Laid out hereinafter is a dossier I have compiled on all I know of the woman called Lilianna Bolar. It would not surprise me if the name is not familiar to you - the Thalmor have spent many a years trying to conceal her exploits against them, and then many more propagating derogatory tales of her, hoping that the hatred of the easily-swayed would eventually drive her to desperation.
It worked.
I go now to her aid, knowing that I may not return. I am, admittedly, afraid of death - Eight help me, I cannot even begin to imagine what awaits me beyond - but most of all I am afraid that Lilianna's legacy will die with me, and that I cannot allow.
To you who now hold this missive, I implore you, read to the end before passing judgement on her character. Cast aside what the Thalmor, the Mede Empire, and Delphine's goons may have told you. I refer to her henceforth with the title that most know her by - blasted as it may be – as per her last request, but do not let the connotations of said title bias you either. For though she has made mistakes and wrong choices at every turn of her life, she still is - and will always be - the only woman I have ever loved.
Name: Lilianna Bolar
Aliases: The Devil of Bruma, Yarrow Shatterhilt/Yarrow-cub(Companions), The Wolfkiller, Blade-sister (Esbern & Delphine), The Last Ruler, Lily
Sex: Female
Race: Breton
Combat Classification: Blademaster
Alignment: True Neutral
Age: 43
Skin Tone: Light caramel, toned from a lifetime on the road.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 133 lbs
Build: Lean and athletic with slender but surprisingly strong limbs.
Eyes: Storm Blue. Wears a blindfold across her left eye after her attempt to read the Elder Scroll of Dragon left her half-blind.
Hair: At our first encounter, the Devil had shoulder length ebony black hair, ruffled and unkempt. However, the strain from being on the run, from having to remain on alert at all times, and from pushing her meager magicka beyond its limits has turned her hair paler by the day. When she left at dusk, her hair was almost completely white.
Apparel: The Devil looks upon armors with disdain; to a master, she once told me, the thick padding slows the body and dulls the senses. Instead she prefers the comfort and mobility simple clothing affords, trusting her defenses to her dexterity and protective cantrips. Though I have insisted that she don a simple Nordic breastplate at times, often a set of worn traveler’s robes, a pair of sturdy leather boots, and a loose-fitting cowl complete with a waist-high half-cape is all that stands between the Devil and certain demise. Perhaps she finds the it exhilarating, dancing with death, or perhaps she relishes another opportunity to put an end to herself. I am afraid to say which possibility I find more likely.
Tattoos/Scars: A shallow cut across her lower left cheek. One-hundred and sixty-eight slash marks of various depth, length, and orientation across her body; the Thalmor are messy.
Physicality: Relaxed shoulders, straight back, walks with a slight limp and leans habitually on her right leg, but consciously corrects herself from time to time. Stands with arms loosely at her side, feet shoulder-width apart, head slightly downcast. Walks deliberately with small, well-paced steps. The keen-eyed would notice her darting eyes and twitching hands under her facade of nonchalance, ready to draw blade at the first sign of commotion.
Weapons: The Devil trusts her blade and her blade alone. Though she is trained in swords of all variety, from humble longswords to exotic scimitars (whose edge, she notes, traces a beautiful arc when blooded), the Devil prefers the traditional Dai-Nodachis of the Akiviri Dragonguard. Something about the slight curve of the body, the perfect balance - just enough counter-weight to accelerate the swings, but not so much as to draw her off her footing. Or, maybe, she just likes how cleanly it cuts through flesh.
In her travels she wields the Dragonguard relic Dragonbane and Memento Mori, a silver Dai-Nodachi she forged in preparation for our journey into Blackreach. She also keeps her father's Oathblade on her person, though she has never used it. At my insistence, the Devil has reluctantly agreed to keep several scrolls of Bound Greatsword inside her knapsack, in case she is disarmed in the throes of battle. She was resistant to the idea at first, but relented when her sword was shattered whole in a harrowing encounter with a Giant. I am sure that she is grateful.
