myriadofcolorsFeb 03, 2017Feb 03, 2017 at 03:54 AM
#1
ESO @name: myriadofcolors
Character Name: Azareh Windshaker
Race: Khajiit
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Marital Status: Single and ready to flamingle
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Looks: A small and lithe 5 foot Kahjiit, with gray fur and dark gray splotches. Green-gold eyes, a white mouth. Fair-boned and delicate looking, with finely toned muscles.
Personality: Largely cheerful and flirty, with a crooked smile. Is she serious or being sarcastic? No one really knows. With people, she likes to smile and chat, but by herself, she turns more pensive and even sad. During her year of slavery, her heart had turned cold and hard as stone, and focused only on surviving one day to the next. She tends to be suspicious of new people, but warms quickly, if they keep their hands in plain sight.
Why is she in Aldmeri Territory? After escaping Deshaan, she returned home to Reaper's March and tried to find her family. She likes to be around other Khajiit, and the Dominion is the best place to be.
History: The second-born of a Clanmother of a traveling merchant caravan, she was a bright and inquisitive girl, too curious for her own good. When she was 17, she was kidnapped by slavers, and sold to a Dunmer family in Deshaan. She worked as a chef until a thief freed her, and in turn she worked to free the other slaves in the slaver’s household. After killing her master, she returned to Reaper’s March. There, among her people, she is learning how to enjoy life once more, but slowly, like unwinding muscles. She steals professionally, but enjoys it like a puzzle, a game. She smuggles on the side. She quite likes it.
The long version (tw for mentions of rape, slavery, murder):
Azareh was the second daughter of the Clanmother, and certainly not the favorite. Politeness had never been her strong suit, but her curiosity made her the favorite of the storyteller of the clan. She grew up in a clan of merchants, traveling the oft-dusty reoads of Reaper’s March and selling goods to all of the major cities. She loved to explore, and often spent her time watching the roads pass by with dreamy and excited eyes. she was so delighted with the rest of her world and the love for her litter mates she didn't mind in the least. She loves the stories best, and dreams herself in worlds she can almost touch.
With the ending of slavery on the Argonians, the Khajiit are more flagrantly hunted. More raids follow the clans paths, and it is when she is but a young adult, nearly at her own adulthood, that she is taken and captured. Her clan, her family, is torn apart, scattering like sands on the desert. t was just before her first mating dance that the cavaran was attacked by slavers. All of the clan was either killed or taken; Azareh fought like hell but was knocked out. A pretty Khajiit always sells for a high price, even a wild one.
She was sold to Dark Elf merchants, who sold her off to a Dunmer house (somewhere). Her pretty looks kept her to the house, but her tongue kept her in the kitchens, working the great ovens and feeding people she hated with every part in her.
But hate and shock burned away to survival, and sometimes that means taking away caring about what happens. Especially after the master began to take her to bed. Survival is all that matters at the end of the day. something in her hardens. She will do what she must to survive. If that means being quiet and keeping her head down, then all will be ok. She hopes so, anyways.
She had been kept a year when an unfamiliar man slipped into the kitchen from the pantry. “Hello, there.”
She turned, her knife pausing from its cutting. It was another Dunmer, but one with kind eyes. She had learned not to trust Dunmer men. “What can I help you with, sir?” She asked politely, her tongue barely tripping over the proper way to speak, as taught by the master.
“I was wondering if you would be interested as to tell me where your master sleeps.” He smiled, his teeth glinting. “Come to take away some of his things, make a little trouble for him.”
Her mouth twitched up in a smile. She lowered her voice, saying. “Down the hall, to the left. Watch out for his guard dogs. They have swords and a nasty bite.”
The man bowed to her, and left the room. She wondered if she might have gotten herself into more trouble than she already had been—her back still sore from her last lesson—when the man returned, his pack heavier than before. “Well?” he asked, pausing by the door.
“Well, what?” she returned, and then stopped. “Sir.”
He shook her head. “No need for that. Come along, I’m taking you with me as well.”
She paused, her heart thumping in her chest. “Wha-what? You’re stealing me, too?” Her hand gripped the knife handle.
“Yes, isn’t it obvious?”
“This one is—I am—not willing to switch one master for another. And the trouble I’ll be in.”
The thief walked up to her, making sure she was looking straight at him before he said, “I am not stealing you to be a possession, I’m stealing you for your freedom. Come with me, and I’ll teach you how to defend yourself from their bites and their paws.”
“What are you, some sort of noble thief? Like in a story?”
He rolled his eyes. “Call me a thief with a heart. Come quickly, the dogs will look for me soon.”
A guard almost stops them, but his smooth manner calms him, and before she knows it, she's tasting free air. And it tastes like back alleyways and rat piss. They run from the house in the countryside to the tavern in the Dark Elf City, where, after he fidgets a little with the locks, she finds herself in a Thieves den.
She keeps the man's hands in her peripheral at all time. She sleeps with the knife, in the corner, when she can no longer keep her eyes open.
