the advice of her tutor. The training hall of Bandras, where she was allowed to sleep without payment, was luckily not that far. Through a maze of narrow streets she walked and was glad the lanterns were lit. During the first few weeks she got lost often and that had been during the day but now she could walk these streets with her eyes closed. She was almost at her destination when she saw two Khajiit leaning against a wall, looking at her as she passed the corner. Both were tall and muscular with a sabre hanging on their sash. Cautiously, she slowed down her step as she was nearing them. Perhaps they meant her no harm.
They drew their sabres and made their way to her, grins on their faces. Cyllandra looked back to see if she could flee but down the street she could see another one standing in the shadows blocking off her exit. She had no choice and she had to act quick.

With short, quick steps, she turned around to the left, dodging the first blow and with one fluid movement she slid under the next one as she drew her sword, Moonblade. Staying low and constantly moving, her sword in her right hand above her head pointed towards her opponents. She blocked a strike and parried another. The sound of steel against steel was loud in the silence of the night. A flash, like lightning, and she barely dodged a thrust that could have cut her badly, though it gave her the opportunity to strike. The satisfying feeling of steel cutting through skin, bone and tendon, followed by a howl of pain let her know that she had struck home. One of them was looking at his hand that was holding the sword, a hand that was now hanging down lifeless, stuck on the arm still with some pieces of skin and tendon while blood was squirting out of the arm. The Khajiit fell on his knees with a look of disbelief, rage and pain. Cyllandra moved her arm forward and thrust her sword into his skull.

She did not have time to enjoy her victory as the other, now enraged by the death of his friend, attacked her in a flurry of frenzied slashes. But one who is enraged is also prone to make mistakes, this Cyllandra knew and she slid back, dodging and waiting for an opening. She was tiring him out and had cut him a little, more to irritate him than to actual hurt him but it did trouble him. His attacks were less strong as before. Then she found her opening. She turned to dodge, drove him back with a feign and slashed the back of his legs and his back before letting Moonblade come down on his left shoulder cutting through his shoulder blade and collarbone. He fell to the ground, his blood colouring the sand a dark red.

Cyllandra was shaking on her legs, out of breath and her arms felt heavy. She realized she had forgotten about the third Khajiit as she heard him come closer behind her and turned to meet him, her sword ready to strike.
Clap Clap* Clap*

“Cyllandra did very good. I have taught you well.” It was Bandras and he had a wide grin on his face.

“Bandras? Wha...Why...” She looked at him puzzled, her mind trying to understand what was going on. Then suddenly she knew.

“Is this your doing?!” She bellowed pointing her sword towards him.

“A test of sorts. One you have passed.” He replied with a sugary sweet voice, his grin even wider than before and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Are you insane in the mind?! What if they had killed me?!” Her voice had gotten even louder.

“Nonsense,” His voice was calm and he seemed unfazed by her outburst. “You lack faith but Bandras does not. I was certain you would not get hurt or be killed.”

“Who were they anyway?” Suddenly she felt a bit nauseous and breathed deeply in and out to try and get that feeling to subside.

“Low-lifes. Thugs. Old...friends of Bandras. Don't worry. They will not be missed.”

“You're a real cold bastard” She frowned as she looked at him not knowing if he was telling the truth.

“I know this and consider it a compliment.” He truly sounded proud and she turned her eyes away from him without saying another thing

“This was my final lesson for I have nothing left to teach you. Also this is my farewell gift. These Khajiit were wanted by the law and have bounties on their heads. They are yours and will provide you with enough coin to go back to your Valenwood. Go home little Bosmer.”

“I...”

“Yes, yes. Say nothing. This one will miss you. Perhaps we will meet again someday and Cyllandra can play her flute once more. Until then little Bosmer. May your roads lead you to warm sands.”

She was still standing there for some time after Bandras left, staring at the two bodies and wondering how on earth she would explain this to the city guard. Damn Khajiit

The Elder Scrolls: Stormcrown Interregnum

Cyllandra

Look at those bastards run! You would think they never saw a minotaur before.

Cyllandra

Name: Cyllandra but people usually call her Cyl
Birth: 3E 376
Birth sign: The Lover
Race: Bosmer
Gender: Female

Appearance:

Her light brown, sharp-featured, almost vulpine face was what you expect from a Bosmer to look like. She could be considered pretty but the slight frown which seemed like it was constantly etched on her face made approaching her a little harder. This and the looks she could give with her eyes as if she was always ready to pounce. Perhaps she was. Her hazel coloured eyes hid intelligence but also a deep sadness behind it. When she was younger she used to wear her wavy, brown hair down but now decided to tie it back in a messy bun to keep it out of her way when fighting. She is small, standing at 5ft3, her body slim and fit. She moves light footed, quick but gracious and always with a purpose. Although she is seventy-two in age she looks, her being mer, like a young adult. She has some small scars on her arms from training and combat and a large one that covers her back.

