Call me Xena. Xena l’Egerdemain.
That’s my sister Gabrielle. I’m the dark one, she’s the fair one. But I’m taller. Not that that means much, being Bosmer—”wood elves” in the tongues of Man—as a people we’re not exactly known for our verticality. But that doesn’t mean we won’t slit you from gut to gorge if you provoke us.
Gabrielle is a bit of a twit sometimes, always running off places. Tells me to “keep up with her,” but now who’s wearing the heavy armor here, eh? Easy to go sprinting off here and yon with just some breezy cotton on your back, maybe leather boots and shoulder cops but nothing much more than that. Some of us are wearing bleedin’ breastplates! And we’re doing it so we can take the hits for certain younger sisters, get the baddies to go beating on me instead of her, but it’s hard to take the hits when she goes running ahead, gathering their ire while I’m lumbering to catch up!
Mind you, I’m not saying she can’t take care of herself. Does a decent job of it, if I’m forced to admit it. She’s always been good with a bow, and with the sneaking and slipping around from shadow to shade. Let’s not even talk about her and finding the bloody chests. Why is it that I’m taller, but she can see them from farther away? Ach, don’t get me started…
So here we are, running around saving the world—or at least this little corner of it—but we have fun while we’re at it. We stick together, even when we annoy one another.
Though seriously, I’m going to grab every chest I can possibly snatch from the nimble-fingered clutches of that wee mongrel my sister…
pies & heavy armor 