The women there- fierce, tattooed, loud- bully her into sleeping in their quarters. No one will touch you, they say, their eyes understanding and their hands soft as they offer leftovers, clothes stolen from unwary citizens, and then, as her courage grows-- lockpicks.
She had never stolen-- her mother had been sure to denounce the merchants claiming the Khajiit are all thieves. But as she became more brave, more restless, she practiced, in the caverns under the pub, to hide in the shadows, to steal, to make her knives sharp as her nails and just as deadly.
It's not until she's very, very good at stealing, turning a tidy profit for the Thief Lord, that they plan her next heist. Steal away the other slaves, as her previous owners were losing money, and would soon have to sell them off. There were whole families there, threatened by this, and now would be the best time to steal them.
She didn't expect it to hurt her so much, didn't expect the panic as she dirtied her fur, blended in with the others. As they were about to leave, all the slaves aboard the Den's hired caravans, she found herself face to face with her former owner.
She left his body lying at the entry of his great manor, tears in her eyes.
Back at the Thieves Den, they celebrate their freedom, but before the end of the night, Azareh turns to the first man who stole her back and holds his hand. “I have to leave,” she says bluntly. “I—this one—can’t be here anymore.”
He nods. “I figured as much. When do you wish to leave?”
“Tonight. Please, you’ll take care of the others?”
“Of course. We’ll be extra careful. Are you sure you don’t want company?”
She shook her head. “I... don’t think so, no. This one needs to settle her mind before she lets anyone else in.” She bounces up and kisses him gently on his cheek. “Thank you for stealing me, Sorgus.”
He smiled, and leans down to kiss hers. “Anytime you need me, I’m here for you, Azareh.”
It takes many moons of travel and finding wagons to take her, but she finally lands in Reaper’s March, her home. She didn’t expect to cry as hard as she did when she sees her favorite town, Rawl’kha, still standing strong and busy. She probably should have, since she had been spending the last few days trying not to cry too loudly in the back of the wagon she hitched onto.
It’s not for a while until she finally can smile again, and laugh. But that is a story for another day. She carries her sadness deep inside, like the second heartbeat, but she is learning to handle it, and find interesting things to keep her occupied through the days.
Family: believed to be dead.
Enemies: Suspicious of every Dark Elf. Suspicious of Lawful Good characters.
Wants: to find a home, to be safe, to have friends, to adventure. Also wants money.
Hates: Any slavers, racists, anyone insulting her cooking
Hobbies: exploring, crafting, making food and drinks for friends.
Character Name: Azareh Windshaker
Race: Khajiit
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Marital Status: Single and ready to flamingle
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual
Looks: A small and lithe 5 foot Kahjiit, with gray fur and dark gray splotches. Green-gold eyes, a white mouth. Fair-boned and delicate looking, with finely toned muscles.
Personality: Largely cheerful and flirty, with a crooked smile. Is she serious or being sarcastic? No one really knows. With people, she likes to smile and chat, but by herself, she turns more pensive and even sad. During her year of slavery, her heart had turned cold and hard as stone, and focused only on surviving one day to the next. She tends to be suspicious of new people, but warms quickly, if they keep their hands in plain sight.
Why is she in Aldmeri Territory? After escaping Deshaan, she returned home to Reaper's March and tried to find her family. She likes to be around other Khajiit, and the Dominion is the best place to be.
History: The second-born of a Clanmother of a traveling merchant caravan, she was a bright and inquisitive girl, too curious for her own good. When she was 17, she was kidnapped by slavers, and sold to a Dunmer family in Deshaan. She worked as a chef until a thief freed her, and in turn she worked to free the other slaves in the slaver’s household. After killing her master, she returned to Reaper’s March. There, among her people, she is learning how to enjoy life once more, but slowly, like unwinding muscles. She steals professionally, but enjoys it like a puzzle, a game. She smuggles on the side. She quite likes it.
The long version (tw for mentions of rape, slavery, murder):
Azareh was the second daughter of the Clanmother, and certainly not the favorite. Politeness had never been her strong suit, but her curiosity made her the favorite of the storyteller of the clan. She grew up in a clan of merchants, traveling the oft-dusty reoads of Reaper’s March and selling goods to all of the major cities. She loved to explore, and often spent her time watching the roads pass by with dreamy and excited eyes. she was so delighted with the rest of her world and the love for her litter mates she didn't mind in the least. She loves the stories best, and dreams herself in worlds she can almost touch.
With the ending of slavery on the Argonians, the Khajiit are more flagrantly hunted. More raids follow the clans paths, and it is when she is but a young adult, nearly at her own adulthood, that she is taken and captured. Her clan, her family, is torn apart, scattering like sands on the desert. t was just before her first mating dance that the cavaran was attacked by slavers. All of the clan was either killed or taken; Azareh fought like hell but was knocked out. A pretty Khajiit always sells for a high price, even a wild one.
