@DM Fang Dragon - Ceilidh fell in with Martella and other outcasts and ne'er-do-wells in Taldor after leaving her own country. She felt more at home with people who also were black sheep, outcasts, provocateurs, and the like. It is possible that she and Martella bonded over a similar style of humor, love of a certain food, or a specific aesthetic of the society they are both now in. It is also possible they just bonded over mead and giggled quite a bit in their "younger" years - which happened a few years ago, lol.
I would like to submit Ceilidh. She is an Occultist Arcanist from Galt. She despises her own country and sees Taldor as a way to enact some sense of reason onto the world's chaos and achieve renown. She is self-taught in her magic, which she is proud of, but also scared of.
"Ceilidh is very against inequality. She has been an outcast and homeless for good portions of her life, so she feels for the underdog, the marginalized. But she feels she's been "accused" of attacks against people and places, with her magic. She worries she's a bit of an unintended terrorist, or will be perceived that way. So she has latched onto a few incidences she's read about that involved real terrorists...elves. Because of her frustration over her own situation, she tends to read the worst in elves and comes across as mildly racist."
"She's brilliant, but a bit of an alcoholic. She can't sleep without a drink. She loves a good cigar but will complain about someone tracking in dirt, or not washing their face. Calculating and thoughtful in her planning, she often doesn't think about what she will say before she says it in conversation."
"Ceilidh's blue eyes are light and mysterious and stark against her bronze skin. Her dark brown hair graces her shoulders. She has a noble posture, almost challenging. A tattoo of an upside-down tree runs down her neck, spreading across her shoulders. It's actually not one tattoo, but hundreds of tiny magical sigil tattoos, forming the image of a tree."
"Ceilidh has an estranged sister, also with magical talent, who always seemed to despise and resent her."
She is planning on continuing to push her natural arcane talents with more self-study (arcanist). She is NG, which I roleplay like this: (Bad actors manipulate a good system to suppress the weak. I may not know you, but I will fight for your equity and rights. To justify you having fewer rights than anyone else is immoral.) I have her built in this profile, but not yet as an Arcanist. This was for a different game where she played a sorcerer/wizard that eventually went Ultimate mage (a 3.5 prestige class combining the two similar to, and better than, the arcanist. But no one lets me play it, lol). The basic premise is there, however. If chosen, I'll whip up the character in HeroLab for you.
She is a character who lacks patience when people are being hurt, is calculating if a bit of a blunderer in social situations, and gets in trouble when she runs her mouth or jumps too quickly to save someone, getting in over her head. Her main motivation is finding safety through acceptance of people around her which she proves by heroic acts. She does not feel she is actually worthy of that.
For all the destruction, there weren't many bodies in the courtyard. I saw some under some rubble, and found several bound ones in the back next to the drum keep.
On one of the crisped corpses I found a journal of an explorer from Cyrodiil who'd sneaked across the border into Skyrim, avoiding the Imperials as they were looking for something...or someone. Apparently he was swept up by a patrol with some rebels, and was to be executed by the local commander of the Imperials when this...dragon...showed up, wrecking the place. He says he and several others, including an Imperial Sergeant named Hadvar and one of the rebels named Rolof put aside their differences and helped some of the people into the barracks. This man went out to find more survivors, and was apparently killed.
I entered the barracks. They were abandoned, although I found an iron broadsword and a dusty imperial leather helmet in there, as well as a few coins left behind in the panic. The table was still set for a meal between Imperial soldiers.
I moved down the hall, and found a dead rebel in the entrance hall outside the gate to the barracks cells. I commandeered his fur boots and his cuirass. It didn't fit the best, but if there were fighting factions running about, and a dragon, I wanted all the protection I could have.
I delved down into the dungeons of the barracks, and narrowly avoided a section of the keep collapsing on me. I would have turned round, but I swore I heard voices ahead.
There wasn't much else to see. The next room had a nice fire, and a table covered in blood. I couldn't tell if it was from foul play, or a wound received in the dragon attack. A hole in the back wall led into a cave with a small stream running through it, likely the well for Helgen, but the roof started to come down, so I hoofed it back up to the main level.
I returned to my camp and packed up, preparing to look for this cave.
It took me the better part of a day to hike into the mountains towards Helgen. It got colder and colder the higher I went. Luckily, I had traded the old iron breastplate in Riverwood for some hunting furs, which was certainly helping with the cold air up here, camped just below the snowline. I wish I could have afforded a cloak.
I set up camp beneath a large outcropping, with a view across the valley at some ruins. I figure I'll camp here tonight, cook some food, and head up to face my family in the morning. With that, I uncorked a flask of wine, and laid into it. I followed it up with some mead from Honningbrew's.
With an earth-shattering roar, a creature of myth rocketed off the mountain above me, from the direction of Helgen. From the direction of my family. It soared overhead, heading back up the mountain.
"Gods be good..."I choked from my hiding place behind my tent.
I grabbed my bow, and hustled up the mountain. It took me thirty minutes to get to Helgen.
I wish it had taken longer.
Helgen was still smoking. The whole of the keep lay in ruin.
Ran into a wolf pup on the way up to Riverwood. I was able to dispatch it with little trouble. Thank the nine it's mother wasn't about. I shouldered the carcass into town to try my hand at skinning and getting some meat off it tonight.