She wears a green/brown sleeveless tunic made out of spider silk, brown breeches made out of the same materials and high leather boots with straps. On her left wrist she wears a bone and feather bracelet, another reminder of her home. On both her upper arms she has a small armband made out of senche tiger fur.

Personality:

When she was younger she learned how to play the flute and enjoyed this very much. Still now she plays her flute from time to time as a way to relax and feel connected to her home, closing her eyes and losing herself in those moments. That is when she lets her guard down.

A follower of the Green Pact though not as fanatic as those who'd eat their fallen enemies, a custom she considered backwards and barbaric and only a small number of Bosmer in Valenwood still practiced. When asked about her 'only meat' diet she once joked by saying that at least no one ever tried to force her to eat her veggies.

Her faith in the Empire lost many years ago, an Empire she thinks of as weak and corrupt, she tries to help out anyone who needed her and wanted her help. Even if the Empire would let down its people, Cyllandra would not. This being one of the reasons why she ventured into Cyrodiil.

She lost a lot during the Five Year War and many of her childhood friends never made it back home. Because of this she developed, deep inside her, the fear of losing those who are dear to her. Often she would reprimand or give looks of disapproval to those who, in her opinion, behaved like fools or act without thinking. She is very cautious about opening up to somebody or forge bonds which she considers to be a weakness. This also comes forth from her fear. Still, in the time she has spent in the company of Isobel and her crew of...misfits, as Cyllandra would sometimes call them (her included), she realized that she unwillingly grew closer to them and even caught herself laughing at times. Something she hadn't done in a very long time.

She likes people who are willing to help where others refuse, who are intelligent and show to be capable. Those are traits she sees in Isobel and considers her to be a good leader. Since the Empire does not aid its people but instead lets it suffer, the people need to take matter into their own hands. Cyllandra believes that with Isobel they will be able to do that.

History:

Valenwood. A vastly green sea of magical groves and forests with its enormous graht-oaks and the blue rivers that cross through its wild, dense jungles where senche-tigers and other creatures such as thunderbugs or haorvors prowl and prey on those unlucky enough to cross their path. A perfect mix of beauty and cruelty, according to some, and home to Cyllandra. She was born as the youngest of two, her having an older sister called Ciindri, in a small tribe living close to the Xylo river. It was a simple life but one that Cyllandra even now still looks back to with feelings of joy and nostalgia. She was a happy child with a love for dancing and music, her favourite instrument being a bone flute her father taught her to play.

From an early age she started to learn how to use the bow, just like her ancestors, by watching others before being taught how to use the bow properly. Most of it she learned from her sister who always supported her and who Cyllandra loved with all her heart. She gradually learned how to correct herself by shooting arrows in the air, watch their trajectory and see how the wind or distance affected the path of the arrow. Focusing on accuracy became more important after she had familiarized herself enough with her bow. By the age of fourteen, an age where Bosmer are told they are able to handle themselves with the bow, she joined a hunting party of her tribe, shooting and killing her first antelope not long after.

When Cyllandra turned eighteen rumours had spread through the forest that wood caravans bound for the Valenwoods were being targeted and raided by khajiiti bandits thus preventing the Bosmer from acquiring much needed resources. Since the Green Pact did not allow them to cut down trees or hurt the forest in any way, they relied heavily on these trading caravan from outside Valenwood. When the raids did not stop but instead even increased, the Bosmer treethanes decided that they had enough of the brutality and boldness of the Khajiit and gave the order that a punitive expedition would be led into Elsweyr. Cyllandra realized that war would be imminent.

During the early days of the war she spent a lot of time scouting or patrolling the border with her unit, moving without a noise through the forest or lying in ambush. It was after one of these ambushes that she found a short but well crafted curved sword on the body of a Cathay-rath. At least in her hands it looked like a sword but for the Khajiit it had been probably more of a dagger. He had been rather big and sturdy, and it had taken at least five arrows before he finally died.
Though she wasn't used at all to holding a sword, the handle felt strangely good in her hand and she decided to take it with her, thinking it to be a pity to leave it since the Khajiit did not need it anymore. Later however the war, that had been exciting for Cyllandra at first as she wanted to teach those Khajiit a lesson, turned for the worse and ended in pain, grief and disappointment.

