Board Thread:Off Topic/@comment-14011542-20131009214425/@comment-25313753-20141222055830

Aeyna Ah-Krilot

She never speaks the last part aloud, except as a whisper, to herself. Aeyna is the only name she ever gives to anyone when asked. " Ah-Krilot. " It is a word she hears in her dreams. She has no idea what it could possibly mean. Her father, Hamvir the Smith, had told her that it was the only word inscribed in ancient Nordic runes on a small wooden amulet he found with her in her swaddling clothes. There had been blood on the road, he'd said, which he noticed while trundling along with his cart between Bruma and the small trading post at the Border with Morrowind. There he'd discovered her, cooing quietly half under the bloody corpse of a woman he presumed to be her Mother. There had been nothing else there of any value or indication, nothing to say who the dead woman was, or why she might be traveling this deserted road alone. So, he'd taken the infant girl in, and raised her as his own, calling her Aeyna, the name of his own Grandmother. Grandmother Aeyna, he'd said, had been known as a mighty huntress in her youth, and he'd sensed something in the bright, shining grey wolf eyes with which his adopted daughter had first gazed upon him.

Most assuredly, sh'e taken to the bow as one born to it. Little boys had oft teased her, asking: '' Are you sure you're not a Bosmer ? Why, your ears are pointy, aren't they ?" But she'd grown tall and straight and fearless, and soon the teasing had turned to whistles and catcalls, until one day when a boy named Rodnar had pinched her ass, and she'd broken his nose, earning him the nickname  Rodnar Flat-nose. After that, they always nodded respectfully, and lowered their eyes from her fierce gaze.

Her Father had said to her, every so often, pointing at a Snow-wolf pelt on the wall: " Your gaze is as fierce and frightening as one of those, Dear One. Only a fool would ever think you could be tamed.''

He'd trained her at the forge, given her his knowledge as best he could, and she'd grown swiftly in skill and strength. He'd shown her how to wield the bow and the sword, although she had always favored the greatsword above all other weapons other than the bow. For all her slenderness, she had a smith's strength to wield one. She had always preferred to chop the hard wood needed for the forge's fires herself, rarely choosing to cut easier wood that a woman might normally take. '' Hard wood, hotter fire, " Hamvir had always said, " although a pinch of fire-salts doesn't hurt either."

When the day finally came that Hamvir would not awaken, she'd laid him to rest in the small graveyard outside Bruma. Several others of the townspeople had come as well. Even that quiet tattooed Breton boy, whose mother was the Witch-woman who lived in a stone hut outside of town had been there, head bowed in respect. Often when imperial soldiers had come to her Father to have weapons forged or repaired, and they had witnessed her skill with hammer and flame, those soldiers would tell her that most assuredly the Imperial Army, peacekeepers of Tamriel, would have great need of her skills, should she choose to make them available.

So, filled with a craving for adventure, and far places, she'd left the only home she'd ever known, harboring an odd feeling that another home awaited her. As a young woman of eighteen years, her life was ahead of her. What awaited ? The Imperial Army had offered, so she had accepted.

Curse her naiivete.

The first year had been all she had hoped for: She'd been assigned to the Thirteenth Legion, sent to the border with Morrowind. She had been allowed the opportunity to trade with Dunmer, and even learnt some of their secrets. They were different, to be sure, proud to name gods as ancestors. But so could some Nords, could they not ? She openly resented the treaty the Empire had struck with the Aldmeri Dominion. Hadn't the Empire been founded by the now ascended Tiber Septim, Talos, Nord and god ? She heard rumors of Thalmor Justiciar squads which hunted, imprisoned, tortured and killed Nords suspected of Talos worship. Inside imperial borders ! How could this be tolerated ?

So it came as little surprise when the Thirteenth mobilized and marched to the border with Skyrim. Skyrim ! The name stirred something deep in her soul, an unrealized longing that now anticipated fulfilment.

