ShaolinRavenAug 09, 2014Aug 09, 2014 at 12:07 PM
#1
ESO @account: @ShaolinRaven
Name: Lurks-in-Bracken
Age: 25ish, though exact age is unknown.
Race: Argonian
Flair: Scars all along his back from his time as a slave.
So, you want to know more about me? That's fair, I guess, though I'm not used to talking or sharing my personal history with people and conversations of this sort are always...painful. Memories of a harsh upbringing and some of the things that were done to me do not make pleasant conversation.
Hmmf. I see you're still insistent to know more about me despite my warnings and obvious lack of desire to speak with you about where I came from, very well.
I do not know exactly how old I am, though I place myself around 25 or so. My family was caught by slavers just before I hatched, or just after, details are fuzzy. All I know is that my childhood was spent under the lash of Dunmer masters on a farm. The only name I knew was wretch and slave. We were beaten often, chained up at night, and counted cheaper then cattle. That was my life for many years doing hard labor and receiving no reward but the kiss of a whip or the touch of a fist or boot. I went to sleep chained to the floor, hungry, and cold. No stories to send me off to sleep, no childhood games.
One day a particularly harsh dust storm came down upon the farm. I must have been somewhere in my mid-teens. It came swiftly, dampening the calls for shelter and obscuring vision. It was then I decided to slip away. I managed to knock my overseer down and incapacitate him with the very tools he had given me to work the farm. I doubt I killed him, but it was enough to escape. I had no idea where I was going, only the vague notion that any direction would eventually lead me out of Morrowind.
I spent the next couple of years hiding, running, always moving, and rarely sleeping. I traveled south, down through Morrowind skirting cities and towns and trying to stay in the wild and barren places. I avoided all signs of civilization and hunted what food I could.
What I didn't know at the time was that I was drifting more south-west then south and so I missed making it into Black Marsh. Eventually I found my way in Cyrodiil. I didn't like the open land as it proved poor to hide in though once I got further away from the border of Morrowind I started roaming in the cities. I learned to steal and swindle as being on the run had taught me how to hide and how to be patient. I also picked up mercenary work. The harsh conditions of my life in Morrowind had made me tough, having actual food from hunting coupled with my constant flight through Morrowind had made me stronger, so mercenary work agreed well with me.
I took what ever job came my way. I also stole what I could from anyone that wasn't a client or a current comrade in order to get by. I murdered for coin, stole for food, and took care of other peoples "problems." I never gave a name so my associates started calling me "Lurks" cause I was quiet and seemed to always stay on the edge or outskirts of groups. In all fairness I should have died in Cyrodiil when Molag Bal took the city. It was luck that I had accepted a job guarding a caravan heading toward Elsewyr. All manner of deadric horrors hit us on the boarder. We managed to hold off the initial wave and get the caravan fleeing toward Elsewyr.
So I found myself stuck again. I didn't want to go back to Cyrodiil after I heard all the rumors, even if half of them were half true, it wasn't a place I wanted to return to. I was in another strange land, so I resorted to my old ways of survive at any cost. I learned about the plague ravaging Elsewyr and decided it wasn't safe either. So I kept moving again.
I ended up in Valenwood, hunting and foraging for food. I got caught off guard by some fairly nasty plant life as I was unaccustomed to plants trying to kill me before I ingested them. After the fight I was wounded and delirious. If Argonians weren't resistant to poison, that over grown flower probably would have killed me. I probably would have died in my delirium running into something nasty or just falling asleep out in the open for any animal on the hunt to finish off, but I was found by a Bosmer. After I awoke with her hovering over me and head butted her trying to escape unfamiliar confines she introduced herself as Moralanis and explained she was trying to heal me, we eventually cleared up the misunderstanding and have been traveling together ever since...well when other obligations have not had to pull me away for brief times. As I still work contracts for people she would find unsettling at best.
I still hate the Dunmer, any Dunmer. I know not all of them are slavers or had slaves and while I don't want to kill them on sight anymore I can't stand to be around them. They remind me of the life I was lucky to escape, more so, they remind me of the possibilities that one day, a Dunmer could try and make that my life again.
