CelebrithJun 06, 2014Jun 06, 2014 at 06:06 PM
#1
Name : Celebrith
Gender : Female
Age : in her early 20's
Race : Bosmer
Appearance : Dark hair and pale skin, dark violet eyes, slender and petite.
Character Bio :
2E 578, 14th of Sun's Dusk
Somewhere south of Dawnstar, Skyrim.
It was like coming to surface or waking up from a very deep dream, slowly, painfully. Her mind was emerging from a freezing oblivion, her eyes began to catch spots of light and blurry patches of colour. The sense of touch was gradually coming back to her fingers. Finally, a breath. Another.
She sat up straight, her head spinning, every bit of her body aching from cold and muscular spasms. She was in a cave; thin, pale sun-rays fought their way through the cracks in the rock far above and, scattering and diffusing on the sharp boulders, softly fell on the iron shrine marked by frost. The shrine was so damaged by time that it was impossible to recognise the deity or pantheon it was dedicated to.
Another wave of physical pain brought back her attention. Her; but what was her name? Who was she? The fear suppressed all other senses. She rose up and, leaning against damp rock, tried to find her way out, stumbling on what looked like skeletal remnants. This place was an altar...
She shivered and wrapped herself in the rags she wore; a beam of sunlight fell on her skin, all white and pale. Something bright caught her eyes – her chest was all covered with dried blood; it was a scar. She touched her chest – the scar that ran across it was roughly sewed up as if in a hurry. The smaller cuts below it formed letters and the letters - a word. "Celebrith". A name, perhaps? She whispered it over and over again, until the sound of it came clear from her parched throat.
2E 581, 4th of Second Seed
It's been almost three years since the day Celebrith first found herself in that cave. First she was hunting and working as a hireling for living - the bow and the blade were a part of her, as if she was born with them; she never knew where she got the skill from. Hunting was not enough, so she became a thief, stealing from the rich in the big cities. Months went by, and she eventually became part of the thiefs guild. One contract after another, gold coins streamed into her pockets. A life of a thief is that of risk, but that risk didn't sufice. With a bit of luck, she made contact with the Dark Brotherhood. She was a perfect thief and assassin - silent, quick, and as cold-blooded as a servant of Death himself. She performed even the dirtiest or works cleanly. Her life seemed perfectly suitable for her, yet something was missing.
2E 583, 27th of Last Seed
It's been a month now that Celebrith came to Grahtwood. She crossed half of Tamriel, trying to find out who she was, but her search led nowhere. She quickly learned she was a Bosmer - that is what she was called, according to her looks, so she decided to make her way to Valenwood in search of answers and sense of belonging.
And here she was, in Valenwood, land of the wood elves, her land. And yet her memory wouldn't return. Sometimes she had those nightmares - faces, names, places she has never seen in her travels. She felt like those were flashbacks, but who knew where the visions were coming from. One thing was certain – what she saw were memories of another life...
Once, returning from the tavern, she spotted a man in a hood following her to her home. She was too drunk to be alarmed, and it made the man’s job easy – she felt a rock lend on the back of her head, and the next thing she saw was a dagger in the hands of an Altmer necromancer.
And here she is now, in Coldharbour.
Gender : Female
Age : in her early 20's
Race : Bosmer
Appearance : Dark hair and pale skin, dark violet eyes, slender and petite.
Character Bio :
2E 578, 14th of Sun's Dusk
Somewhere south of Dawnstar, Skyrim.
It was like coming to surface or waking up from a very deep dream, slowly, painfully. Her mind was emerging from a freezing oblivion, her eyes began to catch spots of light and blurry patches of colour. The sense of touch was gradually coming back to her fingers. Finally, a breath. Another.
She sat up straight, her head spinning, every bit of her body aching from cold and muscular spasms. She was in a cave; thin, pale sun-rays fought their way through the cracks in the rock far above and, scattering and diffusing on the sharp boulders, softly fell on the iron shrine marked by frost. The shrine was so damaged by time that it was impossible to recognise the deity or pantheon it was dedicated to.
Another wave of physical pain brought back her attention. Her; but what was her name? Who was she? The fear suppressed all other senses. She rose up and, leaning against damp rock, tried to find her way out, stumbling on what looked like skeletal remnants. This place was an altar...
She shivered and wrapped herself in the rags she wore; a beam of sunlight fell on her skin, all white and pale. Something bright caught her eyes – her chest was all covered with dried blood; it was a scar. She touched her chest – the scar that ran across it was roughly sewed up as if in a hurry. The smaller cuts below it formed letters and the letters - a word. "Celebrith". A name, perhaps? She whispered it over and over again, until the sound of it came clear from her parched throat.
2E 581, 4th of Second Seed
It's been almost three years since the day Celebrith first found herself in that cave. First she was hunting and working as a hireling for living - the bow and the blade were a part of her, as if she was born with them; she never knew where she got the skill from. Hunting was not enough, so she became a thief, stealing from the rich in the big cities. Months went by, and she eventually became part of the thiefs guild. One contract after another, gold coins streamed into her pockets. A life of a thief is that of risk, but that risk didn't sufice. With a bit of luck, she made contact with the Dark Brotherhood. She was a perfect thief and assassin - silent, quick, and as cold-blooded as a servant of Death himself. She performed even the dirtiest or works cleanly. Her life seemed perfectly suitable for her, yet something was missing.
2E 583, 27th of Last Seed
It's been a month now that Celebrith came to Grahtwood. She crossed half of Tamriel, trying to find out who she was, but her search led nowhere. She quickly learned she was a Bosmer - that is what she was called, according to her looks, so she decided to make her way to Valenwood in search of answers and sense of belonging.
And here she was, in Valenwood, land of the wood elves, her land. And yet her memory wouldn't return. Sometimes she had those nightmares - faces, names, places she has never seen in her travels. She felt like those were flashbacks, but who knew where the visions were coming from. One thing was certain – what she saw were memories of another life...
Once, returning from the tavern, she spotted a man in a hood following her to her home. She was too drunk to be alarmed, and it made the man’s job easy – she felt a rock lend on the back of her head, and the next thing she saw was a dagger in the hands of an Altmer necromancer.
And here she is now, in Coldharbour.