But her joy was short lived. Her old Quartermaster had retired, and the new one, Dravidus Pollastrus, had made her skin crawl from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. Something about the way he looked at her, the oily and unctuous tone of his voice, set her teeth on edge. Then one night her insticts were proven all too accurate. She had awakened to the smell of garlic in her face, and a knife to her throat. '' I am your superior. Officer. You will not cry out. If you say anything after, you will not be believed. You will be flogged, and executed for treason.'' His hand groped her firm, slender body beneath the covers. Her only response was some kind of growl. She did not know where this came from, or how what happened next could possibly be real; '' FUUUS ! ", she roared. The very air around them exploded with a sensation not unlike standing near a giant tree when it fell. Waves of force emanated outward from her mouth. He flew backward off of her, and crashed into the wall. She was up in an instant, clad in nothing but her linen shift, and grabbed the first thing which came to hand: her trusty wood-splitting axe. She only saw a red tunnel, with him at it's end, back against the smithy wall, struggling to stand. His skull had offered her no more resistance than a chicken's egg, cutting off his frightened little-girl scream when she split it clear to his lower jaw. She had awakened from her killing rage shaking, dripping blood and gore, realizing how this would look. She heard calls from outside, soldiers on watch trying to discern the source of the terrifying sound they'd heard. And she knew then what must be done. She'd hastily donned her work leathers, grabbed a pouch with some food, and her trusty axe, and slipped outside. Something was with her that night. Perhaps Kyne, whom the Imperials called Kynareth, whom she prayed to regularly, and made offerings from her hunts. Whichever, the lessons from those hunts held her that night, and she managed to slip past the guards, and finally over the wall, in the confusion, as guards rushed about, and watch commanders called soldiers to ' Stand to ', a precaution against sudden assault. But the jump from the lowest, poorly repaired wall had still been too high, and she'd twisted her ankle on landing. As she hobbled away, several guards yelled out, and arrows flew after her. Bless the darkness ! One arrow had sliced open her left arm, damaging the muscle, but missing the artery.

She lost track of the days as she fled North, moving only at night, guided by the stars. Her wounded arm hampered her. Unfortunately, wound-tending was was not the first among her skills, and knowledge of healing herbs not the primary area of her studies. There would have been more of those, had she risen in rank as she'd hoped she would. The weather turned colder, the terrain steeper and more rugged, food scarcer. She did not dare risk a fire unless she had a cave, and she'd only found one of those on her journey thus far. She did not dare stay there. She had to keep moving...

Finally, she'd been caught in the open by a snowstorm. It was just too easy to fall down into the soft, pillowy white and be cradled to sleep; the cold felt good on her fevered brow. Sleep...

She had awaked to cold water splashing roughly on her face. Voices spoke loudly in a language that seemed familiar, but she couldn't understand. Her eyes struggled open to see tall, thin figures with angular features. One wore dark, hooded robes with silver embroidery. " Thalmor. Scheisse ! " That one in the robes adressed her in accented Cyrodiilic : " Ahhh. It awakens. Perhaps we should put this wild beast out of its misery. Perhaps not too quickly..." The Justiciar's face came closer. " It has a penchant for killing its superiors, it would seem. Dangerous. Let's find out what it knows, first. Who or what it worships.''

The next blur of time was such that she could only wish for it to end. Attempting to kill herself by attacking her captors had earned her a nasty sword cut down her left cheek at one point. But after that they'd handled her more carefully. She'd managed to kick one in the groin, and he had been still walking with a wince at each step the last time she'd seen him. So Elves did have balls, after all. Who knew ? Finally, the day had come when they walked her outside, and she'd been sure they meant to execute her. Instead, she groaned inwardly, as wagons and horses with Imperial soldiers rolled into the Thalmor compound. the cruelest one, the Justiciar called 'Mrethis' sneered at her as rough hands dragged her into the back of the wagon. " Traitor ! " one soldier hissed in her ear as he shoved onto the rude wooden bench and secured her shackles to an eyelet on the wagon floor. She wondered idly whether she had forged that eyelet. She had forged many such eyelets in her year in the Army. There were three others, men called Ralof, another who's name she could not remember, and another called Ulfric. He was gagged as well as bound. He could not be the Ulfic, could he ? The leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion ? It seemed she would die in good company, then. At one point in the journey to what she discovered would be the Nord town of Helgen, Ralof confirmed Ulfric's identity. She also noticed at one point another wagon ahead of theirs, which had joined their little convoy outside the Thalmor compound, which held a tall, handsome Nord, a thoughtful-looking blonde Elf, and a Khajiit who grinned at her. At least she thought it was a grin. Khajiit had a strange sense of humor. And lastly, a skinny, tattooed Breton, who looked very familiar...

As they rolled into Helgen, they all heard a sound which made everyone but her sit up high in their seats and look around fearfully. Some muttered: '' What in Oblivion was THAT ? " A distant, blood-chilling roar...

Aeyna Ah-Krilot began to smile.