The_Nightingale_Khajiit
Niente è vero, tutto è permesso
((A male Kahjiit named Ba'Shira lived with his parents in the outskirts of Cyrodill, the capital of Tamriel. He and his family, wealthy merchants who were known well in black markets for their skooma business, were forced out of their home and into the wilderness with nothing but a small wagon of food and gear, all of their wealth and reputation stripped away by the Empire after a deal gone wrong.
Several years went on and Ba'Shira, who had just reached his adolescent years, began taking care of his aging parents by hunting and harvesting food while they travelled through the other provinces. One day after coming back from a hunt at dawn, he was shocked and heartbroken to find that his parents havdbeen killed in their sleep, their belongings either destroyed or stolen by a group of unknown mercenaries.
Years passed and Ba'Shira, a fully-grown Khajiit of nearly twenty-five, made his way to the forest-covered province of Skyrim and found small jobs to work while he began his quest to find out who ordered the assassination of his parents....)
A mighty gust of wind blew open one of the rotting mahogany doors to Candlehearth Hall, Windhelm’s frigid winter air chilling every occupant of the small tavern. The fire crackling in the corner threatened to die and leave the dozen or so citizens in the darkness’ cold clutches, but the door was slammed closed by a mysterious figure in the doorway. A soft gasp fell across the inn at his appearance, for he seemed to merely appear out of thin air, as if no more than a goule. His armour resembled that of the elusive Nightingales, albeit with what appeared to be crimson etchings not unlike that of the Daedric warriors of old.
The strange guest made his way across the Hall and made no sound, as if oblivious to the dozens of eyes fixed upon him. As he sat down at the counter and set down a handful of Septims for an ale, a large, bushy charcoal grey and black tail swayed idly behind his stool, a pair of similarly-patterned ears poking out of his midnight black hood. Even without uttering a word, he let it be known that he was not to be messed with, an ebony bow slung over his torso and back along with two quivers of Dwarven arrows, all of which had a faint orange glow emanating from the heads. At his waist, hidden under his void-black cloak, were a pair of sheathed daggers that seemed to hum and steam, suggesting that he had been in contact with a smith that knew the art of forging weapons from the hardest ice in the land.
After taking a slow drink of the cold ale, feeling the beverage tickle his throat as it went down, the male Kahjiit leaned back in his chair and slowly removed his cowl and hood, revealing a pair of turquoise, glowing eyes that swept across the small inn several times, his ears swiveling to detect any threats nearby. His broad-shouldered, lightly-armored form slowly relaxed as he let out a heavy sigh, seeming to be at peace for the first time in years...
My character:
Name: Ba'Shira
Race: Kahjiit
Occupation: Assassin/Bounty Hunter,
Magical abilities: Adept at Illusion, especially Invisibility and Muffle
Weapons: Ebony bow, Stalhrim daggers, various poisons and his claws
Age: 24
Several years went on and Ba'Shira, who had just reached his adolescent years, began taking care of his aging parents by hunting and harvesting food while they travelled through the other provinces. One day after coming back from a hunt at dawn, he was shocked and heartbroken to find that his parents havdbeen killed in their sleep, their belongings either destroyed or stolen by a group of unknown mercenaries.
Years passed and Ba'Shira, a fully-grown Khajiit of nearly twenty-five, made his way to the forest-covered province of Skyrim and found small jobs to work while he began his quest to find out who ordered the assassination of his parents....)
A mighty gust of wind blew open one of the rotting mahogany doors to Candlehearth Hall, Windhelm’s frigid winter air chilling every occupant of the small tavern. The fire crackling in the corner threatened to die and leave the dozen or so citizens in the darkness’ cold clutches, but the door was slammed closed by a mysterious figure in the doorway. A soft gasp fell across the inn at his appearance, for he seemed to merely appear out of thin air, as if no more than a goule. His armour resembled that of the elusive Nightingales, albeit with what appeared to be crimson etchings not unlike that of the Daedric warriors of old.
The strange guest made his way across the Hall and made no sound, as if oblivious to the dozens of eyes fixed upon him. As he sat down at the counter and set down a handful of Septims for an ale, a large, bushy charcoal grey and black tail swayed idly behind his stool, a pair of similarly-patterned ears poking out of his midnight black hood. Even without uttering a word, he let it be known that he was not to be messed with, an ebony bow slung over his torso and back along with two quivers of Dwarven arrows, all of which had a faint orange glow emanating from the heads. At his waist, hidden under his void-black cloak, were a pair of sheathed daggers that seemed to hum and steam, suggesting that he had been in contact with a smith that knew the art of forging weapons from the hardest ice in the land.
After taking a slow drink of the cold ale, feeling the beverage tickle his throat as it went down, the male Kahjiit leaned back in his chair and slowly removed his cowl and hood, revealing a pair of turquoise, glowing eyes that swept across the small inn several times, his ears swiveling to detect any threats nearby. His broad-shouldered, lightly-armored form slowly relaxed as he let out a heavy sigh, seeming to be at peace for the first time in years...
My character:
Name: Ba'Shira
Race: Kahjiit
Occupation: Assassin/Bounty Hunter,
Magical abilities: Adept at Illusion, especially Invisibility and Muffle
Weapons: Ebony bow, Stalhrim daggers, various poisons and his claws
Age: 24
