By and about Dhiren Ra'kishan

My family was a diverse one. Khajiit of all different breeds. My mother, an Ohmes-raht, the beautiful Khajiit that greatly resemble elves in appearance, except for the slight fur that they possess. My father, he was Cathay, a more common form of Khajiit that is bigger and stronger than the Suthay. Cathay are bipedal, also like the Ohmes and Suthay. I had many cousins that were Senche, Khajiit that walk on all fours, yet talk, and Senche-raht, the mammoth sized cats used as mounts for the Khajiit warriors. My birth was special though, no one had suspected it. In my clan, there has never been a Cathay-raht Khajiit. Until my birth. The Cathay-raht are large breed of Khajiit. We are often known as “Jaguar men” and stand taller than the Altmer. Despite our size, the Cathay-raht possess great speed, great strength, and make excellent climbers. Such great climbers in fact, we’d put a Bosmer to shame. The Cathay -raht were found fighting in the front lines, and made devastating warriors. I grew up in a clan in the forests of Elsweyr. My father was chief. I spent my youth training in the Clan's militia, perfecting my sword play. I was a gifted one-handed fighter, yet also lethal with a bow. I was my clan’s best hunter. By the time I reached my fifteenth name day, I was the leader of the militia, organizing attacks on marauding bandits and slave camps,and protecting the clan from said scum.

        I found as much glory in battle as I did as a hunter. My clan loved me. Life was good. Especially so because I was being trained by my father to become chief, and the training was going well. By my eighteenth name day, I was finishing my training and was officially ready to take up the title of succesor to the great chief "Do'Rak Ra'Kishan". By the time I was fully grown, I stood about 8 feet 6 inches tall tall and weighed almost 350 and still I kept the position as chief protector of the clan.

        However, one day, the entire clan was eating, drinking, and socializing in the grand hall of the village, celebrating the birth of a new Khajiit. I was enjoying myself, eating moon sugar, socializing with members of the clan, and drinking with my brothers and father. When, suddenly, I heard shouting coming from outside. Quickly I ran outside to see the village being overrun by dunmer slave catchers. Men, women, children, everyone was being snatched up by the elves. I grabbed my sword and engaged the marauding elves. One by one I killed the elves, taking on three at a time. My efforts were in vain, however. I wasn’t able to save a single person. I continued killing the elves, it gave me a deep satisfaction, despite my failing efforts to save the one's I loved. As the village was burned to the ground and the clan members abducted, I continued to fight, the odds became overwhelming. I was taking on five elves now. I became to fight more aggressively, yet more recklessly. I let my anger get the better of me, sacrificing skill. I made a mistake, which ended with me taking a mace to the bridge of my nose. I lost consciousness.

        When I awoke, the entire village was burned to the ground, I was bleeding immensely, and was on the verge of bleeding out. I saddled a horse and rode for Torval. I lost consciousness many times. When I awoke, I was in an old couple’s home. They had taken me in and took care of me. I learned that I had been unconscious for around a week, and they saw me lying on the side of the road. They took me in and took care of me, stitching my wounds together and feeding me. I thanked them for their kindness, yet had to be on my way. They gave me 1000 gold pieces, which I used to buy a nice set of armor and sword.

        I applied to join the security forces of a medium sized Khajiit caravan that traveled between Elsweyr, Valenwood, and Black Marsh (Argonia). I made a fair amount of gold, and was able to keep my combat skills in excellent shape. The traveling and hard work with the caravan allowed me to grow much larger than I was. I was incredibly muscular, however the increase in muscular stature did not decrease my skill in stealth, speed, etc. Upon entering Valenwood, I was around 20 years of age by this time, my size and speed was described as that of a werewolf by an elder of a nomadic tribe near the border of Elsweyr and Valenwood. The comparison was one that I enjoyed hearing.

