<the man however, she /was/ a bard. Cheerful and carefree are not typical traits found in a warrior. She just wasn't quick to violence. Never was. She did want to kill the patrol of Thalmor, however. Not because she despised them so (in truth she had no problem with the>
"What a tremendous waste of a night." She seethed, kicking dirt into the smoldering embers of her campfire. It was early, much earlier than she would've preferred, but she was already behind schedule of her performances due to last night's distraction. She couldn't fully blame>
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<Dominion), but because they were rude. And laws concerning murder were more flexible when it came to those particular elves. So once her camp was cleaned up and safely stashed away, she quickly set off, deftly moving in the darkness of the early morning. Just as the sun was>
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<showing promise of rising, she spotted the gleaming golden armor down a hillside. Two soldiers, one Justiciar... ...and a prisoner. So they caught one this time. That would mean a promotion back at their embassy. Pity. She slid down the hillside, arms spread for balance, >
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<and came to a halt before them, surefire grin on her face. "Good morning." "You're interfering with official Thalmor business." Oh how proud. She just laughed in response. "Fret not noble elves, I have only a song to play for you, then I shall be on my way." Now it was her>
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<turn to be proud. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She formed a fist in front of her face, ghostly flames immediately racing up her arm, only for to open her palm and release them, summoning a harp engulfed in flames. Showy indeed. At this point, the agents were>
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<at the very least intrigued, then captivated when she began to play. Soft sweet notes that floated and caressed, allowing the world around them to simply fade away. There is nothing, save music. She began to sing then, a strange mysterious tongue, not heard in this realm. She>
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<made eye contact with the Justiciar, emerald eyes now a shimmering gold. "See your sword of which you said..." The male, as though in a trance, unsheathed his glass weapon. "You would no doubt lose your head." Without any hesitation, he lifted the blade to his neck, and made>
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<a sharp clean cut. The music, and trance, was broken when it fell to the ground with a thump, his body following moments later, painting the ground red. Her conjured harp vanished from her hands and she drew Sharptongue from her belt. She swept the closer soldier from his>
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<feet before he could fully realise what had happened. As he fell to the ground, she followed with her sword, gracefully plunging it into his neck. He laid there, gurgling, and the other agent cried out in rage, drawing her sword. Ah, but anger made a poor weapon. As the>
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<agent lunged forward, Orana deftly sidestepped the attack, more like a dance than a fight. Then, her rapier humming with energy, she shoved her weapon into the back of the elf, breaking through armor and bone, piercing through to the other side. The agent stiffened, save a >
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<few pre death convulsions. She pulled her sword back out, drawing forth a pained cry from the Thalmor agent, blood instantly spilling out. As she returned her sword to her belt, she managed to gently lay the dying elf down on the ground, guiding the others hands over the wound>
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<"Stars light the path before you as you go off to the afterlife." While the light faded from her eyes, Orana turned her attention once more to the prisoner, who during the scuffle managed to free his hands. He brought a fist to his chest and uttered "Talos guide you." Before>
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<running off. Clearly, he was slightly disturbed to be rescued by an elf. How stereotypical. One of the slain elves had with them a bow. She lifted the weapon and notched an arrow, aiming at the fleeing Nord. It would be best if this stayed quiet. No witnesses.>
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<And yet, the further he fled, she found herself unable to release, as though her joints were locked in place. Disgusted, she threw down the arrow and called out. "Warrior!" He stopped and turned. "Sing many songs of valor and heroes, and inspire others to do the same.">
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<He gave a nod, and ran on away from view. Orana took one last look at her carnage, and considered for a moment to hire a courrier to deliver the severed head. She gave a chuckle, and rejected the idea, deciding to instead spare the poor bloke some trauma.>
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<No, pretty as the idea was, perhaps the Blades were not part of her destiny. She fancied the idea of being a part of something once again, in community once more. Ever since the death of her teacher, she's been...well afraid to do that again. Rather she was of no home. No>
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<people, no group. The wandering bard who sought out the adventurers, and joined them on occasion. Telling her tale to those who listened, then moving on. This, more likely, was her destiny. Her fate, until the end of her days. If that day comes.
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