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SkyriM


Character Info

Name: Skyrim
Class: Thief
Weapon: Magical Daggers - "Slicers"
Race: Dark Elf
Other: Skyrim has earned the reputation of prince of thieves, partly due to the his agility, partly due to the fact he has stolen the world's most precious treasures.
Appearance:


Icon:
coming up..

History:

Tiptoeing across the dirt road as his cloak clad behind him softly rustled in the still evening air, Skyrim stopped until he was right in front of a large, stone wall. He scanned around him for potential witnesses, darting his eyes in every direction, until he appeared convinced there were none about at this time of day.

Given the circumstances, his cool breathing, relaxed manner and resolute expression belied that he was about to steal one of the most valuable and well-guarded treasures in the surrounding provinces. With little noise, he promptly sprang up against the wall and climbed just high enough to peek over it. A score of four mean and tall guards were marching in front of his target building's entrance, denying him simple access. Not shy to take a different approach, he kept on looking until he had decided what to do. Then he knew. He silently swung his legs over the wall and landed on the other side without alerting any of the courtyard guards.

After climbing through an open window on the upper floor, he darted towards the corner and pushed his shoulders against the wall. Carefully, he leaned sideways so he could take a good look down the long hall. A single guard stood facing the other side. As the guard was about to turn around, Skyrim quickly took cover. He knew the following bit could get a little tricky and would demand some patience. A short while passed when the guard finally strolled down the hall, nearing Skyrim with every step.

As the guard's footsteps got louder, Skyrim took a combatitive stance and melted with the shadows, holding his dagger firmly. The guard was now so close that he could hear him breathe. Just one more step... With eerie timing, as the guard's foot hit the ground, so had Skyrim driven his dagger's way into the unlucky guard's neck, incapacitating him instantly. He dragged the limp body out of sight and continued his parade through the upper floor of the building, slowly reaching the room in which the prized asset, and his target, was being kept.

An inside source had given him, after a bit of severe torturing, just the information he needed and he knew that behind the closed door he stared at lay his precious artifact. Since he was so near he felt the need to be cunning had vanished and with a wild kick he destroyed the door, sending pieces of wood in every direction. That surely alerted some guards but it didn't matter to him. A large and unlocked chest was the only item that adorned the empty room. He opened it with excitement, and then he intensely studied the artifact inside from all angles.

It was a... dud?

A noise of approaching feet and shouting men quickly neared, but in his anger Skyrim did not pay any attention to it. Someone had set him up and would have to pay! It was only when a bewildered guard looked at where once a door was when Skyrim shook off his thoughts and got his focus back to the present. Being an expert in sleight-of-hand, he conjured up a throwing knife and took out half of the guard's sight. His agonizing screams and struggle to remove the knife out of his eyesocket caused the guard to fall on the ground, giving Skyrim the opportunity to dart out of the room and make his escape. Unfortunately, more guards came running down the hall, all holding their swords above their heads, ready to strike out.

Wise as he was, Skyrim ran the other way. He caught sight of a flight of stairs but a pair of guards already came running up. Wielding both of his daggers, he sprang onto the stairs as he neatfully dodged the guard's blows and sliced open their throats in the same motion. Looking over his shoulder he noted the guards who chased him stopped at the sight of the dead bodies lying limp on the stairs as their expressions turned into one of horror.

One fell on his knees and vomited uncontrollably as others cried. In their sorrow the guards forgot to chase Skyrim and he quickly turned around to find an exit. After what seemed like centuries, he finally appeared to near the front entrance and the final hurdle.

Having caught notice of the turmoil, the courtyard guards were now inside, guarding the exit. Despite desperately needing one, he couldn't find a single window to barge through which left him with only one option. He'd have to go through the group of guards. His running was replaced with a slow walking pace when they noticed him and began their charge. From a pocket on his belt he grabbed a sack and threw it in the guards' path. As it exploded, invisible and poisonous gasses escaped. Only two of them seemed affected as they inhaled the poison and fell down coughing severely as it vaporized their lungs. To shake off the other guards, he threw another sack containing dust, which on impact temporarily blinded the sight in the vicinity. Panicked, one of the remaining guards began slashing around him, cutting through armour when he hit, and fatally wounded, the last guard standing. He did not know what he had done until the dust had cleared, and of the intruder, there was no trace.

For this once, Skyrim had been forgiving. Though his anger had wanted him to slay all the guards and he easily could have done so, it was his wisdom which had decided that he should save it for the next time. Coolly he made his way out of the courtyard and mounted the dark horse tied up nearby, which carried him away into the looming night.



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