        The caravan continued throughout Valenwood, near the border into Cyrodiil. I grew especially nervous of the area, because it was known to be home to a of bandit highway men. We stopped for the night, and I was sleeping in the tent near the main carriage. The other carriages made a circle around the camp, which kept people from coming in, and the horses from going out. I fell asleep, only to be awoken by A blood curtling scream, my fears confirmed, and memories flooding back. We were being attacked by marauders. I didn’t expect it to be that bad, however, we were usually attacked by small groups of about 10 bandits, which our guards easily took down. This time, we were attacked by nearly 40 bandits, way too many for us to handle. I and the other fifteen guards engaged the bandits head on, while the other people ran for the safety of the carriages. I and the other guards were much more skilled than the amateur bandits, but there is great power in numbers. We were overwhelmed. We managed to take out 35 together, but 13 of the guards were taken out in the process. The owners and Khajiit who ran the caravan were killed, and it seemed as though everyone was going to die, myself included. The two guards that were helping me fight the five remaining archers were killed. It was just me, versus five of bandits, my fate seemed to be sealed, yet with a quick prayer to S’rendarr, I continued fighting, I brought down two of the guards with one swing of my sword. Three left. The imperial, a female, stabbed at my chest. With expert speed, I jumped away, and quickly countered the attack, thrusting my sword through her throat, the wideness of the blade nearly decapitated her. Three down. As I turned to attack the remaining two bandits, I had my legs cut straight across, right above my knee. I dropped instantly. The bandits quickly descended on me, I managed to unsheathe my dagger, and quickly stab and kill one, but the remaining bandit was a large Nord, he knocked my dagger away and pinned me down. I did not have the strength to get back up. My fate was sealed. Or so I thought, the Nord brought up his dagger high into the air, ready to bring it down into my throat. However, as soon as he was about to bring the dagger down, an arrow caught him the neck, killing him instantly. I couldn’t believe my luck. I got to my feet slowly, near the main carriage, stood a small Bosmer, about 5’7, about 15 years of age. He was skinny, but had a long blonde braid down his back.

     “Elf,” I said, “What is your name?”

     “My name isRaflorn Estrabach. And what is yours, Khajiit warrior?"

      As our eyes connected, a silent agreement between us was made.

      “I am Dhiren Ra’Kishan.”

 

 

By and about Raflorn Estrabach

My family’s roots lie in Elden Root, the capital of the Aldmeri Dominion in Valenwood, my homeland. The Estrabach clan was one of the most renowned families in the city and at the announcement of their new son’s birth, a party was thrown. I was born and named after one of the most famed members of our clan. From birth, I had pressure on me to live up to his name, the great name of Raflorn Estrabach, the initiator of the clan. By the time I could walk, I had a bow in my hand. By the time I could speak fluently, I could shoot as well as anyone in Tamriel (except my own kin, of course). By the age of 7, I could shoot the same as any of my kin but I wasn’t living up to what my family wanted to. I was always thought of as a disgrace and that I brought a bad connotation to my name. They would always hurl subconscious insults at me that at my age now, I realize them for what they were. Day after day, year after year, the pain of my families own disgrace ate away at me. I went mad. Crazy, no, but mad. I would forget my lessons or my family and run and hide. I would think about what it was like outside of this city or even outside of Valenwood.

     I was 14, in the middle of my lesson. If I remember correctly, it was a normal day. I heard the berating of my own teacher in my left ear and the insults of my family in my right. That is when my last shot in Elden Root was fired. With the arrow I already had notched, I turned and fired at my father. I don’t remember if it was the adrenaline that was running through me or the wind, but the arrow sailed past his head and stuck in the granite behind him, just narrowly missing him. The next hour is a blur. I barely remembering running and trying to escape. I had escaped that hell but now, I was in a new one. The wild.

     I don’t know how old I am now. I don’t know where I am. I only know I am alive. Some may call me insane but I am only conceded. I fight for survival and hopes of finding a new life.