Combat Style and Abilities:
The bladework of the Blades is profound, passed down from the Akiviri and refined throughout the ages by countless masters, but the Devil was too young at the time of the Cloud Ruler invasion to learn any of its intricacies. Nor does the Devil possess any kind of gift with the blade in the first place – she had barely paid any attention to her lessons at Cloud Ruler Temple. Instead, the Devil has to rely on her raw strength, speed, and agility to overcome her opponents. Her bladework is straightforward and fiercely aggressive, using rudimentary Blades techniques to increase the speed and impact of her swings. Each strike is calculated to end the battle in the shortest amount of time, before her opponent can leverage their superior skill or experience, and to force them into a direct contest of brute strength. It is a crude combat style - the bladework of the fool, the meek and the inept - but it is the only way the Devil can hope to overcome opponents more skilled and more experienced than she is.
To a master, however, the flaws of her style is altogether too apparent: it is inflexible, predictable, and overly reliant on the Devil’s raw physical attribute. The Devil herself recognizes this and, to compensate for these weaknesses, has learnt to incorporate into her combat style a variety of cantrips, minor arcana, and shouts that enhance her melee prowess. For example, to make up for the inflexibility of her combat style, the Devil uses the Tiid Klo Ul shout to adjust the trajectory of her body mid-motion and to recover from overcommitting to an attack, while using Feim Zii Gron to avoid lethal damage when trading blows with an opponent. To counteract the predictability of her combat style, she utilizes a modified shout which allows her to manifest temporary simulacrum of herself. And to make sure that she is able to out-pace and overpower most of her opponents, the Devil has learnt to invoke a plethora of minor augmentations that enhance her physicality, including enhanced reflexes and increased strength and agility. Although she is skilled in neither blade nor magic, her ability to weave the two together seamlessly in combat has allowed her to survive encounters with foes that are much stronger than her, if only by the skin of her teeth. Those who have faced her in combat lovingly refer to her fighting style as ‘the Devil’s Dervish’.
Unlike much of Skyrim’s adventurers, the Devil prefers not to taint her swords with poisons or enchantments. This does not mean she’s not aware of the lethal potential of a cleverly-weaved enchant or a dose of the Brotherhood’s concoctions – in fact, several nasty encounters that left her with broken blades have taught her to protect her swords against them, by spreading a solution of snowberry extract and powdered moonstone on her blade before combat. No, the Devil stays away from poisons and enchantments in part out of respect for the ‘soul of the blade’(foolish), and in part out of her arrogant belief in her own steel (even more foolish). These mundane weapons do have their perks, however; the absence of magical interference allows the absorbent property of steel to manifest. The Devil takes advantage of this to retain part of her Thu'um within her blade, imbuing it with unearthly speed and lightness almost as if the zephyrs themselves carry the weapon. Though the Devil can be stubborn at times, I must concede she has a certain knack for innovation
Place of Birth: Cloud Ruler Temple, Bruma.
Education: : The Devil was taught basic swordsmanship, restorative herbalism, and practical magic as part of her Blades training. Her uncle has personally given her lessons in Tamrielic history, geography, and astronomy. The Devil’s education has instilled in her a passion for literature, an insatiable wanderlust, and a
curiosity for the unknown.
Criminal History: Stories of the Devil vary greatly depending on the teller of the tale.
The Thalmors propagated the story that she is a crazed madman who kills for sport. Imperial soldiers say that she is an assassin, born and raised to serve the Emperor (though the incident at Solitude put a quick end to that tale). Radical Stormcloack sympathizers claim that she is a faceless vigilante who preyed on Thalmors and ate their flesh to gain strength. Rumors among the younger Companions state that she is a disciple of Mephala, that she revels in stealing the hearts of others just to murder them in cold blood. Some even claimed that she was the one who opened the gate for the Thalmor and caused the destruction of Cloud Ruler Temple, in the hopes that the Elves would let her live. But no matter which version of her tale you hear, one detail is always consistent – that she is a heartless, ruthless, and brutally efficient killer.
Religion: The Devil has a preference for Zenithar and Talos (though I personally question his divinity). She respects Talos for the warrior that he was and for his ascension, seeing him as the epitome of human determinism. Zenithar, on the other hand, she regards as a patron of blacksmiths, the patriarch of the forge. She would ritualistically pray to Zenithar before using an anvil, forge, or other tools of the trade. Whether this is borne out of her own reverence, or simply a tradition of the Cyrodillian blacksmiths, I can’t quite tell.
