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Cey Varo

PostPosted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 6:21 am
by ToxicCosmos
Name: Cey Varo
Born: 16 Second Seed, 3E407
Sign: The Serpent
Age: 20 (at time of Morrowind); 15-18 (in her flashbacks)

Hair: blue-gray; short; faux hawk, longer on one side
Eyes: blue-silver
Skin: ashen
Markings: sometimes wears blue-gray warpaint around her eyes and down the sides of her face
Tattoos: serpent constellation on her ribs (right); “that which defines you will prove to be your undoing” in Daedric, right of constellation; Daedric “seht” symbol branded on her neck.
Build: average body shape; wide hips, small breasts, slender shoulder width; athletic musculature


From the farming village of Vos in Vvardenfell, Morrowind.

Her parents own Varo Tradehouse just outside Vos, along the coast. Her mother is Ferise Varo; a Dunmer mage, spellmaker, and merchant. Her father is Burcanius Varo; an Imperial innkeeper and merchant.

Seht; a frosted Clannfear. He has been her constant companion since she began summoning him as a child. As a hatchling, Seht almost died; Cey saved him by imbuing him with some of her own magic. As a result, they are now tied together, each branded with the Daedric “seht” symbol. As a side effect, Seht’s appearance changed. Her strong affinity for frost magic is now his as well, which is why he appears frosted.

Descendant of Astrid Vos (ESO OC). In the past, those of her line born with pale hair and eyes have been called “soul-shriveled” and often proved to be cruel and terrible. It is thought to be a side effect (a curse) of Astrid’s lost soul. All of them, including Cey and Astrid, were born under the sign of the Serpent.

Personality & Abilities
Personality: she likes to appear stoic and 'untouchable', but not all is as it appears
Talents: daggers, frost magic, illusion, conjuration
Weaknesses: Has a deep hatred and fear of herself that she tries to keep buried; is afraid she will ‘live up’ to her family’s dark legacy.

Prelude to Morrowind

PostPosted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 6:23 am
by ToxicCosmos

There are major ESO plot spoilers in this story. You have been warned. ;)

Those born under the sign of the Serpent are said to be the most blessed... and the most cursed.


Cey sat at the edge of the long, wide vine that twisted out over the bank of the shore. Her legs were crossed beneath her as she listened to the gentle waves of the sea, hoping to one day sail across it and travel far from here.

Vos was an ancient farming village, and would have been a very dull place if it weren't for the dock on which she sat. It made the town one of the few ports in Eastern Vvardenfell; and, more importantly, saved it from being the worst place for a child to live, namely herself.

She had been lucky though. Her parents owned the only tradehouse on the eastern side of the island, which meant that any traveler was more than likely to end up there at least once in passing.

Consequently, her childhood had been full of long days spent listening to the stories travelers told her; of far off islands made of nothing but living mushrooms, not unlike their tradehouse, of monstrous creatures that made Alit look like house pets, and of giant insects that were used as a form of travel. She drank in these stories, as any child would, using them to forget her troubles.

She kicked at the water, relishing the cooling effect it had on her skin. She looked down, seeing the harsh reflection of the sun. It was too hot, always too hot for her. Her own reflection stared back at her. Her hair and eyes the color of ice, and a stark contrast to the dark ashen tone of her skin. She raised her palm, watching a fog of cold air emanate and evaporate from it, reminding her of all the reasons she was so disliked among the people of Vos.

There was a nudge at her side. She turned, almost startled to find Seht sitting on his haunches next to her. She smiled; he always seemed to know when she was beginning to fall too far into herself. He would always come, even without her call.

"You shouldn't do that." She said, trying to sound angry but failing. "They'll think I can't control you. You know how easily they scare." She was referring to the people in town.

Her parents had long ago insisted she learn how to control her abilities, saying it would help her with her temper. It had annoyed her then; was it so wrong to be angry with how she was treated?

The children, the adults, almost everyone in Vos treated her like she had the blight. The adults never said anything, but they did caution their children to keep away from her. She was cursed - soul shriven - without a soul. All because of her appearance, the way she had been born.

Generations back, during the second era, her ancestor - a woman by the name of Astrid - had been sacrificed by worshipers of Molag Bal. Somehow, she had escaped his realm and found herself back on Nirn. But she hadn't returned whole, her soul had remained behind. It was said that the experience had drained the color from her hair and eyes, changing them from red to a frosted blue/white.

Ever since then, her descendants were sometimes born with a similar appearance. And those who were, inevitably proved to be heartless beings.