As I was sleeping one day, I heard a commotion, what seemed to be a large battle. My years in the forest and wondering the wild has increased my senses enormously. I have to be on the lookout for anything that can be of use or cause me harm. As I walked toward the sounds, I could hear the clashing of swords and the screaming of men. As I crawled out from the bush, I saw a one-sided battle. Or so I thought. The Khajiit warrior I witnessed was one of the finest warriors I have ever seen. He was utterly massive with a dark black pelt and the sunlight reflected off of the white stripes on his head. On the bridge of his nose were 3 long scars that have probably come from his years of fighting. As I watched the dance of his steel greatsword, I knew he was fighting for his life. As the fight came to a close and his last opponent stood over him ready to end his life, I felt pity. I could not let this poor soul die. I drew my arrow and notched the arrow carefully. As the Nord reached high, ready to swing down the dagger, I released the bow string and the last thing he heard was that identifiable twang. I shot him in the neck and he fell to the ground instantly with a loud thud and blood was gushing out of his jugular at a rapid pace. I slowly approached him as he sat up and eyeballed me precariously.

     He asked in a rough voice, “Elf, what is your name?”

     “My name is Raflorn Estrabach, and what is yours Khajiit warrior?’

     As our eyes connected, a silent agreement between us was made.

     “I am Dhiren Ra’Kishan.”

 

By and about Elrohiir Swiftarrow

Growing up in Valenwood me and my younger brother Elladan looked up to our father, Elrindar. He was an amazing archer and hunter in our village. My father could pin a fly to a tree from up to 40 meters away. Because of his talents he enlisted in the ranks of the Valenwood Rangers. The Valenwood Rangers is a group of the most talented archers in all of Valenwood. I and my brother admired my father even more because of this. Together we both wanted to follow in his footsteps and become Rangers as well so we started training with a bow as young as i can remember. Waking up before the sun rose and training long after it set. One day outside at the target range my father was supervising me and Elladan, giving us pointers and tips. I was excited beyond belief. Not only was a Valenwood Ranger watching over my brother and i but it was my father. From that time on we took the advice he told us and put it in our training sessions. 5 years later a few weeks after my fifteenth birthday my father said Elladan and i had made so much progress that we were shaping up to be great archers. Just then Lenwe another Ranger came running up to us where we sat. "Elrindar we must leave as soon as possible, there has been an attack on an Aldmeri encampment in just outside of the Valenwood borders and we must report there right away." My father looked down at Elladan and I told us that he would return as soon as he could to watch over the house and my brother while he is gone and then left. I waited for him to return. For days months years I waited for his return and there never was one. My father was killed battle against the Ebonheart Pact by a Nord. I made it my personal goal, no we made it our personal goal my brother and I, it would be our mission to get revenge for our father. Years passed we became Valenwood Rangers, two of the best sharpshooters there was. Even archers in the Aldmeri Dominion fighting for a guild known as The Rangers of the Vale. Elladan had secured himself as an assassin for the guild very skilled with his bow hand with a knack for hunting people over animals it was the right fit for my brother. But me starting as just an archer in the guild i moved up the ranks quickly, eventually becoming the advisor to our leader, lord and King Dhiren Ra'Kishan. I wouldn’t be at that position for more than five months. I had put so much effort time and care into help shape our guild. Help start alliances and open trade routes to other guilds and being more than just an advisor to my lord and king but a close friend as well that i would drop the title of advisor and take up the name of King. Now i can say i am a proud King of the Vale. Lord Elrohiir Swiftarrow. Elrohiir the Shadow they call me. As the third king i will help bring honor fame wealth and victory to our name. We will take Tamriel for ourselves whether they give it to us or we need to wipe the Ebonheart Pact, the Daggerfall Covenant and any other who stands in our way. This conquest started off as revenge for my father but now it’s for my people, for my allies, for all of Valenwood for all, of the Summerset Isles, for all of Elsweyr, and for the Aldmeri Dominion