From Nothing

“It blends together after a few centuries, give it time.” The High Elf replied, rolling his shoulders lazily, as if this matter was of no great consequence to him. And truly it was not. He had seen many summers and many winters and that experience made him jaded and cynical to the pains and sorrows of others at times.

“I am not from Altmeri high society.” Manarion replied bluntly, giving a slight shake of his head, giving a soft snort at the Tsaesci’s words, his bearded chin brushing against the front of his gilded black and gold breastplate. “By all means.” He said, waving a hand, before holding his hands behind his back neatly. “I can wait.”

The only response to Manarion’s first statement was a noncommittal hum from Seshianu, as he stared into the eyes of the Nord. For a moment, only the sound of crickets filled the air, as the near-shaking Nord remained dead still.

“Quickly,” the Tsaesci whispered, giving a small nod.

The eyes of the Nord flared with a renewed anger and pride, and his posture straightened. “I don’t need help from a m--” he cut off into a gargled cry as blood splashed across the ground. A quick flick of the wrist shook most of the blood from Seshianu’s sword, and as quickly as it had been drawn to strike, the blade was sheathed as the Nord crumpled, dead before he could grasp his cloven throat. The snake leaned down, picking up the amulet that had fallen from the man’s hand.

The towering Altmer smiled, teeth gleaming in a dragon’s smile as he watched the Nord; he did not mind toying with worshippers of Talos and had been doing so with this particular one for a good half-hour. Perhaps if the reactions from the man had not been so entertaining, then Manarion would have lost interest, but the anger and stubborness these Nords had for their false idol was as amusing as it was intriguing. 

The General turned his head minutely to study the new arrival, his taunting smile still settled on his lips. Sharp golden eyes kept both in focus, almost unblinking before he tilted his head at the Nord.

“Now that was just fucking rude.” He said, deep rumbling voice filled with mock reproach. “What did he do to you?”

“I’m sure I would remember if I had done something terrible to this poor man,” Seshianu assured, circling around so that he could see both the Altmer and the Nord, who was looking back and forth between the two rapidly. The Tsaesci unclasped his hands, letting the left one rest casually on the sheath of his blade. Seshianu’s head tilted as he observe the Nord. A knowing glimmer showed in his eyes as the amulet caught his attention, and a smile spread across his scaly lips.

“Ah, I see,” the snake half-chuckled, looking across the man at the Altmer. “I had thought that high Altmeri society would teach not to play with your food, but it’s admirable to take joy in life, morbid as it may be.”

“That was fucking pathetic. Am I supposed to be impressed?”

The Nord standing in front of Manarion snarled, clutching his sword in one now-bloodied hand, and defiantly holding onto a crude amulet of Talos in the other. His breathing was heavy from panic, though he stood firm in the face of the Altmer, leveling the point of his blade towards the mer’s chest.

“Just you wait,” the man bit, deepening his stance and leaning forward a bit. “You may kill me, but you’ll never be ab--” The cut off was sudden, as the Nord looked past Manarion eyes widening. “What is--...” The man held his ground, though his weight shifted back defensively as his voice began to show his panic. “What twisted pets do you Thalmor keep?”

She feels for the stranger. While there are other Khajiit in the province, she has not seen one of her kind. It can leave one with a longing for a familiar face, or similar company.

“You have this one’s sympathy.” But she has to agree with him. This isn’t a pleasant topic of discussion.

Being cautious didn’t prevent her from soaking in the stranger’s kind words. She adjusted her position, sitting a little straighter. “Ahjiriba,” she replied. “And the stranger? What is his name, and what interesting things has he seen?”

“Ahjiriba,” the snake repeated carefully in a thoughtful tone, fairly close to correctly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He let out a quiet, slightly amused hum before continuing. 

“Apology accepted.”

The change in height and added distance was appreciated. It calmed the alfiq-raht’s nerves, but not enough that she lowered her guard. The stranger could be a foe rather than a friend.

“The surprise is mutual. She has never laid eyes on someone with an appearance such as yours.”

“And you are not likely to see another, sadly,” the snake sighed, lowering his head slightly. “I am anathema to my people, for leaving the Hist. I will not be able to return, as surely as no more will be willing to leave. I am the first, and likely the last, of my close kin to come to Skyrim.”

A hand rose to the Tsaesci’s chest, and Seshianu recoiled, mouth open in shock, silent for several moments. Finally, the hand curled closed, and Seshianu’s head dropped.

“You are right,” he said, in a low, defeated voice. “I have failed, utterly. My family lies in disgrace at my actions, the actions of a rash dullard.”

“I travel this land a pariah, the burden of my failures ebbing from my bones, my soul, wearying me. The stars, uncountable in number and inconceivable in brilliance, mock me, my tarnished scales, in a chorus of silent laughter echoing down from the skies. The birds flock, taking to the deepening sky, weaving effortlessly in majestic patterns that would knot my feeble mind dared I consider them. They sing soft songs of pity, watching, free in the air, upon my distant form.”

