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The Biography of Weed'den'nal'le "Weed'le" Ashmist, The Alik'r Lizard.

Started by TLViolynn
Post #176474

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Faction & Race:
Aldmeri Dominion
Not Set
Birth name - Weed/ Trouble-Like-Weeds
Eke name -Weed'le
First name - Weed'den'nal'le
Pronounced (We-Ed-Den-N-All-le(le like in letter))
Surname - Ashmist
Sex - Male
Race - Argonian
Age - Unsure
Occupation - cut-purse/explorer/pilgrim/novice alchemist
Faction - Ebonheart Pact

Appearance - Average height. Mostly dark grey scales, but red hues are dotted throughout and become more prominent the closer you look at his sienna/red underbelly.

Personality - An outsider would see Weed'le as impulsive, brutish, naive, flighty and even immoral. But most of those couldn't be father from the truth. Weed'le is a very curious lizard, and more often than not he does not understand the customs, some times common sense of civilization. So when Weed'le sees a nice pair of leather boots unattended, he will take them as his own. Although this attitude has been tempered due to the constant visits to the Pact's jail for stealing. (considered Chaotic Neutral)

A true friend would find a misplaced and mismatched being. As Weed'le tries to find what the Hist is, why his masters-turned-family have banished him from their homestead and why he is now forced to fight with the very race whom enslaved him. He is distant from naming anyone other then is own kind a friend, but even then he is skeptical.

Skills - adept pickpocket/lock-picker, novice Alchemist, amateur woodsmith, blacksmith. Skilled in dual blades and bow.

Challenges for the Character - Ones listed in his personality and bio. Bulleted for TL:DR
  • Integrating into a new civilization
  • Trusting others
  • Learning the way of his birth people, and The Hist.
  • Honoring the Pact
  • Re-uniting with his family

Little(Lil') Freesia Coldfury
Birthsign - Shadow

Social Background/Backstory -

:Before the Pact:

-By a clearing in BlackMarsh-

Weed'le was stolen as an egg under the sign of shadow. He still wonders if this fact alone heralded his affinity of thievery or if he was never meant to be a true Shadowscale. His capture, an aging and skooma-addled Dunmer steals the egg to prove his own mastery of stealth. He wishes to offer the egg in good faith the he will be inducted into the Dark brotherhood. But before he reaches the sanctuary bandits catch him off-guard. Enraged that their newest victim has only the clothes on his back, and an Argonian egg they muscle the egg from the weak addict and leave him limping, and badly bruised.

The bandits wonder what to do with their haul, some wish to smash it on the addict, further cementing his defeat. But their leader decides against it, she looks to the night sky and commented

'This hatchling would have been a Shadowscale. He would have been a legend, and here we stand holding him. Keeping him from his destiny.'

Her name is Fressia, and she has a long seated hatred for the Shadowscales, and Argonians. Her merchant family was a chosen mark by them, and Fressia only survived due to this Shadowscale's policy about 'no children'. In her sense of twisted honor, she too doesn't kill Weed'le in respect to the Murderer of her parents. The bandits hold onto the egg as they continue to pilfer the local routes.

On the day of Weed'le's hatching Freesia commemorates his birth by hunting some big game, and feeding him some of the raw meat. The group continues on to a slaver's camp on the other side of the marshes.

-Year five-
Still unnamed at this point, the fire year old Argonian is adapting well to the brigand lifestyle. Fressia teaches him basic sword fighting, but she soon find he excels far better with the bow. This becomes a bonding moment for the two as, she also favors the bow... she also holds a secret respect for him as they both share a bestial connection within the mostly Dunmer party. Half way to the Slaver's camp, Freesia's men turn on her and the still unnamed Argonian. Their ring leader is known other than Freesia's second in command, a Dunmer who had a different name to every person he spoke to. To Weed'le he was known as Balthro.