She got wounded badly during the battle at the 'Heart of Anequina' in Elsweyr. A Khajiiti soldier attacked her from behind and left his claw marks across her back from her right shoulder to her left lower side. He almost finished the job but was killed by others coming to her aid. She was carried off the field and only heard later that she had lost almost her entire unit, mer with whom she had shared joys and sorrows, when their position got overrun by a charge of ferocious senche-raht.
A truce was called and broken, her village by the Xylo river got burned down with almost no survivors and the Parikh tribe, supported by the Altmer, forced in their bloody violence the many other tribes to flee to the north of Valenwood. The war had escalated with the Bosmer having to fight on two fronts. The Empire did nothing to stop it. Weren't the Bosmer also subjects of the Emperor?

Many more lives were lost, one of them being the person she loved the most in the whole world: her sister.

When news had reached her that her sister had been killed, Cyllandra cried for days. When she finally stopped she felt empty and drained. The happy child she once had been was locked away in a cage made of scars in the darkest corners of her memories. The Empire had done nothing.

Years of peace followed after the war. The Bosmer had lost territories to both the Altmer and the Khajiit. Territories they would never get back. Cyllandra had grown more distant and left her tribe, worried that another war would come she vowed to prepare herself. The scar she had gotten on her back was a constant reminder that she lacked the proper means to defend herself. She still had the Khajiiti curved sword, even though she had wanted to toss it into the river or a ravine many times since the end of the war, remembering how it had felt in her hand that first time she held it. There was no place to learn how to use a sword in Valenwood and she realized there was no better place to learn how to wield this blade than Elsweyr. The irony of it all did not escape her.

In Rimmen she found someone willing, albeit surprised and amused to meet a Bosmer with an interest in the sword, to train her. He was an older Khajiit and a veteran of the war and though his training routines were harsh, his voice always remained calm and friendly, even complimenting her from time to time. She did not trust his silvery tongue at first, keeping the thought in her mind that she wasn't there to be friends and that he was just a tool, a means to an end but in truth she found him somewhat...like-able. For a Khajiit.

During the Oblivion Crisis she escorted refugees from Cyrodiil, fleeing from the Daedra onslaught, into Valenwood. She kept watch and patrolled the northern border in case the Daedra would turn their gaze to her home. Later she would hear stories on how the other provinces were left to fend for themselves during that time with the Empire even withdrawing their Legions from the provinces to defend Cyrodiil. In her opinion, the Empire again had abandoned its citizens in their time of need.

With the last of the Septims dead, Tamriel was in chaos. Fights broke out about who was going to be Emperor, straining the already diminished trade caravan into Valenwood even further. With Thules the Gibbering crowned as the new Emperor, people hoped that peace would be restored. It didn't.

Lately disturbing things had reached her ears about Bosmer disappearing or being sold into slavery or other foul practices. What little trade caravans that still went into Valenwood complained about taxations and rising cruelty. Cyllandra ventured into Cyrodiil to see for herself and find out what had happened with the missing Bosmer only to be captured when she tried to free some of her brethren. Bound and caged she was soon transported with the rest of them. Not knowing where they would go and what fate had in store for them.

That was when Isobel arrived.

Attributes:

major: Agility
Minor: Intelligence

Skills:

Expert:

Archery: Well uh...Bosmer? Her skills of the bow are finely tuned, using the style of snatching and releasing in one fluid motion even in the heat of battle without a problem.

Adept:

Sneak: She knows how to move quietly, blending in with her surroundings. It proved very useful when hunting both animals and her enemies.
Blade: Learning from her Khajiiti tutor, she knows how to handle her blade, moving with an elegant style but merciless like the desert storms of Elsweyr.
Athletics: The vast forests of Valenwood offer a lot of challenges for the body, therefore she is used to long, tiring treks. She knows the limits of her body.

Journeyman:

Illusion & Alteration: Not too long ago she started to teach herself some spells she found useful and could help in their fight against the Count. Sometimes if you want to defeat an enemy, you have to take away his ability to fight.
Medium armour: She knows how to care for her armour, which she does everytime before and after a battle, realizing its importance. When armour fails it can be fatal. She can maintain and repair her armour herself but not make an entirely new one.

Spells: Oakflesh, muffle, calm, fear

Equipment:

Composite bow made out of horn, adorned with feathers (the same one she carried with her since her first hunt), a quiver with some arrows (bird bone arrows but also some she 'liberated' from the Count's men), her khajiiti short curved sword which she dubbed 'Moonblade', leather chest armor, vambraces and greaves all well fitted decorated with carvings of leaves and flowers.

Belongings:

Flute made of bone, a skinning knife, A rolled up leather toolset, a green travelling cloak for cold nights and in which she can wrap around her body when sleeping, a small pouch with 20 septims on her belt.

Misc.: She considers the Altmer as traitors and alliance breakers, almost feeling joy when she heard how they had suffered during the Oblivion Crisis.