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Familiar
Valorous Cape
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Lightning.
Looking at her now, no one would ever suspect that a beauty, a mystery, a killer like Skyrim had been born as anything but royalty. Decorated in silks and jewels, her form is marvelous and her thoughts are unreadable. With her piercing blue gaze, it's no wonder that men beg for her hand. With her ruthless skill, it's no wonder those men are dead when their knees touch the ground.
From the moment Skyrim took her first breath, she was thrown into a world of violence. Her parents-- rather, her mother, for she never knew her father-- threw her away like trash. She scrounged and stole and seethed her anger at the world by defying its will to kill her. For years, she drew life from her hatred alone. She hated the man and woman that brought her into the world, she hated the people that had so much she'd never touch. She hated the sad looks it drew from strangers, seeing her shivering for warmth in the winter months. She hated the scorn she saw in others once they recognized her ragged form as a thief and beggar. She hated the people that caught her and beat her, but on the day she thought death had come to collect her, she hated her fate more than anything.
"No one will miss a rat like you!" A man laughed as he stomped on her arms, trying to break them.
"This is what you get for stealing!" Another chided, yet in his hypocrisy, he'd stolen whatever food Skyrim had found along with everything else she 'owned'.
"Scum!" "Die!" "Give up already!"
She hated them, she hated them, she hated them. What she wouldn't give for them to be dead.
She got her wish sooner than she'd expected.
The sound of gurgling accompanied newly-opened throats. Such large men made a lot of noise when they fell to the ground aside her. When Skyrim peered through her bruising arms to see what had happened, she saw unfamiliar boots that looked too well-fitted for the peasants that frequented the area.
Oberyn was the first in Skyrim's entire life to look at her with something other than pity, disdain, or anger. He looked at her like a person.
No one had ever looked at her like a person before, so Skyrim did what she always did when she was confronted with something she wasn't familiar with. She stood up, brushed herself off, and stared at him. If words could break bones, he'd be oatmeal. If looks could kill, he would have been dead. Yet despite her best efforts to scare him off, to return things to the status quo, nothing worked. The man stood patient and curious and something about him was different.
Where other people would have thrown a punch, Oberyn extended a gloved hand and offered her a choice. Either she could stay here in the slums, or she could come with him and make something out of her life. As she looked up into the man's eyes, the same blue color she saw in muddy puddles of water, Skyrim felt determination well up inside of her. She lifted up her hand and slapped his aside.
"Take me." She demanded, putting her hands on her hips. She didn't care that he was taller or stronger or that he had a blade, and perhaps it was that utter lack fear that convinced the assassin of her initial worth.
"Very well," he agreed. "But if you come with me, you can never come back."
"Why the hell would I ever come back here?"
The man seemed to pause and consider the young girl's words before he eventually showed a small, nostalgic smile.
"Why indeed."
He took her into a world she'd never known, a world of warm baths and opulent fabrics and a plethora of food. He introduced her to "big sisters" and gave them name after name, though she did not care for them, as they were merely objects with human faces. He introduced her to "fellow trainees", though Skyrim hissed at the first that tried to approach. Skyrim, barely a preteen, did not cling to Oberyn's leg as he walked her through the grandiose halls of the House of Brides, but thought of how she make them her own. It was perfect for her: a society of killers sheltered from the outside world, their extravagant amenities funded by the taking of other lives. It was nothing different from her former life, only on a bigger scale, a more well-paying scale. Now that she had entered this world, she did not want to leave. She would do anything to stay, and the moment she was given the opportunity, Skyrim swore her life to the secret group, the Brides of Blood and Tears.
"There are only two real rules," Oberyn instructed as Skyrim took lessons on walking and dressing like a woman. "First: we judge our sisters by how thoroughly they accomplish their goals." He started. "And second," Oberyn intoned, "When we start something, we finish it. No matter what."
There had once been a great many brides, Skyrim learned over time. It took many tries for Skyrim to remember such mundane details, but Oberyn felt they were important. He told her of how calamity befell them when one sister turned against the coven, killing nearly everyone before the old matron put a stop to it with her own life. Oberyn spoke distantly on the days he mentioned the killing, as if lost in thought-- but no matter what, always told Skyrim stories of the brides' history whenever she practiced her methods of murdering. They helped keep her focused for some reason, and the results were all that really mattered.
Oberyn tested her will time and time again. He gave her more of his time and training than the others. Her teacher took great pains trying to break the pride that underlaid her growing aura of superiority, and Skyrim took great pleasure in resisting at every turn. Harsh as his treatment may have seemed, his tutelage saw her blossom magnificently. After years of training, Skyrim was the best Oberyn had ever seen. From an antisocial street urchin, Oberyn created an unapproachable princess. She had become beautiful, armed with all the natural assets a woman could ever want. Yet she had also maintained her cold apathy towards others, making her as merciless an assassin as an employer could ever need. Her one flaw was her overwhelming aura, an aura that she could not suppress even if she was supposed to blend among the common rabble. This flaw was what Oberyn had feared, had tried to prevent.
This flaw was what one day led her to love.
It was like every other contract: dress as a seductress, lure them in, and kill them before they touched her. Nemesis, however, was not like every other target. She had not expected him to be so charming and full of life. She had not expected him to notice her at such a large social event, surrounded by men and women who pressed and kneaded for his princely wealth. She had not expected him to speak to her, for she'd never heard the voice of a target, only their screams. Most of all, she had not expected him to see right through her.
“I know why you’re here,” he murmured as he fetched her a drink. Whether it was his nonchalance at the idea of being killed or the fact she’d been made, Skyrim felt her breath stop in her chest. She expected him to call the guards, to have her arrested. She expected to have to fight. Yet when Skyrim’s eyes snapped to the prince’s face, all she saw was a radiant smile.
