Wynter-SongAug 29, 2014Aug 29, 2014 at 07:54 PM
#1
Name: Wynter-Song
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Bosmer
Noticeable markings: Scar across right eye
Edit to Add Username: Wynter_Night
Backstory:
Born and raised in a secluded area in Grahtwood, Wynter-Song (henceforth known as Wynter- her preference) and her parents lived alone and poor, as foragers. There were other families that they would bump into from time to time, living amongst the forest similarly trying to make ends meet, and the occasional travelling merchants would cross through the area, but for the most part, Wynter lived a pretty sheltered life away from other people. Her parents would, once a year, bring her to Elden Root, and she would excitedly watch the dizzying amount of people going about their business while her parents would have items they found appraised and would do trade with the local merchants. Wynter would always find herself with a local treat that her parents could spare the coin for, as she wandered towards any bard that would happen to be playing a lute under her parents watchful eyes. As a child, she was chatty about things that particularly interested her. Her parents noticed that she favoured the feel of leather over silk, that she had a keen eye when it came to archery and had limited use of magic, and that she would always, -always-, would find a way to sneak off in Elden Root, to hear the sounds of a lute being played.
Over the years, she found herself creating clothing out of the cotton and flax that she could find, wonderment filled her eyes when she came across leathers and rawhides, and she seemed to naturally bend the wood she found into all shapes and sizes of bows, all the while crafting meticulous arrows. Her parents praised her to the moon as all the things she could make, helped bring in a helpful size of income to survive. One cool autumn night, while she slept in the tent, dreaming of the world outside, her father trekked himself out to find a merchant, and with the meek savings they held on to, he purchased her a used lute. From then on, there was always music to be heard, from their little nook in the forest.
About the time she was seventeen years of age, she had gone out to forage, farther than she normally would have and found a very interesting item. She was unsure of what it was, but it sparkled so brightly, that she was sure it must have some sort of value, perhaps finally securing her and her parents future. Ideas flew through her mind of a small house close to Elden Root, where she could always be around people, make friends, find love. Her heart lept with joy as she raced back to her home, being only wary enough to not trip over any foliage or roots. She showed the item to her parents, who were both surprised by the find. They promised that in a few weeks time, when they would be able to make their yearly trip to Elden Root, but until then, it should be kept hidden away. Their eyes all spoke the same hopeful thought: This would get them back to normal life. Music sung from that little lute, for the next few days. Wynter who was much too excited to forage for anything more, began to think of where they might live, who they might meet, and best of all, the comfort of finally being able to say, they have a home.
A few nights before their departure, and all bags packed to go, they heard voices approaching their area. It seemed as though some travelling merchants had made their way to the small little neck of the woods and not willing to pass up the opportunity to sell even some of their smaller things, her father smiled at Wynter and ran out the tent to hail them, picking up the smaller of the packs they had sitting there. Wynter and her Mother, sat close to the tent opening, and could just hear them speaking. Her father mentioned that he had some things he would be willing to sell or trade. The three merchants stopped to speak with him. They looked in as her father started to pull out various plants as he spoke about them and what he was hoping to get for them. If there was anything her father was good at, it was bartering. The three men scoffed, and looked as if they were about to walk away when one of the merchants nudged another and pointed. Suddenly, all three of them were very interested in something that was in the pack. Wynter had carefully and quietly snuck out the front of the tent to try and get a better look, without being seen. Her father mumbled about not willing to sell until it was appraised as he wasn't sure what it's worth was. He tried to redirect them back to the various plants but they were very adamant about the other item. Wynter managed to get close enough to see the men better, and saw that they were talking about the item she found. The one man, who was burlier than the others, pushed past her father to grab the item, ignoring her fathers cry of protest. Suddenly, Wynters mother was right beside her, catching Wynter's eyes, she motioned for her to be very quiet. The burly man held the item up into the torchlight, and Wynter saw that he had a very ugly scar that went from his wrist up into where his shirt was. He looked back at her father and offered 250 gold. The other two merchants sniggered. Her father stammered out again, that he wasn't willing to sell it yet. Wynter stared. 250 gold, although most likely a measly offer, wasn't that bad of an offer, was it? The burly man scoffed and told him he would be lucky to get more for it. The other two merchants laughed again. They began to get louder and started to try to intimidate her father into a deal. Wynter shifted, wanting to protest and tell her father to take the deal, but then her mother went stiff, and grabbed her around the mouth. "Hush! those are no merchants!" she whispered urgently. Wynter looked back, scared, and saw the glinting of the hidden knives around all three men from the torchlight. Bandits?