At heart, however, the Devil is cautious of anything that does not bleed by mortal steel, and generally tries to steer clear of them. Even her affinity for these two deities seems to stop at mere respect; I have never seen her seek out a shrine to meditate at, only stopping for the briefest moment to pay her dues when we come across one by accident. In this respect, the Devil does not view the Aedra very differently than she does the Daedra. She is well aware that both are to be treated with caution, and that their gifts always come at a price, even when the offer seems irresistibly innocuous.
Drinking Habits: The Devil was taught at a young age to drink only in mediocrity. The Devil kept this at heart, and while on the run has never allowed her gluttony to bring about her demise. When she feels sufficiently at ease to indulge herself (a rare occasion), however, she displays a strong capacity rivaling my own. When she does succumb to inebriation, she is possessed by a fervent passion, and all semblance of the bitter, cold, and ruthless Devil seemingly vanishes. I imagine that this woman, whose eyes sparkle with intelligence and life, whose peppy charisma can infatuate even the stony heart of the Deceiver himself, is who Lilianna would have been had her life taken a different course. But come next morning when the magic fades, when memories of last night is left slowly rotting away in the deafening silence between us, I am reminded, more painfully than ever, that no one can challenge the tyrannical hand of fate.
Political Affiliations: In her own words, "an Empire that kneels to kinslayers is no Empire at all". The Devil loathes the Mede who betrayed the Blades so effortlessly. And though she is not fond of the Lord of Windhelm, the Devil would rather a warrior rule his own people than bureaucrats who measure the lives of their sons and daughters by septims. While she tries to avoid taking an active part in the war out of respect for the old tradition of the Blades, she's made sure to give Imperial sympathizers that cross her certain 'special treatments'.
Interests: The Devil is obsessed with the forging, tempering, and wielding of the blade. Those who know her claim that she looks at swords with the passion and tenderness of a lover, and certainly cares for them more than she does her companions (myself included) - or herself for that matter. She is willing to acquire exotic blades at any cost, if only to sharpen their edges and study their making. Whether she simply wishes to perfect her instruments of death, or if she sees something else in the blades, I cannot say.
As part of our promise she has started taking regular lute lessons from me, and proved surprisingly gifted at it. While she has vocalized her disinterest in the instrument many a times, I have often caught her plucking away thoughtfully at its strings when she thought I was elsewhere.
Favorite food/drink: The springwater from Dragonbridge; its crisp texture and bitter-sweet aftertaste reminds her of the Jerall Creek behind Cloud Ruler Temple.
In the several months that I have accompanied her, the Devil has also developed a liking for roasted leek and horker stew with a side of grilled carrots – a Winterhold specialty. That said, she adores all kinds of cuisine that Skyrim has to offer, whether gourmet or rustic. Her vigor at the dining table is perhaps only matched by her prowess in combat; for though she may prefer the Dai-Nodachi, it would seem that she is most proficient with the knife and fork.
Personal History:
The Devil was born to Caroline and Acilius Bolar, two Blades agents stationed at Cloud Ruler Temple. Due to their ranking within the order, the Devil's parents were often gone for months on end, only stopping occasionally to reprovision. They entrusted care of their child to Caroline's brother Fortis, the deputy quartermaster of the order. Lonely, the Devil took solace in music, and would spend hours with the lute by herself outside of the fortress walls. Sympathetic for the child, Fortis insisted that she train with the rest of the Blades agents to distract her from her parents' absence. Although the majority of the Devil's childhood was spent in the company of her blade between Fortis's lessons and her own practice, training in the Temple courtyard under the beating sun, the Devil was not gifted in the art of combat, and with time it became clear that she would never grow to her parents’ legacy. While she was saddened to disappoint her parents, she took comfort in the fact that she can now pursue her true passion without guilt; she was never fond of the brutish weapon in the first place. As days went by the Devil spent less and less time in the courtyard, and more and more time sneaking away from training to fiddle with her lute outside the walls of the Temple, much to her uncle’s chagrin.
Her childhood at Cloud Ruler Temple had been a happy one, marred only by the void her parents left. That is, until the 15th of Frostfall, 4E 171. Despite my insistent prodding the Devil refused to let on what exactly transpired on that fateful night, and with time I learnt to avoid what must be a painful memory to elicit. I was, therefore, surprised when the Devil answered my quandary last night in a rare display of veracity. A final act of kindness, perhaps, to sate a scholar’s appetite before she goes to die. Whatever her motivations might be, I have left the account in the Devil's own words, for it felt inappropriate to do otherwise.
