Flutica

Flutica Propiona barged into The Winking Skeever, smelling of of sea spray.

“I’m on shore leave, friends!” she called out, spying Lisette and Jorn going over some sheet music in the corner. “Gods, can’t a sailor get a hot bath around here?” This was directed at Corpulus Vinus behind the bar, who was well accustomed to Flutica’s post-sail desires, and merely lobbed a key at her.

“No Redguard lass on your arm tonight?” Jorn asked as she swung by their table for a kiss from Lisette and a clap on the shoulder from him.

She shrugged. “Rithleen had some things to do on board,” she said, waving a hand in the general direction of the Solitude docks. “But I gave her plenty to do before I came here!”

“Really, Flutica, do you have to be so crass?” Lisette protested. “Ever since you took that berth as ship’s bard you talk like…”

“I talk like a bloody sailor!” Flutica grinned. “But don’t you worry, darling, I can still sing as sweetly as a maiden.” She winked, and tossed a coin purse at Lisette. “Go have some fun. I’ll cover for you tonight since I’m here.”

Lisette smiled, and blew her a kiss. “Such a sweetheart.”

Eshkigal

“But surely Aventus could stay with me,” Eshkigal had protested. “I’ve been his governess since before Naalia took ill!”

Jorleif had shaken his head, though his eyes were not without sympathy. “I know you feel for the boy. But it’s better he be cared for by his own people.”

“In an orphanage ?”

“You’ll be given your last month’s pay from the sale of what’s left of the furnishings,” Jorleif had muttered. “And then you best go. There’s too many of your kind in the city as it is.”

Eshkigal had glared through the sudden tears blurring her eyes.

But she would not cry now, with the walls of Windhelm at her back and the shores of Solstheim waiting across the sea.

Denebarided Siluven

Denebarided smiled as he slipped the newly enchanted ring onto his little finger. That made four in all: four rings enchanted with magical support; four rings named after each enchanting Nord lady who had shared his company since he had arrived in Skyrim.

First, on his index finger, and enchanted with a version of the Clairvoyance spell, was Camilla, who had bravely gathered up her skirts in one hand and a sword in the other to lead him to Bleak Falls Barrow. She had been terribly sad to return home to her dull brother, but Denebarided had managed to convince her that Lucan needed her guiding hand more than he did. (Though he had enjoyed her hands very much at night by the campfire, he reminisced fondly.)

Second, on his middle finger, enchanted with stamina, Ysolda, who had showed him things he never thought possible to do with the mammoth tusk he had gotten for her…

Third, on his ring finger–which, when she had seen it and raised an eyebrow, he had had to explain rather quickly meant nothing to him other than a keepsake in her honor and anyway wasn’t an amulet of Mara more significant to Nords–Lydia. Lydia, who had dropped his bedroll on the other side of the fire every night, but at least never in the fire. Lydia, who had readily accepted the key to Breezehome when he said he couldn’t be tied down to one place. He had enchanted this ring with the Feather spell, learned so long ago in Morrowind.

Fourth, the newest, and most fascinating, Uthgerd the Unbroken. Who had thrown down to fight when he bought her a drink. Denebarided had accepted, and been beaten repeatedly, much to the laughter of the Bannered Mare’s patrons (and unbridled delight on the part of one jealous bard). When he finally managed to take her to the floor, on the fifth night of their brawling, Uthgerd had simply gotten up, slammed back her mug of mead, and slung a pack over her shoulder, declaring that he at last was an adventurer worthy of her help.

Denebarided looked over at Uthgerd, who was hammering the latest dents out of her armor at the workbench. She was no beauty like Camilla, Ysolda, or Lydia, but she was a better pathfinder than the merchant and more loyal than the housecarl. He wouldn’t try to leave her behind just yet.

Cevimel

Cevimel scowled at the dress laid out on the bed. True, it would be striking against her golden skin and set off her eyes to good effect, but there was so much…lace. It was nothing like the simplicity of her Thalmor robes. Which were, of course, Thalmor robes, and therefore completely unsuitable for going undercover.

“Chaos,” the senior Inquisitor had said, grimly pleased at Cevimel’s new orders. “You’re going to cause chaos the likes of which the Empire will never forget.”

Cevimel had bit her tongue against the impulse to point out that, in fact, the Empire had already faced down numerous forces of destruction, including the sort she was about to attempt. It did not do to contradict Inquisitors, even if she was twice this one’s age and had decades more experience in assassination. Her insubordination had cost her many a promotion already.

Benoit

Benoit owned a pet fox and liked to drink.

The first thing was a great hit with his romantic conquests; something about the soft furry face and warm cuddly body. It was a wonder more people didn’t go in for mating with Khajiits.

The second thing was seriously hindering his chances for romantic conquests.

And his career as a bard.

He knew he was drinking away his chances of advancing in the Bards College or shipping out for some adventure, but when the next round came, he wouldn’t turn it down.

Alinor Jemane

Alinor Jemane knew she came from a distinguished line of horse thieves–as well as the regular kind of thieves. She had been brought up never to question the random, surprising gifts of great extravagance from her parents and grandparents that bore no small resemblance to objects reported missing in the Black Horse Courier over the years.

It was said with some pride–at least in the family–that Alinor’s great-grandmother had been the Gray Fox herself, in the years around the Oblivion Crisis. Of course no one could verify this by producing the infamous cowl or even being able to point to a single major theft that great-grandmother had pulled off, but family legends were just that.

(Alinor definitely didn’t put much stock in the idea that her great-grandfather could have been both of the famous Jemane twins. Breton biology simply didn’t allow for it. And the notion that great-grandmother had been the Hero of Kvatch? Utter nonsense–being the Gray Fox was a far sight more believable.)

Still, with all this alleged thievery in the bloodline, it was a tremendous surprise to Alinor when she was caught stealing a horse just over the Skyrim border and hauled off to be executed.

blog note

In an effort to make myself write something every day, starting tomorrow I’ll be posting little snippets about my Skyrim characters, beginning with their backstories.

There are 24, so this should fill up the queue for a bit in between the usual .gifs and screenshots 🙂

My Skyrim character roster as of 7-15-15!

Row 1: Alinor Jemane, Benoit, Cevimel, Denebarided
Row 2: Eshkigal, Flutica Propiona, Gzincha, Humir Adalimumab
Row 3: Ifelayo, Jerem, Luciana, Mazura gra-Uzgul,
Row 4: Ninon, Ophelius, Qadriyyah, Renna
Row 5: Sephyn, Thandiwe, Ushubak, Vanamoine
Row 6: Winnifir, Xurek gro-Leontes, Yrica Prygbalin, Zanamivir