Balthro was growing weary of Freesia's growing care to Weed'le, and stirred a coup to sell both Freesia and Weed'le to the Slavers. Only problem was Balthro didn't know the path to the slaver's camp. Freesia was aware of this, always keeping her own brand of clues. Balthro forced Weed'le into telling him the clues, but he knew nothing. A furious Balthro spat

'How worthless are you lizard... Worthless as the weeds below our boots! Tell us weed, what's Freesia's map, a clue... anything!'

But the naive Argonian only pointed up to the trees, he didn't know that Freesia had made her clue so hard to see. It was their heightened sight, and the lack of booze that kept them able to find her path. She had shot arrows tied with a faint orange glowing fungus high up into the trees. The amount of mushrooms told her what direction to go. Balthro in his hotheadedness held a dagger to the Khajiit. To which Weed looked, counted the mushrooms and yelled 'West!'

They followed the Argonian's words. Balthro was still discontent with having the lizard leading.What was he to do when he sold him? He furthered his grip on Weed's sensitivities, constantly badgering him on his worthlessness. Than he tricked weed into telling him the hidden clue.

"There is a spark of worth in you Weed, you could tell me Freesia's clue. I could let Freesia free then, or better yet...even you could leave."

Freesia was the closest thing to a mother Weed had. He gladly whispered the secret for her safety,and as he smiled to Freesia, she winked to him. Then the bandits tied a bag around his head. and he felt his legs and arms bind tightly.

-Three days from the slaver's camp-

Weed was unsure of how long the band had taken him, but he knew Balthro's voice was getting weaker, he was ill. The Marsh's flu was taking a hold on all of the elf capture's, even Freesia let out a heavy wheeze once and awhile. Next day Weed's bag was taken off of his head. As he shimmed his body out of the mud and onto his back he frantically looked before him to see a sight a young Freesia once saw. Everyone Weed had known, lay dead before him. He cried out for someone's help, but was greeted by a shambling Balthro chanting venomously.

"Nothing but trouble... you were nothing but trouble..." he slowly fell by Weed's feet whispering. "Trouble like the weeds of this damned... marsh."

It is here that he adopted his birth name, Trouble-Like-Weeds.

-Wild year in the Marsh-

Time meant little in the wilds of the Marsh as long as he kept his wits about him. One day he dreamed of venturing into the heart of Black Marsh and seeing the Elder Hist tree, but before he set foot into the thick marsh, his fears held him back. He didn't want to risk being captured by slavers, and choose to follow Freesia's path, unaware it would lead him exactly where he feared. By nightfall Weed walked innocently into the camp, and entered one of the illuminated tents. Weed cried happily as he called her name running to her, bandaged and resting on a pile of hides.

Her brows furrowed as the lizard seemingly slipped into her camp undetected.

"Who sent you?" She asked. Weed took a step back, as he realized this Khajiit wasn't Freesia. She's Freesia's twin sister, Senita.

"He's mine." Freesia huffed. Freesia then explained a rival slaver caravan stole Weed and Freesia, and wanted to use Freesia as ransom. Senita grudgingly freed one of the caravan's slavers, in return for her sister. Freesia lamented that Balthro must have caught up to the caravan and fought to the death. Senita grunts disheartened she won't be able to kill him herself.

Senita keeps Weed'le in the camp as a laborer, until Freesia succumbs to the Knahaten Flu. Worried Weed'le is a carrier of the flu she slyly sells him to another rival slave caravan. Thinking to kill off all her opposition. When her men start showing signs of the Flu she flees to Elsweyr, and changes her life.

Now in the hands of another unsympathetic Dunmer, Weed'le is convinced he will never be free, until his luck changes for the better. This slaver owes a life debt to a tribe of Alik'r, he offers Weed'le's life in payment.

At first disgusted that the Dunmer would barter another's life in debt. The Dunmer explains the he is ill, and wishes to honor is life debt. Still shaken the tribe elder agrees, and the waist high Argonian is pledged into serving out the elder's wishes.

-Life in the red sands-
Weed'le at first acts more like a messenger for the tribe's elder, a renown alchemist by the name Denith Yal'Nal'Le. In time the Elder relies on the Argonian more and more, even helping him with his potions. He is surprised the the Argonian takes an interest into the craft outside of the Elder's requests. He teaches him some basic herbology, and medicines. It isn't long before he sees the eagerness of Weed'le in learning not just alchemy but Redguard culture, which he explains happily.

