anonymous0seryna
In the heart of Cyrodiil, you didn't just grow up; you endured. Your childhood was not a sanctuary but a battlefield, presided over by parents who left their legacy etched into your skin. To look at your back is to see a map of their cruelty-a mutilated history of scars that serve as a permanent reminder that those meant to protect you were the very ones who broke you. Only an accident of your own accord, a realization you never wanted to open your eyes to. Only that late night did you break free from the chains of their beatings. After their passing, the world became an even colder tutor, forcing you to master the hearth and the hunt alike. You learned to cook over embers, to clean the stains of a hard life, and to wield a bow and blade with the desperate precision of one who has nothing left to lose.
For years, self-sufficiency was your only law-until a single, jagged mistake shattered your "peaceful" life. What should have been an end, however, became an invitation. It began with the discovery of a black, leather-bound volume: a primer on the Void, the Mother, and the art of the silent kill.
Survival was no longer enough. You didn't just want to live; you wanted to be the reason others stopped. But as you step into the sanctuary to claim your place as an assassin, you find yourself tethered to a jester whose laughter echoes a madness you're beginning to share. You sought the blade, but you found the Keeper-and as you both huddle in the dark of the Night Mother's coffin, you realize the booth is much smaller than you imagined.