Post by ADRIENE HAWKHART . on Nov 8, 2012 0:50:36 GMT -8
adriene hawkhart .
 ADRIENE HAWKHART . ADDIE, HAWK . 23 & 22ND OF FROSTFALL . BRETON . THIEF, PIRATE . NEUTRAL . NONE . N / A . DEMISEXUAL . ORIGINAL . | [atrb=border,0,true] |
THE THIEF[/I]. master in sneak, lockpicking, pickpocketing, one-handed. naturally talented in destruction and restoration. adept at archery. not much patience for illusion or conjuration. heavy armor and two-handed weapons are a 'fools' weapons. if you're quick and smart enough, there's no need for a bulky shield, either.
the armor -- adriene has no preference of armor, so long as it's light. he has a pair of regular leather armor, but often wears the custom armor his father had made for him when he was eighteen.
the weapons -- at one point, adriene had an ebony sword, just like his cousin. he lost it after a nasty encounter with some draugr. he hasn't found a suitable sword since, but wields a daedric dagger and bow.
the follower -- after he and his cousin parted ways he purchased a pup from an old soldier. he was bred for protection, a mix between a wolf and a hound; he named it agathon, trained it for battle and fit it with armor.
distrusting, loud, vengeful, liar.
daggerfall isn't this nice, wonderful city that you so often hear about. these tales are spread about by the upperclass, the privileged few who often earned their fortunes by having a powerful name. i'm one of those people - blessed by money, unable to fathom hunger or homelessness. financial problems never even came close to me - i was shielded from poverty and suffering, knew nothing but warmth and contentment. the world inside the manor was wonderful and perfect - untainted, unblemished, and perfectly safe. my whole family lived there - my little cousin and her parents in the east, myself and mine in the west. the two sides were different but just as welcoming - sunny, dark; raucous laughter and conniving whispers. i learned to light the world afire in the east - the douse it, heal the hurt. in the west, though, laid my true craft: the subtle beauty of slipping through shadows, the art of remaining unnoticed even as my little fingers found their way into an unsuspecting pocket. nothing gave me more pleasure than the feel of a lock giving way, of entering a forbidden area. i was quite good at it, this shadowed lifestyle - it suited me. father would regret it.
every child wants to believe their parents are good people - that they'll never lie to you, hurt you. but they will, and then everything will fall into place - all that training, all those long hours spent shifting through shadows. i took to sneaking out at night, slumming it with the hollow-faced children of the less fortunate. when i found that our own fortune was bathed in the blood of countless individuals - that myself and my dear, innocent little cousin weren't learning for fun, but for merciless profit -
well. i took to swordplay quickly, and after that, the bow. my father mistook my extracurricular activities as a natural lust for the trade. he began sharing secrets with me, dark little tendrils of faith that left me burning and spiteful, biding my time. he made his move when i was sixteen - packed us up, little veissa included; told her we were forming a caravan, taking our business to the other cities. dear, sweet veissa... she actually believed him.
i protected her the best i could - from everything. a mistake, perhaps, but i'd do it again in a heartbeat. she never saw me calculating the best way to slip a blade through steel and bone, contemplating the best poisons to be bought from cloaked men in shadowed alleyways. i was simply her addie, her hawk - loud and obnoxious, silly and bright. she couldn't know that late at night, while we huddled together over a book, i was planning a counterattack - an escape to ensure her naive innocence remained intact.
everything, and everyone else, was just a means to an end.
manipulative, proud, emotional, protective.
in the end, i failed. veissa's sweet little dream came crashing down in the falkreath dungeon, and i was left to pick up the pieces. father didn't want her back - saw nothing in her since she'd gotten caught in the home of the jarl - and was content to keep moving on. i managed to sneak away in the early morning for some last minute 'business ventures' - broke into the jail, unlocked her cell, and watched as she ran off to winterhold - to the college, the safest place for her. when i returned to the caravan no one even acknowledged her absence, like she'd never existed.
her heartbroken, tear-stained face haunted me for months. the guilt wouldn't leave me even as i stood amongst the wreckage, sword covered in blood and father, begging at my feet. his silver tongue was gone, his mouth a mangled mess, and i left him there to bleed out - eradicated his lies, his control, and crowned myself king. i wandered away to winterhold, spun a story of a gruesome attack, hoping to save her the pain of knowing that i, myself, had killed our family. something in her had changed, though - her attitude, the way she held herself. she'd always been careful, anxious, ridden with insomnia - but this was a weathered, pained fatigue and shame that clung to her. i stayed with her as long as i could before the guilt got to me again, chasing me away.
i found myself in the company of pirates - became one myself, aged nineteen. i'd never enjoyed the art of bloody trade - but i was damn good at it. time to embrace my fate.
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EMILY .
SEVENTEEN .
FOREVER .
DARKEST DEPTHS OF THE INTERNETS .
[/center] SEVENTEEN .
FOREVER .
DARKEST DEPTHS OF THE INTERNETS .