"They rode up Jerall Mountain at night. The Thalmors. One hundred and fifty Justiciars, maybe more. Fifty Magus...Magi. All wore black capes over their gilded armor. Smart, too - they had the cover of night; patrol didn't see them until they're at the gate. 'Gate', heh. Went down in seconds - the patrol too. Maybe rats from the inside. Maybe the Magi were that good. But yes – seconds. That’s all it took to breach our Santuary. "
"Uncle Fortis was awake. Some others, too. The gate exploding was loud. Anyways, Uncle Fortis. Ran outside at first noise. The fool - five vanguards were on him at once. He took out three, one stroke each: split, slice, stab. Elegant. But there were two left, and one circled behind Uncle Fortis and planted a kick to his back - dishonorable, blasted elves – knocked Uncle Fortis off his footing. The last one? Had this strange sword. Blue sword. See-through, too... Ghastly, yes. That's the word. Cut straight through Uncle's parry. Watched his head roll clean right off. Then the left arm, the right arm. Right leg. Left leg. Just to make sure, you know?"
"Blades? We were good. Trained plenty. But. The Thalmor? Better prepared. The elves are no fool. They sent ten, twenty times our number: we had no chance. Some were killed sleeping - lucky bastards - others tried to run. Can't blame them. Really. Did it work? No. The elves had twenty archers lined up at the gate. Fell them like weed. Every last one of them."
"She ran, too. Lily, I mean. That’s what they called the girl, then. Pathetic, feeble. Not me, not anymore. Anyways. Not the gate, she saw how that went. She ran down the catacombs instead. Cloud Ruler Temple runs deep into Jerall Mountain. Deep. And down there it’s...old. Everything, ancient as the first of the order. She opened grates, stumbled down stair, crawled through forgotten passageways. Then she hid. Yes. Up above it’s chopping and cutting and dicing and slicing and down below little Lily hid and cried and munched on goat cheese. Like a rat. “
The Devil mumbled something under her breath, then fell silent for a moment.
”It took her three days. To dare come out of her little hole. Two more to find her way back up. Don’t know what she expected to find up there. Just corpses. And Maggots. Lots of burning too – the whole package. No elves, though. They were long gone by the time the rat crawled out of her blasted nest.”
”The Thalmor didn’t find her then. No. But five days later, I found them.”
”They were camped close to the Temple. Small village at the foot of Jerall – twenty or so people, forgot the name now. Used to carry provisions up the mountain, don’t know when or why they started kissing the Thalmor’s boots. Don’t want to. “
”So. Elves. At least forty of them were stationed there, standing around in their gold armor. Very golden, real tired of that. Took one look at them to know that I stood no chance – I haven’t grazed Uncle Fortis once in practice and he wasn’t even trying. Wouldn’t even be able to take one down with me. But I knew. There’s someone even I could kill.”
”The girl had black hair. I remember. And black eyes, too. Maybe an inch or two shorter than I was, not much. Red robes. No armor. No weapons. Took a second.”
”The feeling of steel against flesh...it’s different. Smoother, like cutting through butter, and the bones, more brittle than I had imagined. Then I felt sick. I vomited. I wanted to turn and run. But then I saw the corpses. The Maggots. And I thought of them. The townsfolk, I mean. Cheering the Thalmor through. Up the mountain. And I took another looked at the girl’s eyes and they don’t look innocent anymore. Plotting. Deceitful. Murderous. Pathetic. Yes. Sorry now, I bet. ”
”Someone else yelled and ran over. The mother, I think. Black hair, black eyes, tavern clothes, no armor, no weapons. Five seconds. I vomited. Corpses. Maggots. Yes. Sorry now, I bet.”
”A man this time. Black hair, green eyes, worker’s clothes, no armor, a lumberaxe. One blow from him and I’m sprawling on the ground, my sword rolling away from me. He must have seen it to, because he reached for it like a vulture. But I was faster. I grabbed the hilt and severed his ankle and he tumbled and he fell and it was over. Fire. Thalmor. I held back the vomit. Then the left arm, the right arm. Right leg. Left leg. Just to make sure, you know?”
“I knew at that moment that I was a killer, then and always. There’s no taking it back, not when my hands and my blade are soaked through and through.”
