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Kyra was born of violence. Her elven mother of the Somerset Isles was a mage of considerable note, travelling through Skyrim to the esteemed Mages College for a sabbatical during the summer.

The elvish caravan was set upon by Nord bandits who looted and terrorised the small group of elven mages, who despite using their impressive magic, were no match for the sheer ferocity of the Nords.
Kyra’s mother survived the incident, though not without serious injury and repercussions. She was taken to Winterhold where she spent the summer in misery; demonstrating little but growing hostility towards the baby growing in her belly…

Kyra was born on the night of a wild summer storm while lightning lit the sky and thunder boomed overhead. No sooner was the squalling infant delivered did her elven mother don a hood and slip out into the night, leaving the half breed babe at the local Inn.

Kyra was raised as a tavern hand by the Innkeep, a slovenly, ill-tempered man who hated the child and resented her elvish blood. He threatened on more than one occasion to slice off her slanted ears and hang them from his bedpost. She was raised in the traditions of the Nords; indoctrinated into the worship of Talos.

After a brutal fight with neighbourhood children, Kyra’s talent for magic was revealed (and a 10 year old boy badly electrocuted). She begged the Innkeep to allow her to attend the College, but the Innkeep had gotten accustomed to having a hard working waif to order about and work to the bone. He refused to send her and beat her every time she asked.

Kyra soon fled, taking on the wilds of Skyrim with little more than the command of lightning at her fingertips and a bleak outlook on life. She was still little more than a child in an ill-fitting stolen cloak, wandering through a harsh land with a vague idea of finding her mother’s people and being welcomed in with open adoring arms.

Kyra soon found her mother’s people, unintentionally stumbling across a group of Thalmor, torturing a half-dead orc. Kyra had never laid eyes on either orcs or her own kin, but she soon recognised the Thalmor as elvish when they unleashed magic on the poor creature and tossed their imperious heads revealing pointed ears.

The young girl had approached her kin; her heart brimming with hope and possibility. Her blood turned to ice within seconds as the Thalmor turned cold hostile eyes on her, and lips drew back in sneers. She heard them muttering and one murmured “tainted.”

The girl endured long hours at the cruel hands of the Thalmor, who reviled her for her half Nordish blood and belief in the God hero Talos. She fought back initially with her magic and a small steel dagger, but was no match for the justicar’s team. Her attempts did however turn the Thalmors’ attention solely to her, allowing the half-dead orc a moment of respite.

Kyra believed her young life was over before it began when a search party of orc warriors, sent to retrieve their fallen member, swooped upon the Thalmor. Kyra watched in wide eyed disbelief as the orcs and Thalmor engaged in a pitched battle. Though the Thalmor took many an orc that day, the sheer number or orcs overcame the Thalmor threat, and soon all were dead.

Kyra watched the remaining orcs help their injured clansman; the respect they showed him was obvious to the young girl. A large orc strode over to her a curious expression across his twisted features. He looked down at her as one would look at a wounded rabbit, and slowly drew his huge blade intending to end her misery.

The injured orc called out in the strange guttural tongue of the orcs and the warrior stayed his hand. The injured orc stumbled over to Kyra and dropped to his knees beside her.

“This one has spirit to rival Malacath. Nord blood.” He grunted.

Kyra had looked into the orc’s one good eye (the other having been lost to Thalmor torture). And finally felt a measure of acceptance in this strange world she’d been born into.

Kyra was taken back to the orc stronghold of Narzulbur where she found out the injured orc was the third son of a Chieftain. Over the following months, Kyra was nursed to health and nurtured by the orcs, and found a surprisingly adept teacher of magic in their shaman.

She soon became beloved of the orcs especially by the third Chieftain’s son, Azgrak. The two became fast friends which was condoned as a novel experience for the Chieftain’s son. When friendship turned sweeter and Azgrak was seen gently stroking Kyra’s pale skin, the condoned became taboo and Kyra once again found herself shunned.

With heaviness in her heart she set her feet on the path outside the stronghold; her decision to leave before she caused too much trouble for Azgrak, torturous. Her sadness turned to elation as Azgrak tore after her on a stolen horse; declaring his undying devotion to her beneath the mountains and heavens of Skyrim.

The two made their way to the border of Skyrim, intending to leave this harsh land far behind them. Talk of civil war and dragons arising had settled matters for them. They would flee to warmer and safer climes. All they needed to do was successfully navigate the border check…