I'm going to hike up that mountain tomorrow and find Helgen safe, and my family unhurt. It's likely some silly rumor. I hope it is.
I hunkered down at the Bannered Mare for two days, gathering my strength and drying off. The talk was all about Helgen, although apparently no one had seen any actual sign of a dragon, and no one had seen Helgen for themselves. It was always a friend of a friend of a cousin, or some such rubbish. I'll head to Riverwood on Sundas, and then hike up to Helgen the next day.
~Tirdas, the 19th of Last Seed, 4E 201~
~Early evening~
"Who goes there?" the skinny guard asked Ceilidh as she weakly approached the gate of Whiterun.
People strode through the gate with purpose, and just the hint of hustle in their step. "Ceilidh, of Dawnstar, uh, sir."
"The cities closed, what with the dragon that destroyed Helgen."
Ceilidh covered her mouth with her hand. "Then it's true?"
The second guard, a short man with a thick shadowy beard, laughed. "It's no more true than the fact you say your wife's got them aches in the brain caused by gnomes."
"She does," the first guard shot back. "And the dragon is real, mark my words."
"It's rainin' like I need ta piss," the second guard spat. "Come on in, lass. You'll find shelter at the The Bannered Mare."
The rain beat down on Ceilidh, soaking her to the skin. Her feet were sore, her father's ancient armor chafed and smelled, and her stomach growled continuously.
She pulled out half a bread and ate it as she walked, the rain making the outer crust soft. It had rained for the last day of her two-day trip south from Dawnstar. It was better than the freezing blizzard she had left behind, but all the same, she needed to rest and recuperate at an inn in Whiterun. Maybe someone will have news of Helgen.
As she turned onto the Golden way, the road that ran in front of Whiterun, she marveled at the trees lining the approach to the city. Tall aspens, elegant firs, ancient elms and oaks. People moved along here in small groups, doing business with the farmers outside the walls, or with the brewery, or other businesses.
With a roar, the roof of a barn off the road exploded outward. A giant, standing some fifteen feet tall, lumbered away from the structure, throwing a wide swing of his club behind him. Yells went up from all around, and people scurried away quickly.
The giant ran right at Ceilidh, with three armored people in hot pursuit, weapons in hand. He dodged through two tall quaking aspens, grabbing on to one with his left hand and swinging about, pulling the tree partway up from its roots, and swinging his club around in a massive arc at everything in sight, including Ceilidh.
With a scream, Ceilidh dove into a puddle, the club whiffing over her.
"Get down little girl!" a fierce red-headed woman in brown leather yelled, ducking under the giant's club and slashing at his knee.
With a bellowing laugh, a huge bear of a man wearing wolf armor cut the back of the giant's leg with a great two-handed sword. "Look out!"
Ceilidh rolled out of the way as quickly as she could, as the giant crashed down in the puddle she was just occupying.
The huge man held out his hand to her. "You alright?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly. He had a goatee, long and brown and tied in a knot under his chin, with face paint that looked like a great cat had slashed his face.
"I...I'm fine."Ceilidh said, her voice trembling.
"Well," the fierce woman scowled, her brown eyes piercing Ceilidh's, "that's done. No thanks to you."
"You...you didn't look like you needed help."
The big man barked a laugh. "Who, Aela? Never." The third woman was already striding away towards the city.
"A true warrior, like Farkas here, would relish in the opportunity to fight a giant. Helping doesn't matter. The Companions are about glory."
Ceilidh blinked at her. "The...you're Companions?"
"Brothers and sisters in arms."Farkas said, slapping her back hard. "Seeking glory...and coin."
"Let us return to Jorrvaskr, Farkas."Aela said, turning.
The two strode off in the rain, leaving Ceilidh a bit weak kneed behind in the rain.
It's been two days since I heard the news. Some fool farmer from Morthal was up in Dawnstar flapping his lips about a dragon having burnt Helgen to the ground. Sodding idiot. Dragons don't exist, everyone knows that.
But the fact that he says Helgen was destroyed worries me. I hope my family is alright. I grabbed my father's old armor from the days of the Great War, two loaves of bread, a wedge of goat cheese and a bottle of wine and headed south on the road to Helgen immediately.
I probably should have thought it through better. You think I'd be accustomed to the weather here, as I've, oh, I don't know, grown up here. Left with no camping gear. No survival gear. No cloak. Nothing.
I wasn't an hour out on the road, heading down the mountain, when a blizzard hit. Naturally. Nearly froze to death trying to hike my dumb numb butt to Whiterun. On the way I stumbled (literally) upon three small frostbite spiders that had killed a snow fox.
All my training my father gave me. A good iron longsword. Iron armor, with greaves and bracers. Worn, but still good. All that, and you'd think I'd have faced these three spiders with a little more bravery. I mean...they're the size of cats.
Nope. I screamed like a stuck pig so loud I'm lucky bandits didn't come find me. Or giants.
I took the fox. I'll try my hand at skinning it later. On to Whiterun.
My name is Ceilidh. I am a Nord of Skyrim, in Tamriel. My family comes from Dawnstar, in The Pale, and that's where I live. They moved to Helgen last year, in Falkreath hold, because of some new mine. I stayed in Dawnstar.
I hate it here. I just want to get married, make a home. But who wants a scrawny bride? My Uncle Marwyn owned a nice home on Klinalth lake years ago. I loved visiting there.