"Would you like to dance?" He asked her over a glass of wine, his golden eyes shining like the sun. Before she could answer, however, he swept her away.
As they twirled to the music, Skyrim realized many things. She could feel the warmth of the hand in hers. She could feel his steady heartbeat against her own. She could feel his breath fan over her head, yet she couldn’t feel the passage of time. While the prince held her close, Skyrim was stunned by the realization that her fate had once more changed. Nemesis was the first in her entire life to look at her with something other than fear, lust, or envy. He looked at her like a woman.
“You have a beautiful voice,” She eventually said.
“As do you.” He replied.
Prince Nemesis did not die that day. He did not die that night. No: that night, he held a beautiful woman in his arms while whispering sweet nothings, teaching her how her seductive talents could be used for something more than a mechanical technique to prepare for murder. That night, Skyrim fell in love.
She had no excuse for her failure when she returned the next morning. Oberyn was incensed, but Skyrim refused to apologize. When he suggested trying to kill the man himself, an outburst of hers quickly escalated into a full-blown argument. Not for the first time, but certainly the most emphatically, Skyrim defied the man she considered her father.
"If you kill him," she threatened, "I will kill you. I swear it."
Oberyn, outraged, turned away from her and left. He did not bring it up again, but Skyrim did not forgive him for suggesting it in the first place. Both because of her infatuation, but also to spite her mentor, Skyrim left the mansion more and more often to see her royal lover. For months, things continued like that: Skyrim would take long baths laced with herbs and perfumes to wash away the smell and stain of blood before she went to see the man that had somehow found her heart. Skyrim would sneak away from Oberyn's careful eye and slip past the guards to where Nemesis awaited in the garden, sometimes the bedroom, one time the rooftops. Skyrim would stay the night, breathe Nemesis' name as if she needed it to live, and disappear in the morning as he awoke, like a dream.
One day, before she could escape, Nemesis proposed to her. Skyrim fled, fearful of how easily ‘yes’ had come to her lips. That same day, as if he could tell what had happened, Oberyn was mysteriously absent at dinner. That very night, Skyrim had the most terrible dream, where Oberyn had stolen into the royal castle to murder her beloved.
When she woke, she realized that one of her sisters had been whispering a warning as she slept. Her shock, then fear, then fury could not be contained to a single expression, so she wore all three as she dressed and departed.
Her horse whimpered with pain from how fast she’d made him run, stamping his hooves on the cobblestone outside the castle’s gates while Skyrim whisked herself to the castle proper. Ignoring the guards, making no effort to hide her presence, Skyrim stormed like a tornado with all the power of the hatred she’d carried since she was a young girl. If Oberyn had taken her love from her, she would take his life, that is what she swore, and with a shout of fury, she threw open the doors that stood between her and--
--and the two of the men in her life sitting across from one another, looking quite breathless, but sharing a good laugh.
To this day, despite her insistence on being told, Skyrim has no idea what happened between those two men on that night. Nemesis insists that they just had a conversation while Oberyn pretends he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. At the very least, she knows that the two came to an agreement that allowed her to continue being a bride while being wedded to Nemesis, though how the conclusion was reached, she still isn’t sure.
With her status as the prince’s bride, she could no longer take contracts in Nemesis’ kingdom, especially as her love did not want her murdering his aristocrat ‘friends’, but he saw her off each time she departed to a foreign land, and fetched her each time she came back. Looking at her now, so happy at the hand of her husband, no one would ever wonder about the number of men that Skyrim has killed. No one would suspect she had ever held a blade. As Nemesis’ wife, the soon-to-be queen of the kingdom, no one would ever know her past as street scum, nor ever ask the name of her worthless parents.
After all, who would ever ask those kinds of questions to a prince’s perfect bride? - - - - -MISC- - - - -
A fine piece of deep red silk, elegantly draped to echo the movements of the dragon wearing it.
0
Crimson Feathered Wings
Apparel
A full set of wings fashioned from wax and feathers.
1650
Ebony Antlers
Apparel
An impressive set of antlers, but they probably aren't natural.
1450
Ruby Ring
Trinkets
A burnished gold ring, complemented by an illustrious ruby. Be careful not to drop it!
125
Gilded Decorative Chest
Chests
What a prize! This golden chest gleams in the sunlight and is decorated with jewels and beautiful platinum designs. It's extremely heavy. Surely there is something valuable within.
0
Biography written by Saphelle
Biography layout by Zarane
The caster will focus on the surrounding magical energies, generating a large amount of Breath. Reduces physical damage dealt by 75% for two turns.
25
Required Level: 1
Contuse
Ability Stone
Deals neutral magic damage and weakens the target, decreasing their offensive capabilities.
250
Required Level: 1
Ebony Antlers
Apparel
An impressive set of antlers, but they probably aren't natural.
1450
Darkened Eye Scar
Apparel
A close call, and a reminder that only the strong survive. This dragon is a veteran of many battles and has the scar to prove it.
0
Crimson Arm Silks
Apparel
A fine piece of deep red silk, elegantly draped to echo the movements of the dragon wearing it.
0
Accent: Regal Dancer
Skydancer Female Only
Accents are equippable items that can be worn like a coat of paint on top of the skin of your dragon. The look of the accent will not be passed onto offspring and may be unequipped at any time. (Designed by Grif.)
Itemid #5758
Valorous Cape
Familiar
It is said that this dashing cape is imbued with the magical essence of a long-dead hero of renowned bravery.
1500
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Exalting Skyrim to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