She was sold to Dark Elf merchants, who sold her off to a Dunmer house (somewhere). Her pretty looks kept her to the house, but her tongue kept her in the kitchens, working the great ovens and feeding people she hated with every part in her.
But hate and shock burned away to survival, and sometimes that means taking away caring about what happens. Especially after the master began to take her to bed. Survival is all that matters at the end of the day. something in her hardens. She will do what she must to survive. If that means being quiet and keeping her head down, then all will be ok. She hopes so, anyways.
She had been kept a year when an unfamiliar man slipped into the kitchen from the pantry. “Hello, there.”
She turned, her knife pausing from its cutting. It was another Dunmer, but one with kind eyes. She had learned not to trust Dunmer men. “What can I help you with, sir?” She asked politely, her tongue barely tripping over the proper way to speak, as taught by the master.
“I was wondering if you would be interested as to tell me where your master sleeps.” He smiled, his teeth glinting. “Come to take away some of his things, make a little trouble for him.”
Her mouth twitched up in a smile. She lowered her voice, saying. “Down the hall, to the left. Watch out for his guard dogs. They have swords and a nasty bite.”
The man bowed to her, and left the room. She wondered if she might have gotten herself into more trouble than she already had been—her back still sore from her last lesson—when the man returned, his pack heavier than before. “Well?” he asked, pausing by the door.
“Well, what?” she returned, and then stopped. “Sir.”
He shook her head. “No need for that. Come along, I’m taking you with me as well.”
She paused, her heart thumping in her chest. “Wha-what? You’re stealing me, too?” Her hand gripped the knife handle.
“Yes, isn’t it obvious?”
“This one is—I am—not willing to switch one master for another. And the trouble I’ll be in.”
The thief walked up to her, making sure she was looking straight at him before he said, “I am not stealing you to be a possession, I’m stealing you for your freedom. Come with me, and I’ll teach you how to defend yourself from their bites and their paws.”
“What are you, some sort of noble thief? Like in a story?”
He rolled his eyes. “Call me a thief with a heart. Come quickly, the dogs will look for me soon.”
A guard almost stops them, but his smooth manner calms him, and before she knows it, she's tasting free air. And it tastes like back alleyways and rat piss. They run from the house in the countryside to the tavern in the Dark Elf City, where, after he fidgets a little with the locks, she finds herself in a Thieves den.
She keeps the man's hands in her peripheral at all time. She sleeps with the knife, in the corner, when she can no longer keep her eyes open.
The women there- fierce, tattooed, loud- bully her into sleeping in their quarters. No one will touch you, they say, their eyes understanding and their hands soft as they offer leftovers, clothes stolen from unwary citizens, and then, as her courage grows-- lockpicks.
She had never stolen-- her mother had been sure to denounce the merchants claiming the Khajiit are all thieves. But as she became more brave, more restless, she practiced, in the caverns under the pub, to hide in the shadows, to steal, to make her knives sharp as her nails and just as deadly.
It's not until she's very, very good at stealing, turning a tidy profit for the Thief Lord, that they plan her next heist. Steal away the other slaves, as her previous owners were losing money, and would soon have to sell them off. There were whole families there, threatened by this, and now would be the best time to steal them.
She didn't expect it to hurt her so much, didn't expect the panic as she dirtied her fur, blended in with the others. As they were about to leave, all the slaves aboard the Den's hired caravans, she found herself face to face with her former owner.
She left his body lying at the entry of his great manor, tears in her eyes.
Back at the Thieves Den, they celebrate their freedom, but before the end of the night, Azareh turns to the first man who stole her back and holds his hand. “I have to leave,” she says bluntly. “I—this one—can’t be here anymore.”
He nods. “I figured as much. When do you wish to leave?”
“Tonight. Please, you’ll take care of the others?”
“Of course. We’ll be extra careful. Are you sure you don’t want company?”
She shook her head. “I... don’t think so, no. This one needs to settle her mind before she lets anyone else in.” She bounces up and kisses him gently on his cheek. “Thank you for stealing me, Sorgus.”
He smiled, and leans down to kiss hers. “Anytime you need me, I’m here for you, Azareh.”
It takes many moons of travel and finding wagons to take her, but she finally lands in Reaper’s March, her home. She didn’t expect to cry as hard as she did when she sees her favorite town, Rawl’kha, still standing strong and busy. She probably should have, since she had been spending the last few days trying not to cry too loudly in the back of the wagon she hitched onto.
It’s not for a while until she finally can smile again, and laugh. But that is a story for another day. She carries her sadness deep inside, like the second heartbeat, but she is learning to handle it, and find interesting things to keep her occupied through the days.
Family: believed to be dead.
Enemies: Suspicious of every Dark Elf. Suspicious of Lawful Good characters.
Wants: to find a home, to be safe, to have friends, to adventure. Also wants money.
Hates: Any slavers, racists, anyone insulting her cooking
Hobbies: exploring, crafting, making food and drinks for friends.
AelwynFeb 03, 2017