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

Seshianu does have one younger sister, Lasilia, whom he pampered probably more than his parents ever did. Seshianu, to the extent that an almost entirely self-interested being can, adored her. She was gorgeous by Tsaesci standards, had ruby eyes, and enjoyed making the Tsaesci males that tried to woo her run circles for her amusement. She was as sly as Seshianu, and while he thought that she was often a bit under-ambitious, he always saw great potential in her. What he despised, on the other hand, was how easily she seemed to be able to read him.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

In a sense, Seshianu was sheltered. He never had to worry about food, or money, or housing, and his status kept him distant from exposure to poverty and petty crime. On the other hand, the courts of Tsaesci were a jungle in their own right. He was exposed to the treachery and unforgiving power of politics at a very young age, and his life was shaped by it.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Seshianu tended to adorn himself in fine, but simpler clothing, insomuch as clothing was used by Tsaesci snakes. Generally, clothing and jewelry was worn shoulders, occasionally the waist, but nowhere else. For one, because they wanted to maintain ease of mobility, and trying to slither with cloth between their body and the ground is nearly impossible, and second, because they are inconceivably vain creatures who take great pride in their natural appearance. Thus, Seshianu is most often seen wearing armor-like pauldrons of thin metal and leather, connected by finely-woven cloth to a decorative, silvered neck-piece. While the statement is fairly mundane in Tsaesci, it is a bit showy for Skyrim.

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

Yes good, I approve. -thumbs up-

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Answered here.

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

Anything. Well, he used to. In Skyrim, finding others that would tolerate him participating in a social activity without heavy use of magic and a great deal of effort is considerably more difficult than it was in Tsaesci. He used to attend almost every party, ceremony, feast, or funeral that he could, and was fascinated with listening to (and sometimes partaking in) gossip, observing social dynamics, and meeting new people.

In Skyrim, he has been forced to settle with smaller, less formal encounters, as he is fairly sure that any such large gathering that involved him would likely be a hunt for his head.

In social settings, Seshianu loves to play the role of the guest, as it afforded a wonderful opportunity to observe, and he was often actually in such a role. He knew the game by heart, when to ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’, when who to compliment, how to slide in friendly jabs for the entertainment of other guests. Despite his inclination to talking, when in groups, he much preferred to be out of the spotlight.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Seshianu approaches errors, disasters, and failures with an optimistic mentality, for the most part. He feels that opportunities arise most often from failures, whether on his part or on others’. Most of his plans are fluid, leaving room for severe or unexpected downturns, and he is generally prepared to walk entirely away from a plan of action if it begins to fail horrendously. To put it briefly, he doesn’t quite accept the disasters and failures themselves, as immediately puts them behind him and moves onward.

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Answered here.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

Books and stories are Seshianu’s main hobbies. The libraries of Tsaesci are expansive, and rich in both historical, informative, and fictional literature. Seshianu was a heavy reader for most of his life, before he was banished to the seemingly book-less hell of Skyrim (one of the few complaints he actually has about his temporary home), and after 600 years of page-turning, he has quite the repertoire of prose to draw on. This is part of what led to him being such a dramatic speaker, and an imaginative storyteller. As well, 600 years of experience has granted him knowledge on the most comfortable reading positions.

Besides books, another of Seshianu’s interests is languages. He is fluent in Dovahzul, Cyrodiilic, Tsaesci (you would think they’d name their language something more imaginative), Ancient Tsaesci (more heavily influenced by Dovahzul than modern Tsaesci), and he’s picking up old Nordic, Bosmeri (Thanks to one of the ‘mercenaries’ in his employ in at the ruins of Greymoor), and a little bit of Jel.

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

It was quite a while ago that Seshianu went through the biggest disillusionment of an idea that he wasn’t even entirely conscious that he held: that life held some sort of fairness. He had always imagined that the gods, Mundus, something worked to have some balance of events, to keep things sane and reasonable. It was when he realized that there was no innate fairness to the world, that things did or didn’t happen regardless of whether or not they should happen, that he made a decision that shaped a large part of his life: if life was to be unfair, he was going to make it unfair in his favor.

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Seshianu’s manners are impeccable. He was raised in a noble household, among politicians and respected figures, and it shows. Unless he’s currently killing someone, or sometimes even when he is, he shows respect for titles, he asks permission and forgiveness (even if he’s not sincere about it), and he speaks in such a manner as to pay homage to the person’s skills and ego. Such things were expected in Tsaesci, and though it’s not necessary in Skyrim, he is eternally amused at most people’s reaction to his manners.

The only people that Seshianu respects enough to consider heroes are the people that are dangerous enough for him to consider rivals. There is no one living that Seshianu holds above himself as a hero, however he shows great respect and admiration to those who could possibly best him.