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Description
Whether trauma prevents her from unlocking her memories or she simply refuses to share them, Vyc speaks nothing of her past, either way. She claims not to know where she was born, nor what her real name is. Ever since whatever tragedy had orphaned her, she only ever remembered herself as "Vyc." Other Breton may recognize it as the mangled prefix "Vyct", common amongst their race. To those learned and familiar with lineages her full name would either reveal much or very little worthy of note, should she ever recall it. The faces of her parents are no more than featureless phantasms her dreams rarely conjure, if they are that of her parents, at all. Their voice is muddled with the murmurs of a dozen others. Dark silk dresses, gleaming with accents and jewelry embrace coat-tailed counterparts. Others, loud with color, coo and crow over one another, as simple, greyed tunics rush about. Some in livery, statue-stiff, with swords at their side, come alive and move from one place to another, their capes quickly following after them.

The furthest her mind can go back is to a time when she was little more than half her height, wrapped in torn, reeking rags, running from danger she dared not face. She wandered, nearly nameless, not knowing where from, nor where to. The cold, hard ground that hurt eventually turned to warm, soft sand beneath her bare feet. She liked that. The nights could still turn cold, but she was not freezing anymore, as jagged rocks and shadowed forests thinned to torrid deserts. The parching heat she preferred to inflamed lungs, numb fingers and feet. Rivers could quench her thirst and yielded enough bounty, even for a clumsy child, to stave off hunger. She could wash her clothes in them. Sometimes, she even found soap...which she returned from where she took it. She liked it when her worn rags could incidentally smell of lavender.

She hid and watched fights between bandits, hunters and soldiers. While most carved flesh with swords, crushed bones with hammers and some could reach both from afar with arrows, a few commanded the very elements she always found herself at the mercy of. She would have sneaked into stores, even guilds to find books on magic, but she could not read. Those who did not turn her away could only give her little advice and she enjoyed her freedom too much to dare approach guilds and their rules. She had to will her inborn gifts to manifest.

The weakest of fires from her palms were enough to light the branches and twigs she learned to arrange by watching others. Her meager campfires were enough to roast the few fish she caught. Tasting the first warm food she could remember having and the difference between raw and fried fish, was a sensation she would have thought of as a blessing. Had she known the word or the concept, she would have either laughed at it or frowned, out of scorn.

Not long after she learned to lit fires, she thought that maybe she should be able to put them out. And so, instead of flames, she simply thought of the opposite of what she wanted to shoot forth from her hands. Soon enough, her streams of frost could cool the air if it got too hot.

In no time, at all, her fire was strong enough to scare off any wild animal she could not hope to outrun and her ice could turn branches brittle or snuff out fires.

In the same way, she learned to close smaller wounds and make deeper cuts she was careless enough to get heal faster. She could even keep a cracked forearm from being a pain less longer.

Her skills, less than that of a novice's, were later just enough to let her save a life and earn her a friend and soul-mate for life.

(Her face is a bit of a mash up from an image of Ruby Rose and Sisse Marie. Only took Ruby Rose's bushier brows and the rest is Sisse Marie's hair and face re-shaped. Made her face longer and pulled her cheek-bones higher to make her face more Elvish, because of her Breton blood. Made her nose longer and wider and a little crooked, instead of tiny and stubby. Made her ears slightly pointy. Increased the size of her lips by a mere 15% to make them just slightly fuller. She uses whatever the world of Elder Scrolls' equivalent is to a lipstick and lip-coloring method to make it a darker shade of her skin. I quite like seeing that.)

Description
Whether trauma prevents her from unlocking her memories or she simply refuses to share them, Vyc speaks nothing of her past, either way. She claims not to know where she was born, nor what her real name is. Ever since whatever tragedy had orphaned her, she only ever remembered herself as "Vyc." Other Breton may recognize it as the mangled prefix "Vyct", common amongst their race. To those learned and familiar with lineages her full name would either reveal much or very little worthy of note, should she ever recall it. The faces of her parents are no more than featureless phantasms her dreams rarely conjure, if they are that of her parents, at all. Their voice is muddled with the murmurs of a dozen others. Dark silk dresses, gleaming with accents and jewelry embrace coat-tailed counterparts. Others, loud with color, coo and crow over one another, as simple, greyed tunics rush about. Some in livery, statue-stiff, with swords at their side, come alive and move from one place to another, their capes quickly following after them.

The furthest her mind can go back is to a time when she was little more than half her height, wrapped in torn, reeking rags, running from danger she dared not face. She wandered, nearly nameless, not knowing where from, nor where to. The cold, hard ground that hurt eventually turned to warm, soft sand beneath her bare feet. She liked that. The nights could still turn cold, but she was not freezing anymore, as jagged rocks and shadowed forests thinned to torrid deserts. The parching heat she preferred to inflamed lungs, numb fingers and feet. Rivers could quench her thirst and yielded enough bounty, even for a clumsy child, to stave off hunger. She could wash her clothes in them. Sometimes, she even found soap...which she returned from where she took it. She liked it when her worn rags could incidentally smell of lavender.

She hid and watched fights between bandits, hunters and soldiers. While most carved flesh with swords, crushed bones with hammers and some could reach both from afar with arrows, a few commanded the very elements she always found herself at the mercy of. She would have sneaked into stores, even guilds to find books on magic, but she could not read. Those who did not turn her away could only give her little advice and she enjoyed her freedom too much to dare approach guilds and their rules. She had to will her inborn gifts to manifest.

The weakest of fires from her palms were enough to light the branches and twigs she learned to arrange by watching others. Her meager campfires were enough to roast the few fish she caught. Tasting the first warm food she could remember having and the difference between raw and fried fish, was a sensation she would have thought of as a blessing. Had she known the word or the concept, she would have either laughed at it or frowned, out of scorn.

Not long after she learned to lit fires, she thought that maybe she should be able to put them out. And so, instead of flames, she simply thought of the opposite of what she wanted to shoot forth from her hands. Soon enough, her streams of frost could cool the air if it got too hot.

In no time, at all, her fire was strong enough to scare off any wild animal she could not hope to outrun and her ice could turn branches brittle or snuff out fires.

In the same way, she learned to close smaller wounds and make deeper cuts she was careless enough to get heal faster. She could even keep a cracked forearm from being a pain less longer.

Her skills, less than that of a novice's, were later just enough to let her save a life and earn her a friend and soul-mate for life.

(Her face is a bit of a mash up from an image of Ruby Rose and Sisse Marie. Only took Ruby Rose's bushier brows and the rest is Sisse Marie's hair and face re-shaped. Made her face longer and pulled her cheek-bones higher to make her face more Elvish, because of her Breton blood. Made her nose longer and wider and a little crooked, instead of tiny and stubby. Made her ears slightly pointy. Increased the size of her lips by a mere 15% to make them just slightly fuller. She uses whatever the world of Elder Scrolls' equivalent is to a lipstick and lip-coloring method to make it a darker shade of her skin. I quite like seeing that.)