Who was she to think she would turn out any differently? The thought itself hurt so deep down inside her that on occasion she couldn't help but lash out.

Most Dunmer are naturally gifted with fire, but her gift had always been ice. And she had used it to fight back and defend herself when she felt she had to. Of course, this had only reaffirmed the fears of the townspeople. Cey, the cursed one who could only conjure ice because that's what her heart was made of.

"No, don't say that." Her mother would soothe as she'd hold her. "The things they say aren't true."

"How would you know?" She replied one evening after a particularly difficult day.

"The things they say, the things they do - how does it make you feel?" Her mother asked. Cey felt tears run down her cheek.

"It hurts." Her mother wiped at her face and tilted her chin up to meet her somber gaze.

"That's how I know they're wrong. You feel. You aren't without a soul."

She had cried hard that night. Not because of the hurt that was inflicted upon her, but because she realized her mother was right. She wasn't what she was accused of being. She didn't have to be.

The next day her mother enlisted the help of Smokey, a Bosmer mage who lived in their inn. He was a talented sorcerer and helped her learn to control her natural abilities. How to control and soothe her anger.

It wasn't long before she began to show interest in other schools of magic. Illusion, for the ability to go unnoticed, and Conjuration for the companionship. The townspeople didn't quite take to the summoning of Daedra. Though to be fair, the only one she had ever managed to summon had been Seht and at the time, he had been just a hatchling, barely 15 centimeters in height. But try and tell that to an entire village of irrationally scared children and their parents.

Seht, now half a meter tall, nuzzled her neck. He was damp. "It's too warm for you too, isn't it?" He made a low chirp of a sound, agreeing.

She placed her arm over him, pulling him close and lowering the temperature around them. Patterns of ice and snowflakes began to form on her skin, carrying frost with it as it spread. From her to him. A throaty purr resonated within his chest. She smiled and laughed as she pat his head.

"Oh look, it's the freaks." She heard behind them. Her smile faded.

"Daren." She replied grimly, standing herself up on the dock and turning to face him, knowing what she would find - that same smug face he always had each an every time he tormented her.

"What a pair you two make. You must be the only Dunmer and Clannfear on Nirn that can't handle a little heat." He smirked.

She knew what he expected. He expected her to beg, to cry, to run away and hide using her illusion spells. It wasn't fair. She just wanted to be left alone.
"Go away, Daren." She said. His grin grew even wider as he walked closer to her.

"Who do you think you are, S'wit. I can go wherever I want." He was next to her now. She moved Seht behind her and tried not to look as intimidated as she felt.

"Leave us alone."

"What?" He asked with a sneer, a challenge. "Are you going to make me?"

"Daren, please, we haven't done anything wrong, we jus-"

"That's where you're wrong." He looked amused at her use of the word 'please'. "You're taking up precious space." He stepped back from her and gestured around them. "You see, the guys and I want to go fishing but you're in the way." She looked around but saw no one.

"I don't see anyone."

"That's because you're in the way." He rolled his eyes, annoyed. She knew he was lying. This was by far not the best place for fishing. He just wanted to torment her. But she didn't know what to say so she kept quiet.

"N'wah. Are you even listening to me?" He grabbed her by the shirt and pushed her over the side of the dock.

For a moment all she could hear was the sound of water rushing around her as she sank in. Then she righted herself and stood, the water coming to just under her shoulders. Her long, and now soaked, hair obscured her vision. But the sound she heard jarred her. It was Seht, his rasped barking sounded anxious. She hurried to clear her eyes of hair and excess water.

She spotted him, at the end of the dock, and Daren moving toward him. There was fire in his eyes, and in his hand. She jumped out of the water and climbed onto the dock behind him.

"Seht." She called, gesturing to her side. He disappeared and reappeared beside her. Daren turned around with a chuckle, amused.

"I guess he can't handle a little heat, can he?"

Her eyes narrowed as she glared unflinchingly at him. It was one thing to push her around, but quite another to go after Seht. There was a brief look of confusion in his eyes as he regarded her. She was surprised at how a mere look could unsteady him. It made her smile. Seht growled nasaly at him, feeding off her emotions. She ran her hand down the back of his neck in approval.

"We can handle the heat just fine." She said, lifting her hand and turning its palm upward. Ice spread from the tips of her fingers down to her wrist, a thick fog enveloping it whole. "Perhaps it's you who can't handle the cold."


PostPosted: Sat Jan 26, 2013 1:16 pm
by ToxicCosmos