From Gods, to history, even Redguard strategies, and when Weed'le asks about the tribe's different names to other Redguards in history, he explains. It is tradition in his tribe to carry on the first three letters of his father's, his wife's father's, and when the time came the father of his son's wife's father name.

He was born Denith, His father was Yalen, married to the Nalan's daughter, and his son married into the Le'xas. He grew fond of teaching the ever curious Argonian.

Alas Denith Yal'Nal'Le knew he was reaching an age of senility, and instructed Weed'le to make a different type of potion. Denith handed Weed'le a sealed letter and instructed him to open it after the potion was done. With a sigh Denith drank the potion and after a few coughs, smiles. His eyes are filled with pride as his last breath scraps out of his mouth. Weed'le rests his head to his master's and silently whispers a prayer. He walks down stairs traveling for days until he kneels before his new master.

"Your father is dead, his last wishes were recorded on this." Weed'le said, raising the letter with both of his hands. Cautiously Huran Den'Nal'Le picked up the envelope,cutting the seal and unfolded the letter. He looked down at Weed'le, then back to the letter.

"Welcome Weed Den'Nal." He spat patronizingly. He and Huran didn't get along, besides his father forcing him to the throne, he grew suspicious on how his father died. But the letter he received,was no doubt his father's writing, and it stated that his death was on his terms, and no investigation was to be had on how this was achieved. The second part of the letter detailed the exploits and feats of Weed'le and his capacity of loyalty almost filled the page. This left Huran embittered the most, his own father didn't speak to him in such regards.

Yet he honored his fathers wishes, and made the Argonian no longer debted. The concept however felt anything but real to Weed'le. He thanked Huran all the same, yet he still continued to work for Huran's family, even when he reached adulthood.

-Since adulthood-

Feeling comfortable as the Tribe leader Huran, instructs Weed'le to stay at home and watch over his wife while he goes to a neighboring tribe for trade. Weed reluctantly stays,watching Saaderia work in the kitchen,an hour in Saaderia comments on how she's missing an ingredient for her special meal, but Weed'le tells her to stay inside. The Sand storms are too harsh the travel, she scoffs at him. She's lived in this desert since she was an infant, so she doesn't doubt her skills and is disillusioned about the severity of the the mist-like sand. She fights the Argonian and flees out into the storm.

Weed'le runs after her,blinded in the scraping hot sands he calls her name repeatedly. Hours pass as he continues to call her name, pained by dryness of his throat and the mercilessness of the sands unrelenting power. He passes out not long after. When he awakes he sees a glimmer or purple in the now dormant sand. the staggers up, shuffling to the flowing purple fabric. as he kneels down he sees a hand,and digs wildly to uncover the body. After digging in the hot sun a cough emerges from the sand,and Weed'le pulls at the two arms he has uncovered. Saaderia's head emerges.

He chuckles in a mix of relief and panic, as he sees she is faintly breathing. As he lifted her body out of the sand and carries her back home. He witnesses yet another home torn, just steps from the now destroyed manor. The strength of the winds toppled one of the towers right into the house. Weed'le saw fate a bit differently then,without Saaderia's brashness the both might have died.

A month later Huran returns, and find a new found respect for his wife, and Weed'le. He looks to the ragged Argonian and says. "Thank you Weed Den'nal'le" Finally excepting him as an equal. He extends his blessings to Weed'le as he sent him off to his homeland. He had received word the the other tribe's thought he was conspiring to revolt against the recent Covenant's treaty that he had signed.

When Weed'le refused to leave, Huran begrudgingly Banished him from the tribe. Left confused and abandoned Weed'le wandered lost, until once again he found himself bound, and with a bag over his head. This time it was Worm cultists, and this time Weed'le wasn't sure why his fate would end here.
This post was last modified: June 22nd 2015, 12:30 PM by TLViolynn
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