Angharad Nethis

Prodigal Elf

• Name: Angharad Nethis (Ang-hah-rad) Age: 103 Gender: Female Race: Dunmer Class: Mage (Destruction) Origin: Morrowind Status: Apprentice, future arch-mage Residence: The Pale, Skyrim Expand: Spells & Equipment Spells: Destruction: > Flames > Ignite > Flame Cloak Alteration: > Candlelight Conjuration: > Conjure Flame Atronach Equipment: > Elvish Dagger, Soul Trap enchantment > Grey Robes > Apprentice Robes > Furlined Boots > Footwraps (preferred) Angharad, born of a modest origin in Tel Uvirith, was plucked from her home by an old master who saw talent in the young elf. But the master could not have foreseen the great power buried within her, and so sent her on a pilgrimage to Skyrim's own Mage's College, so that she might learn to control it.
• 
  
  Angharad, only a short ways into adulthood, presents herself modestly in robes of white and grey. The dark elf is lithe, though short - as expected of the dunmer - and she stands at a little over five feet tall. Her complexion is of a warm grey, and her hair falls to her waist in inky, raven-like plumes. Her eyes, rounded and wide, bear the embers of a winter fire; a dark sclera, inset with a violently amber iris. 'Neath her attire, the left side of her abdomen bears the patchy scarring of mage-fire; the result of her struggle with self-control.
  
  Her palms are often sore and itchy for the same reason, for within the young woman's breast lies a potent penchant for destruction magic; a peculiar affinity for fire, which is vastly difficult to control. Her village feared her, and the old master known as Ged paid her home a visit and thus took her under his care. But the girl's potential was truly fearsome, and her aspirations were grand; Ged pondered the possibilities of her existence, and offered her the chance of a pilgrimage. A journey to the Mage's College, deep within the vast tundras of Skyrim.
  
  

• Ged: A Beloved Master

  Her palms burned terribly; the flesh on her palms peeled away by mage-fire. The wooden cabin which once stood before her had been reduced to cinders. Loose embers crackled against charred wood, and the remaining smoke curled into the air and dissipated in the morning sky.
  
  What had she done? She had dreamed of fire, and conjured it in her sleep. She had salvaged what she could. Her master's scrolls, his books, his endless tomes of knowledge. They were strewn unceremoniously across the wet grass, safe from the flames.
  
  The master stood silently, beholding his burning home.
  
  "Master, I--" She yearned to apologise.
  
  "Angharad." The master spoke, his voice firm and sudden. He was usually so gentle, so silent. She was frightened. He did not turn away from the ash.
  
  "Angharad," he repeated, his voice softer this time, "Listen to me now. Have you ever thought that danger surrounds power, as shadows surround light? Our art is not performed for pleasure or for praise. Think of this: every word you speak, everything you do, first be silent and know the price that is to be paid."
  
  "T'was a dream, Master! How can I control a dream?" Angharad cried, her sore hands curled into fists at her sides. "You teach me nothing, and I have learned nothing! In my time spent with you, I have seen nothing!"
  
  "Now you have seen something." Ged spoke, his voice unchanged. "In your dream. What did you see?"
  
  Angharad was silent. Her lip quivered, and Ged exhaled a long breath.
  
  "Angharad, my dear little raven. You are not bound to my service. You did not come to be, but I to you. You are still young, but I offer you this choice. If you so desired it, I would send you to Skyrim, to the College of Winterhold, where all the high arts are taught. Any craft you undertake you will learn, for your power is greater than even your pride, I hope. I would hope to keep you here with me, for what I have is what you lack, but I will not hold you here against your will. Now choose."
  
  Angharad stood dumb, her heart bewildered. A vast decision to be made amidst their burned home. She had come to love this aging man, Ged, who had healed her with mere touch, who had no anger, and who had offered her a home away from her fearful brethren. She looked upon the stave in his hand, and remembered the bright light it emitted as he healed her burns. She yearned to stay with him, and travel endlessly through the forest, and learn to be wise and be silent. But other cravings burned within her; the desire for control and the will to act.
  
  Ged's path seemed a long road towards Mastery, a slow bypath to follow, when she might go sailing across the seawinds to Skyrim, where the ice buried mysteries and the walls breathed magic, and the Archmage walked upon wonders.
  
  “Master,” she said, “I will go to Skyrim."
  
  Thus it was that she headed to the great ships of Morrowind, and sailed across the coastline to the snow plains of Skyrim.
  
  In her pocket, she carried a sealed note for the Archmage, as signed by Master Ged. He had made her swear not to open it, and she never would.
  
  "Archmage, I deliver to you a creature who might ascend to be among the greatest mages in Tamriel, should the winds blow true.
  
  Ged Still-Tongue