Dune, Westside Elseweyr
I am an assassin by trade, renegade by choice, and tom-about-town by nature. I also occasionally moonlight as a cuddle-bunny, but I am never paid for this. This would be wrong, no? I am no puto.
Favorite Weapon/Fighting Style
My greatest proficiency is with the Long Bow. With it, I can impart the sweet release of death upon anyone who falls within my gaze, and at respectable range. I am one of the few beings alive who is actually capable of dual-wielding Long Bows. It is really not as difficult as you may suspect, however the form requires a prehensile tail and formidable jaw strength, a keen eye, and a fair amount of luck (though I would never admit this to anyone but you, my friend).
Sometimes however, a job requires something a bit more… intimate (as do most things worth doing, no?). For this I use my personal dagger, handed down from assassin to assassin within my family. Its various nicks and scratches are filled with the dried blood of five generations of my pride’s victims. It, like my very body, has never been cleaned.
Magical Aptitude (If Any)
I once dabbled in Illusion magic but found it not to my liking. And so if I understand this “aptitude” word correctly, I must say no, there is none.
The Dark Brotherhood. And while this affiliation is somewhat loose, I am still bound by its tenets. You see, contracts with the Brotherhood are actually somewhat rare. In all modesty, I must tell you that I possess a gift. Were I to wait patiently for people to build of the strength of resolve necessary to perform the Black Sacrament, this gift would simply go to waste. I therefore run a small side business, performing simple murders at competitive prices. I am truly living the dream. A humble immigrant, seeking only a better life, comes to a foreign land populated with dim-witted bigots. What better way to make a life for oneself than to murder those bigots for monetary gain? And the gain is not just monetary, my friend. No. I accept jewelry, tummy scratching, household vermin, sexual favors, and even IOUs as payment, especially if the client is hot.
Married women. I should be specific. Married women whose spouses are cheating pigs. These are the best, for they have both specific and wide-ranging needs, all of which I can proficiently provide. The need for revenge, the need for a warm body at night, or even an understanding, furry ear… these things they are lacking in their lives. But I do enjoy things that are not so carnal. The security of a family is very important to me. I do miss the sands of home, but there is just so much killing to be done, I would be remiss if I shirked my duty simply to cuddle with my littermates back home. There are, as I have said, many avenues for cuddling right here, so I am not wanting in this area.
Oppression. Those who profit from the thankless toil or mere subjugated presence of others. Forget the fact that this is, even now among the Dunmer, illegal. It is the principle, my friend. Can you imagine what it would be like if a feline like myself were imprisoned in someone’s home, subsisting on saucers of milk or perhaps food from a can? And the master would say “Adelante, Zapatos! Come here and keep me warm!” I would simply hiss at this person. They would force me to poop in a box or something. We need to be free! To escape from this prison and roam the streets at night. To poop in OTHER people’s yards as I see fit! To mate at my convenience in the dead of night, the passionate screams echoing throughout the neighborhood. This is the life we are meant to lead, not as the sole source of presumed affection for a lonely and loveless overseer. We do not LIKE YOU, master. We do not want to BE here. We are hunters of mice and lovers of females, not… “pets”. Ugh. This word sickens me to type. I am done with this. May we move on at this time?
Imagine a realm where the sun beats down relentlessly upon the land. The sand reflects this heat and so it assaults you both from above and below. This hot sand is caught by the arid wind, to stick in your fur and sting your tender nose. The sharp rocks which jut forth from the sand are at times your only shelter from the heat. Nothing will grow here. There is no source of commerce save for one precious commodity; The Spice. Moon sugar, a substance which has been deemed illegal by those who wish to further oppress our people. It is only through the production and sale of this substance that we may keep our bellies full and our litters safe from harm. This is the land which I call home. I survived everything this wasteland could throw at me, and I thrived.
I have always been a loner, despite my warm upbringing. I had a need to explore. I was barely a kitten when I first ventured north to Arenthia, eager to see what lay beyond the deserts of my homeland, when I saw a sight which changed my life. I came upon an informal, intermural gladatorial match between the Blades of Dune (my home team) and the Huntsmen of Arenthia. My pride had always been “dagger cats”, that is just the way we were raised, but I marveled at the sleek fluidity of the Huntsmen’s archery skills. It was at this match that I met my dear friend Aelgvir, himself but a youngster like me. He was the first non-Khajiit to whom I ever spoke. I complimented him on the Bosmer way of battle, and he laughed. Even at his young age, he was disenchanted with the ways of his people. Where he forsook his birthright, I embraced it. I learned the Way of the Bow from his people, travelling back home from time to time, as Arenthia was very close to Dune. I learned to stalk my prey, to kill it from a place of hiding. Assassination became a clear and reasonable career path.
What is your ideal recreational activity?
I truly love to shoot things. It is like a martial art. To test the wind speed and direction on my wetted nose, to gauge the speed and distance of my target and fire my arrow clearly 20 degrees off-target, and then watch as the wind gently carries my shaft to the center of the target’s eyeball. The looks on the survivors’ faces are truly a sight to behold. I once killed a man from an elevated position 60 meters away, firing AGAINST the wind so that the arrow actually struck his face while I had fired from behind him. His wife was mortified; nearly lost control of her bodily functions from the sheer surprise of it all. So shocked was she when I revealed myself, she could not help but simply congratulate me. “Well done!” she said to me. I will point out, however, that she did truly love this husband. But the woman recognized and appreciated the sheer skill and bravado of my shot. How could you not salute this? We parted as purely platonic , respectful acquaintences, but I did give her my number just in case. Again, how could I not?
What is your best feature?
This is difficult, for I do not like to boast. One thing of which I am quite proud is my fluffy coat and natural musk. The humans call my people “beasts”, and I embrace this moniker. I make it my own. I do not bathe; this would be to cast off that which my body has worked so vigorously to produce. My eyesight is also preturnaturally acute… I suppose this could be a good feature as well. My claws are also unusually long; I will leave it to you to surmise how that may correlate to other features which I am too humble to discuss in public. But while you ponder this correlation, I leave you with this: The rumors are true, my friend.
Let’s be honest. What’s your claim to fame?
Carramba, I sort of blew my wad with the “behind-the-back, in-your-face assassination” thing, as well as the “dual-wielding-bows” thing. And I have also mentioned the “killing cheating husbands and taking their women” thing. So in the interest of fulfilling my obligation to fill out this form to completion, while still keeping things fresh and new, I must then say that my claim to fame is simply being me. This is an elegant and humble statement, free of boast, and I think it a fitting coda to this symphony of my life.