"Then we should help Father" she whispered back to her mother, but her Mother shook her head and pulled Wynter back to the tent quietly. She watched as her mother almost instantaneously, began to pack up and old backpack with food, clothing and attached a bedroll to the front without so much as a wind in the air. She dropped in a few measly gold coins and pushed the back into Wynters arms. "Go" she whispered quietly and with authority. "Go and hide within the borders, but do not stay close, and do not come back here for at least 3 days time" she took a small, over used knife from a wooden table close by, walked to the back side of the tent and as quietly and as quickly as she could, tore a small area in the cloth, enough for Wynter to squeeze through and run. But Wynters legs with heavy with fear, she couldn't seem to make them move.
"Mother... I"
"Quietly and quickly, go!" she interjected quietly and ushered Wynter to the ripped opening of the tent. Back outside, she could hear her father begging to be left alone. She wanted to turn around and help but her mother again, told her to go. She could barely make her feet move still, and she looked one last time at her mother. Her eyes betrayed her genuine fear for two short seconds that felt like an eternity. Wynter's heart began to race, like it had been transformed into a hummingbird, and sweat greeted her palms like they were old friends.
"It will be okay. You will be okay" her mother said quietly. Wynter turned and ran. Her fathers pleads fell onto her ears and a scream echoed through the forest. Wynter faltered in steps and tripped into the foliage. Her breaths grasped at burning lungs and tears flowed from her eyes. She had no doubt that that scream was of her fathers. Her mind swam with fear and she slipped a few times trying to get up and run again. She ran, it felt, like all night. Thoughts of what happened haunted her mind, and every noise she heard, felt like death was on her heels. She found a small, unused cave that they used to forage around and sunk back into the shadows of it. She didn't want to see, or think, or feel. Eventually, during the early part of the next morning, she fell asleep, exhausted, only to be haunted by the things that transpired the night before.
And for the next three days, she wandered in a circle, around where their tent was, staying far enough away to not draw any attraction to herself. The days passed in a haze of anguish, guilt and anger. On the third day, she was torn between heading back right away, or waiting until the day was done. She chose the latter, and impatiently made her way closer and closer to where she was, opting to go back, the way she left. She fought with a gripping dread that everything was not okay. She felt guilty for her father. If she had just thrown that stupid item away, none of this would have happened. She feared going back to that area to see what her mind painted for her. But what else was she supposed to do? This was the only life she knew. Slowly she made her way back to what was her only home.
By early nightfall, she saw the familiar tent, with the ripped edge, reminding her that everything she witnessed, did, in fact, happen. The familiarity brought nothing but discomfort and fear though. Slowly she crept closer to the tent, listening for any sounds that spoke of danger. The place smelled empty, as if there had been no one here for days. She slowly peeked her head into the hole, and only slightly relaxed when she saw no movement. There was no warmth to greet her here. The place had been ransacked. The bandits must have taken anything they found to be of any value. Things were overturned and trinkets were missing from their places. Other than that, there didn't seem to be much of a struggle in the tent. Wynter was losing light fast as the day drew closer to a close, but she had the hope that her mother had not been harmed. at least not in the tent her mind told her, and she shuddered. Her fingers gripped the front opening of the tent, and her hands, once again, began encased in more sweat as her heart began to beat fast again. Her father... His begging and scream would forever haunt her. She pulled open the front of the tent and looked back towards where she last saw her father. There was a body laying right where her mind expected it to be. Tears welled up in her eyes as her feet forced her forward of their own accord. Her eyes registered the right size and weight. The length of hair.. tears pooled up and out over and over as she finally found herself right beside the body. She glanced down at the body of her father. His throat had been slashed. This was not supposed to happen. Her mother promised her that it would be okay. Wynter cried out and dropped beside him.
6 years later (The Present story)
There was a quick but hidden movement in the grass, and before the bandit had a chance to notice, Wynter popped up and shot him with an arrow from her bow, dropping him before he could even utter a cry of surprise. A scar, now etched into her face, across her right eye, a very close call from a battle.
She hid back into the grass, snuck up to his body, and tore the armour from his arms.