Name: Lurks-in-Bracken
Age: 25ish, though exact age is unknown.
Race: Argonian
Flair: Scars all along his back from his time as a slave.
So, you want to know more about me? That's fair, I guess, though I'm not used to talking or sharing my personal history with people and conversations of this sort are always...painful. Memories of a harsh upbringing and some of the things that were done to me do not make pleasant conversation.
Hmmf. I see you're still insistent to know more about me despite my warnings and obvious lack of desire to speak with you about where I came from, very well.
I do not know exactly how old I am, though I place myself around 25 or so. My family was caught by slavers just before I hatched, or just after, details are fuzzy. All I know is that my childhood was spent under the lash of Dunmer masters on a farm. The only name I knew was wretch and slave. We were beaten often, chained up at night, and counted cheaper then cattle. That was my life for many years doing hard labor and receiving no reward but the kiss of a whip or the touch of a fist or boot. I went to sleep chained to the floor, hungry, and cold. No stories to send me off to sleep, no childhood games.
One day a particularly harsh dust storm came down upon the farm. I must have been somewhere in my mid-teens. It came swiftly, dampening the calls for shelter and obscuring vision. It was then I decided to slip away. I managed to knock my overseer down and incapacitate him with the very tools he had given me to work the farm. I doubt I killed him, but it was enough to escape. I had no idea where I was going, only the vague notion that any direction would eventually lead me out of Morrowind.
I spent the next couple of years hiding, running, always moving, and rarely sleeping. I traveled south, down through Morrowind skirting cities and towns and trying to stay in the wild and barren places. I avoided all signs of civilization and hunted what food I could.
What I didn't know at the time was that I was drifting more south-west then south and so I missed making it into Black Marsh. Eventually I found my way in Cyrodiil. I didn't like the open land as it proved poor to hide in though once I got further away from the border of Morrowind I started roaming in the cities. I learned to steal and swindle as being on the run had taught me how to hide and how to be patient. I also picked up mercenary work. The harsh conditions of my life in Morrowind had made me tough, having actual food from hunting coupled with my constant flight through Morrowind had made me stronger, so mercenary work agreed well with me.
I took what ever job came my way. I also stole what I could from anyone that wasn't a client or a current comrade in order to get by. I murdered for coin, stole for food, and took care of other peoples "problems." I never gave a name so my associates started calling me "Lurks" cause I was quiet and seemed to always stay on the edge or outskirts of groups. In all fairness I should have died in Cyrodiil when Molag Bal took the city. It was luck that I had accepted a job guarding a caravan heading toward Elsewyr. All manner of deadric horrors hit us on the boarder. We managed to hold off the initial wave and get the caravan fleeing toward Elsewyr.
So I found myself stuck again. I didn't want to go back to Cyrodiil after I heard all the rumors, even if half of them were half true, it wasn't a place I wanted to return to. I was in another strange land, so I resorted to my old ways of survive at any cost. I learned about the plague ravaging Elsewyr and decided it wasn't safe either. So I kept moving again.
I ended up in Valenwood, hunting and foraging for food. I got caught off guard by some fairly nasty plant life as I was unaccustomed to plants trying to kill me before I ingested them. After the fight I was wounded and delirious. If Argonians weren't resistant to poison, that over grown flower probably would have killed me. I probably would have died in my delirium running into something nasty or just falling asleep out in the open for any animal on the hunt to finish off, but I was found by a Bosmer. After I awoke with her hovering over me and head butted her trying to escape unfamiliar confines she introduced herself as Moralanis and explained she was trying to heal me, we eventually cleared up the misunderstanding and have been traveling together ever since...well when other obligations have not had to pull me away for brief times. As I still work contracts for people she would find unsettling at best.
I still hate the Dunmer, any Dunmer. I know not all of them are slavers or had slaves and while I don't want to kill them on sight anymore I can't stand to be around them. They remind me of the life I was lucky to escape, more so, they remind me of the possibilities that one day, a Dunmer could try and make that my life again.