WINTERVOSS, VEISSALYN

[veissalyn wintervoss .]

veissalyn wintervoss .

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daggerfall. it's the city of kings, of dark alleys and beasts; a kingdom within a city, a grand army of interchangeable, unnamed men. the city of castes, of spoils and power passed through the generations; of marriage and names - names important from the start, or those lucky few who broke the mold, tore through the ranks and took control of their own destiny. the city of irrevocable respect tied to a few tired syllables, a simple trick passed through a house. i was born in this city, into the wealth and whispers of a fortune stained with blood and hate.

i suppose i should consider myself lucky. the problems of the lower class didn't touch me, didn't even glance in my direction; by all accounts i was well cared for, rather plump with food, knowledge, and good fortune. the manor was always lively - customers would come in at all times, and go to one of two wings: east, or west. to the east was my family, the halls bright with magic and the shelves lined with potions. my parents, aevynne and marcel, were true children of the craft - they would sit all day, arguing theory while enchanting swords and armor, or readying a shipment of remedies, poisons and enhancers. it was from them i learned the finer arts of the mage - how to hold the elements, shape them into weapons; to manipulate reality and bend it to my will. i found beauty in watching skin knit back together, the dangerous flow of blood stopping because i wished the wound away; saw myself reflected in the bottle of a perfect potion, and basked in the warmth of enchanted garb.

the west was a different matter. the halls there were dark and lonely, almost cold. the voices there didn't echo but fell flat - whispered conversations held between ghosts, formless, ethereal. my uncle's own fortune was made here, shipped to the manor from shadowed alleyways - passing from hand to hand, from unwilling participant to the black market king. my older cousin adriene and i would play there, sneaking along with uncle esra or aunt vivienne while the other conducted business. from this dark corner of the home i learned how to get what i wanted, what i needed; to slip behind someone and claim their riches for my own. nothing was kept secret from us for long - no lock could stop us, and no pocket was off bounds.

i didn't understand when i was younger. it was all good fun, and i was eager to learn everything i could. when the trades of my family didn't quench my thirst for knowledge they simply directed me elsewhere - to an archer, who gave me lessons in return for an enchanted bow; to the old soldier down the way, who found me proficient enough with a sword and dagger, but lacking in the strength needed to wield the larger, two-handed weapons or shields. i tried not to lurk on my shortcomings (seeing how easy the soldiers made it look, deflecting attacks with what seems like a simple nudge, it was difficult to not be envious, to wonder why i couldn't do something physical as well as i could perform the largely mental arts) and honed the skills i could, training and reading and learning. to have knowledge was to be powerful, and for a brief period i could imagine myself as a queen, haughty and proud, and i yearned for that power, the key to respect and fame.

i was thirteen when that dream came crashing down, when reality shifted. uncle esra and aunt vivienne were taking their work on the road - forming a trade caravan, taking their riches to other cities. it was an opportunity for me to see the world, to fuel my addiction, and my parents agreed. i said goodbye to them, running off with my cousin, aunt and uncle, everything packed onto carts and these magnificent thoroughbreds. it was amazing, truly amazing; we were joined by esra's associates, men and women who came and went. they'd ask him about us, size us up like dogs in a ring; whispers about his "proteges" would float over the crackling campfire to where adriene and i would sit, pouring over a book, sharing our own little secrets. i didn't understand then, either - not even when esra had us picking locks, stuffing our knapsacks with whatever shiny items were laying around.

i didn't have a name for what we were doing. naive little girl i was, i simply called it 'business' - the word esra and vivienne and all of their associates used. it didn't occur to me that what we were doing might be morally wrong - not until i was sixteen. i was caught trying to conduct 'business' in the jarl of falkreath's home, and thrown into the prison there. "sneak thief," the guard had called me.

thief.

i didn't want to escape. it would have been simple enough to pick the lock, to sneak past the guards and enjoy my freedom - but there was no joy waiting for me out there, just crime and deception. i stayed there for a day, wallowing in self pity and guilt. it was adriene - dear, sweet adriene - who came to retrieve me.

i didn't go back to the caravan - shamed and afraid, i took off for winterhold, to the college. adriene found me months later - told me that the caravan had been attacked, that he had been the only one to escape. he stayed there with me for a year, until the need to run took him again - but even then he'd stop by, keep in touch. he'd never speak too much about his personal life - not the people he took up with, nor what he did for work - but he was present, and loving, and my only friend in skyrim. i moved to windhelm at the age of nineteen, and within a year i was named a thane in honor of my work with the stormcloaks. an accident i assure you - i heard screaming, and with the beastblood still boiling in my veins i reacted, freeing what i assumed were poor peasants being assaulted by bandits.

it turns out they were stormcloaks being held prisoner, and the men i had struck down from afar weren't bandits, but imperial soldiers.

quick facts
^x skilled in destruction, alchemy, restoration, alteration, enchanting, archery, and one-handed, to a degree. she's never been able to really grasp illusion magic.
^x dislikes shields and heavy armor, and lacks the strength necessary for two-handed weapons. can wear light armor, but prefers robes.
^x she only has three weapons: an ebony bow, an ebony dagger, and an ebony sword. when magic can't get something done, one of these three certainly can.
^x she is obsessed with her own past, worried for her own humanity. she sees the things she's done as unforgivable, regardless of any ignorance.
^x she owns a dog that she rescued up in winterhold. she calls him mika the brave, in regards to his devotion to her.
^x her mare, agro, was a gift from her cousin for her eighteenth birthday.

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EMILY .

SEVENTEEN .

EIGHT .

SEARCHING THROUGH THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF THE INTERNET .

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