It wasn't him. There was no ugly scar to mark his perfectly muscled arms. She stood up, feeling defeated and frustrated once more. She whistled and out from the surrounding forest, galloped a beautiful brown horse. Her mane gleamed in the late afternoon sun. "Wasn't him, Shyla" Wynter said, and patted the horse softly on the neck as she came close. Wynter gazed out into the horizon. She would find him though, and perhaps through him, she would find her Mother as well.
image no longer hosted — http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b328/oxdraygonflyxo/ESO%20Pictures/Screenshot_20140828_122331_zps2acbc13e.jpg[/img]
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Race: Bosmer
Noticeable markings: Scar across right eye
Edit to Add Username: Wynter_Night
Backstory:
Born and raised in a secluded area in Grahtwood, Wynter-Song (henceforth known as Wynter- her preference) and her parents lived alone and poor, as foragers. There were other families that they would bump into from time to time, living amongst the forest similarly trying to make ends meet, and the occasional travelling merchants would cross through the area, but for the most part, Wynter lived a pretty sheltered life away from other people. Her parents would, once a year, bring her to Elden Root, and she would excitedly watch the dizzying amount of people going about their business while her parents would have items they found appraised and would do trade with the local merchants. Wynter would always find herself with a local treat that her parents could spare the coin for, as she wandered towards any bard that would happen to be playing a lute under her parents watchful eyes. As a child, she was chatty about things that particularly interested her. Her parents noticed that she favoured the feel of leather over silk, that she had a keen eye when it came to archery and had limited use of magic, and that she would always, -always-, would find a way to sneak off in Elden Root, to hear the sounds of a lute being played.
Over the years, she found herself creating clothing out of the cotton and flax that she could find, wonderment filled her eyes when she came across leathers and rawhides, and she seemed to naturally bend the wood she found into all shapes and sizes of bows, all the while crafting meticulous arrows. Her parents praised her to the moon as all the things she could make, helped bring in a helpful size of income to survive. One cool autumn night, while she slept in the tent, dreaming of the world outside, her father trekked himself out to find a merchant, and with the meek savings they held on to, he purchased her a used lute. From then on, there was always music to be heard, from their little nook in the forest.
About the time she was seventeen years of age, she had gone out to forage, farther than she normally would have and found a very interesting item. She was unsure of what it was, but it sparkled so brightly, that she was sure it must have some sort of value, perhaps finally securing her and her parents future. Ideas flew through her mind of a small house close to Elden Root, where she could always be around people, make friends, find love. Her heart lept with joy as she raced back to her home, being only wary enough to not trip over any foliage or roots. She showed the item to her parents, who were both surprised by the find. They promised that in a few weeks time, when they would be able to make their yearly trip to Elden Root, but until then, it should be kept hidden away. Their eyes all spoke the same hopeful thought: This would get them back to normal life. Music sung from that little lute, for the next few days. Wynter who was much too excited to forage for anything more, began to think of where they might live, who they might meet, and best of all, the comfort of finally being able to say, they have a home.
A few nights before their departure, and all bags packed to go, they heard voices approaching their area. It seemed as though some travelling merchants had made their way to the small little neck of the woods and not willing to pass up the opportunity to sell even some of their smaller things, her father smiled at Wynter and ran out the tent to hail them, picking up the smaller of the packs they had sitting there. Wynter and her Mother, sat close to the tent opening, and could just hear them speaking. Her father mentioned that he had some things he would be willing to sell or trade. The three merchants stopped to speak with him. They looked in as her father started to pull out various plants as he spoke about them and what he was hoping to get for them. If there was anything her father was good at, it was bartering. The three men scoffed, and looked as if they were about to walk away when one of the merchants nudged another and pointed. Suddenly, all three of them were very interested in something that was in the pack. Wynter had carefully and quietly snuck out the front of the tent to try and get a better look, without being seen. Her father mumbled about not willing to sell until it was appraised as he wasn't sure what it's worth was. He tried to redirect them back to the various plants but they were very adamant about the other item. Wynter managed to get close enough to see the men better, and saw that they were talking about the item she found. The one man, who was burlier than the others, pushed past her father to grab the item, ignoring her fathers cry of protest. Suddenly, Wynters mother was right beside her, catching Wynter's eyes, she motioned for her to be very quiet. The burly man held the item up into the torchlight, and Wynter saw that he had a very ugly scar that went from his wrist up into where his shirt was. He looked back at her father and offered 250 gold. The other two merchants sniggered. Her father stammered out again, that he wasn't willing to sell it yet. Wynter stared. 250 gold, although most likely a measly offer, wasn't that bad of an offer, was it? The burly man scoffed and told him he would be lucky to get more for it. The other two merchants laughed again. They began to get louder and started to try to intimidate her father into a deal. Wynter shifted, wanting to protest and tell her father to take the deal, but then her mother went stiff, and grabbed her around the mouth. "Hush! those are no merchants!" she whispered urgently. Wynter looked back, scared, and saw the glinting of the hidden knives around all three men from the torchlight. Bandits?
