» Wed Mar 09, 2011 3:49 am If you do not want to read it, please do not post "tl;dr" with some snarky comment. You're not helping anyone.
So, without further ado, I present, the story of Jo'Rakha, Khajiit mage, scholar, and DRAGONBORN!!!
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Jo'Rakha was born in the city-state of Dune, in 4E 174. He is a Suthay-Raht with dark brown and yellow markings.
He was born to a trader and his wife, both of which live in a small apartment above their shop, which opens onto the
bustling desert market outside the walls of Dune.
Magic has been outlawed throughout Elsweyr since the reign of the new Mane, so when the young kit began to show
signs of natural magical ability, something almost completely unheard of among Khajiits, his parents forbade him from practicing
it, and told no one of his skill. However, Jo'Rakha continued to use his magic, often traveling into the surrounding desert, away
from prying eyes, and sending off raw magical energy, attempting to refine his skill. It was during one of these trips that he was
discovered by a member of the Dunesian Elder Council. This Khajiit, Jo'Ri, was a member of a secretive splinter of the dissolved
mages guild, the Collage of Whispers, based far beneath the shifting sands of Elsweyr, in the long-forgotten halls of an ancient buried
castle. Jo'Ri recognized the power of this young kit, and offered him a place among the guild.
Jo'Rakha accepted, and left home soon thereafter, traveling with Jo'Ri until they came to the site of the Collage of Whispers. The
rolling expanse of sand stretched away in all directions, but Jo'Ri could sense the magical energies coming from beneath him. He lifted a
hand, and the sand began to drain away, as if they were in a gargantuan hourglass. he stepped forwards, motioning for Jo'Rakha to follow,
and together, they were svcked into the earth. The sand stopped falling through the massive vertical cave about halfway down, and looped
back upwards to join it's brethren on the surface. The Khajiiti's decent slowed, and they touched down gently. Jo'Ri then raised his paw once
more. The sand rose to the surface and solidified into rock, forming a seal that kept the desert at bay.
For the next ten years of his life, Jo'Rakha advanced in magical prowess very quickly, soon passing his teachers, and devoted
himself to the study of new fields of magic. He found that anything he read, he would then have in his memory forever. All he needed
to call it back was a simple thought.
One night, he accidentally discovered what he thought was a new field of magic. He meant to say a simple word, but instead shouted,
sending out a wave of magic like none he had felt before. From that point on, he experimented more and more with this unrefined field, trying
to perfect it, but he could never seem to do anything more than send out a wave of pure energy.
He didn't know how it happened, but the Collage of Whispers was discovered by the Mane when Jo'Rakha was 18 years of age. The
army stormed the ancient halls, breaking the seal and riding down on ropes. By the time he knew what was happening, it was already too late.
His brethren were being slaughtered, cut down by waves of Khajiiti soldiers. Jo'Rakha held his own, and did his best to defend his friends, casting
spell after spell, sending the enemies flying, but his efforts did nothing. Every other mage was dead, and he was being pushed back by the army.
Seeing no other option, he gathered his energy, as he had trained himself to do, and let out the majority of his power in one shout. As the halls began
to collapse around him, Jo'Rakha cast protective spells on himself, designed by him to keep his body alive, but just barely. The last thing he saw as he
slipped into unconsciousness was a room filled with the dead and dying, getting crushed by tons of rubble, falling in pieces from the ceiling. A pillar broke
apart and collapsed directly on top of Jo'Rakha. His heart beat a few more times, then stilled.
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A shifting of rock, and the scratchy tone of a Dunmer, "By the Nine, this one is hardly decomposed at all!"
A thump in his chest.
A new voice, lower than the previous.
"What are you talking about? All of these fur-lickers have been dead for a decade."
Another thump, stronger this time. He was aware of light on his face.
"What the- Come here, quickly! He's alive!"
"What have you been eating, my friend?"
"Just come here."
Footsteps, then a hand on his chest.
"Oh my- You're right! Get him out of there, you fools!"
A familiar feeling. Paws grabbed him under his arms, and one dug their claws into the back of his neck. Together, they lifted him upwards.
He strained his eyelids, but they would not lift.
The rough sound of a Khajiit trying the Imperial tongue.
"Get this one some water, master?"
"Yes, you foolish beast."
A jug was brought to his face. Hands pried open his mouth, and water was poured down his throat. He coughed, but swallowed most of it.
Blackness took him once more.
When he awoke, he was in a tent, lying on a piece of cloth stretched over the familiar warm sand. His eyes opened easily, and he remembered his
name. That was the beginning of a torrent of memory, leaving him curled in a ball on the ground for over an hour, forgotten knowledge and traumas flooding into his mind.
He looked up, feeling a sadness that he had not had time to feel as he was trying to defend his brothers. Tentatively, he tried his magic.
He pointed a finger at the jug of water on the table, and it shifted to the left. He had meant to blow it apart. Much of his magical skill was gone, but the knowledge remained.
Jo'Rakha used a claw to cut a hole in the tent, and escaped into the cold desert night.
Hours later, he stumbled into Dune. The guard at the gate looked horrified at the sight of his face, and ran away immediately. Jo'Rakha collapsed against a house and slipped into sleep.
He woke to the sound of armored feet charging towards him, sun gleaming off the metal spears. No more than ten feet away stood the Mane himself.
He pointed a crooked finger at Jo'Rakha, and growled "Kill him this time, you incompetent half-wits!"
Jo'Rakha gathered what strength he had, and propelled himself on top of the roof. Seemingly from nowhere, he felt a shout building in his throat. He let it grow
inside of him, the soilders surrounding him now, and once he could contain it no longer, released the power. It blasted the army backwards, away from Jo'Rakha,
and sent him flying into the air, going higher than he ever thought possible.
He fell for a long while, directing himself towards a basin of water at the bottom of a valley. He slowed his fall magically as he neared the water, and dove in.
Jo'Rahka hated water, especially salt water. When he surfaced, he was floating towards a slum of a city, the walls held together by wooden boards, nails, and prayers.
He swam to the docks and climbed onto land. A crowd of pale skinned, furless men surrounded him. He ignored the mutterings from the people.
"Did you see-"
"-From the sky"
"-Should be dead!"
He pushed through the crowd and headed for a horse-drawn carriage, ready to depart.
On the way, he focused his magical energy in his paws, making them glow menacingly, then slid them inside his coat.
He stepped into the carriage, and spoke to the driver, revealing his paws as he did so.
"You undoubtedly just saw me survive an unsurvivable act, so just think, what would happen if I let this wonderful explosive magic go?
Would you die? Most defiantly.
Would I? No.
So how about we avoid that conflict, you tell me where in Tamriel I am, and then you take me wherever I want to go, or you and your horses will be a nice roasted feast for me."
The pale Argonian holding the reins, now trembling so much that the entire carriage shook, spoke warily.
"Y-You're outside Bravil, sir."
Jo'Rakha processed this information. The Cyrodillic people weren't especially tolerant of his kind, and it was worse in most other countries.
The only place where he thought he could continue his work unhindered, was the last place he wanted to go. Home to the Nordic tribes of the north, land of cold, and country of barbarians.
"Take me to Skyrim"
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Fun reading.