"Then we should help Father" she whispered back to her mother, but her Mother shook her head and pulled Wynter back to the tent quietly. She watched as her mother almost instantaneously, began to pack up and old backpack with food, clothing and attached a bedroll to the front without so much as a wind in the air. She dropped in a few measly gold coins and pushed the back into Wynters arms. "Go" she whispered quietly and with authority. "Go and hide within the borders, but do not stay close, and do not come back here for at least 3 days time" she took a small, over used knife from a wooden table close by, walked to the back side of the tent and as quietly and as quickly as she could, tore a small area in the cloth, enough for Wynter to squeeze through and run. But Wynters legs with heavy with fear, she couldn't seem to make them move.
"Mother... I"
"Quietly and quickly, go!" she interjected quietly and ushered Wynter to the ripped opening of the tent. Back outside, she could hear her father begging to be left alone. She wanted to turn around and help but her mother again, told her to go. She could barely make her feet move still, and she looked one last time at her mother. Her eyes betrayed her genuine fear for two short seconds that felt like an eternity. Wynter's heart began to race, like it had been transformed into a hummingbird, and sweat greeted her palms like they were old friends.
"It will be okay. You will be okay" her mother said quietly. Wynter turned and ran. Her fathers pleads fell onto her ears and a scream echoed through the forest. Wynter faltered in steps and tripped into the foliage. Her breaths grasped at burning lungs and tears flowed from her eyes. She had no doubt that that scream was of her fathers. Her mind swam with fear and she slipped a few times trying to get up and run again. She ran, it felt, like all night. Thoughts of what happened haunted her mind, and every noise she heard, felt like death was on her heels. She found a small, unused cave that they used to forage around and sunk back into the shadows of it. She didn't want to see, or think, or feel. Eventually, during the early part of the next morning, she fell asleep, exhausted, only to be haunted by the things that transpired the night before.
And for the next three days, she wandered in a circle, around where their tent was, staying far enough away to not draw any attraction to herself. The days passed in a haze of anguish, guilt and anger. On the third day, she was torn between heading back right away, or waiting until the day was done. She chose the latter, and impatiently made her way closer and closer to where she was, opting to go back, the way she left. She fought with a gripping dread that everything was not okay. She felt guilty for her father. If she had just thrown that stupid item away, none of this would have happened. She feared going back to that area to see what her mind painted for her. But what else was she supposed to do? This was the only life she knew. Slowly she made her way back to what was her only home.
By early nightfall, she saw the familiar tent, with the ripped edge, reminding her that everything she witnessed, did, in fact, happen. The familiarity brought nothing but discomfort and fear though. Slowly she crept closer to the tent, listening for any sounds that spoke of danger. The place smelled empty, as if there had been no one here for days. She slowly peeked her head into the hole, and only slightly relaxed when she saw no movement. There was no warmth to greet her here. The place had been ransacked. The bandits must have taken anything they found to be of any value. Things were overturned and trinkets were missing from their places. Other than that, there didn't seem to be much of a struggle in the tent. Wynter was losing light fast as the day drew closer to a close, but she had the hope that her mother had not been harmed. at least not in the tent her mind told her, and she shuddered. Her fingers gripped the front opening of the tent, and her hands, once again, began encased in more sweat as her heart began to beat fast again. Her father... His begging and scream would forever haunt her. She pulled open the front of the tent and looked back towards where she last saw her father. There was a body laying right where her mind expected it to be. Tears welled up in her eyes as her feet forced her forward of their own accord. Her eyes registered the right size and weight. The length of hair.. tears pooled up and out over and over as she finally found herself right beside the body. She glanced down at the body of her father. His throat had been slashed. This was not supposed to happen. Her mother promised her that it would be okay. Wynter cried out and dropped beside him.
6 years later (The Present story)
There was a quick but hidden movement in the grass, and before the bandit had a chance to notice, Wynter popped up and shot him with an arrow from her bow, dropping him before he could even utter a cry of surprise. A scar, now etched into her face, across her right eye, a very close call from a battle.
She hid back into the grass, snuck up to his body, and tore the armour from his arms.
It wasn't him. There was no ugly scar to mark his perfectly muscled arms. She stood up, feeling defeated and frustrated once more. She whistled and out from the surrounding forest, galloped a beautiful brown horse. Her mane gleamed in the late afternoon sun. "Wasn't him, Shyla" Wynter said, and patted the horse softly on the neck as she came close. Wynter gazed out into the horizon. She would find him though, and perhaps through him, she would find her Mother as well.
image no longer hosted — http://i22.photobucket.com/albums/b328/oxdraygonflyxo/ESO%20Pictures/Screenshot_20140828_122331_zps2acbc13e.jpg[/img]Edited Aug 29, 2014 at 08:12 PM by 0