”Then the elves came. A whole lot of gold. Blue, ghastly blades. I screamed, they grabbed me and my pathetic crusade was over.”
”I didn’t know why they didn’t kill me outright. Maybe they should have. Their loss. Because I fell in love that day – with the sword, I mean. It cuts, breaks, severs. It kills whom I will it to, and protects who I will it to. It goes where I want it to and stays when I want it to. It’s something I can control. ”
”Sometime later I heard that the village was raised to the ground. The Thalmors themselves, probably. Grew bored of their lapdogs. Blamed it on someone the Thalmor called the Devil of Bruma; I think that’s me. But I don’t mind. I’d have killed the whole lot of them if I could. Felled them like weed.”
***
The Devil was transported to Northwatch Keep after her capture in Bruma. While the Thalmor had tried to interrogate her at first, it soon became clear that this was a fruitless effort – she was too young to be privy to any Blades secrets, and had little knowledge of prior Blades operations. Hence they imprisoned her in the depths of Northwatch Keep, leaving her there as bait to lure the remaining Blades out of hiding. A tired attempt to milk some use out of the obsolete Blade before she expired, no doubt. For eighteen years no one came to her rescue, and slowly the Devil was forgotten. In 4E 189 Acilius Bolar rescued the Devil from Northwatch Keep, leaving her in the care of Kodlak Whitemane, before sacrificing himself to lure the pursuing Thalmor to a death trap at Bloated Man’s Grotto. The Devil remained with the Companions for a good part of a decade under the guise of Yarrow Shatterhilt, performing odd jobs and acquainting herself with the foreign land of Skyrim.
In 4E 197, while in pursuit of an Imperial deserter, the Devil and Farkas ran into a band of Thalmor Justiciars. Although the Devil took great care to conceal her identity, she was recognized by the elves, but managed to defeat them in the ensuing battle. Farkas, having heard tales of her deed in Bruma, recognized her as well, and the Devil was forced to murder him in cold blood. She was cast out of Jorvaskarr when news of the encounter reached the Wolves. Kodlak refused to declare her an enemy of the Companions, but some dissenters (Vilkas and Skjor, amongst others) have placed contracts on her and spread word of her crimes to the major holds. This kept the Devil on the run, only stopping occasionally at the smaller settlements to reprovision.
She found me in 4E 201, at my lodging in the College, and ‘inquired’ as to the whereabouts of the Elder Scroll of Dragons. As much as I want to, I do not have the time to recount in detail our exploits thereinafter – seek out my journal if you wish to learn in details the events that transpired hitherto – but know that my existence had taken a drastic turn there. A turn, note, that I now recount with a peculiar mixture of sorrow and fondness.
Motivation: The Devil is obsessed with finding the Elder Scroll of Dragons, convinced that it can send her back in time the same way it had sent the World-Eater forward. How she came to know of the Scroll’s existence I can only surmise – some ancient Blades legend dating back to the days of Reman’s Dragonguards, if I had my guess – and how she became convinced of its time-altering properties I am entirely unsure. But she is certain that, once she acquires the Scroll, she will be able to transport herself to a time before the fall of Cloud Ruler Temple and – evacuated the Temple? Defeat the invading Thalmor? Turn the tides of the Great War? The Devil never told me. I suspect that, somewhere deep down, the Devil knows that the Scroll cannot do what she wants it to, and that she can never turn back the hand on the wheel of time. If this is true, the Devil buries it well. After all, how could she so easily shatter the tantalizing promise of a new beginning, even if it is but an illusion?
Perhaps I shouldn’t have indulged her fantasies, shouldn’t have seduced such a broken spirit with false hope. Perhaps I should have told her at our first meeting that the Scrolls have no such power, that not even the eldest Moth Priests can reverse the effects of an Elder Scroll under the laws of Nirn. I like to think that I was perserving the solitary ember that illuminates her hollow existence, but that would be a lie. In truth, I was afraid that, once she knew that I was no longer useful, she would slay me like the rest. What choice did I have? I am a coward, and I was so afraid of death.
Illness: Although the Devil puts up the pretense of indifference, it is painfully clear that the events leading up to her capture in Bruma, including the decade she spent rotting away in Northwatch, have scarred her irrevocably. Even to this day the memory plagues her like a parasite of the mind. It is agonizing to witness: her frantic eyes as she confront a Thalmor, her trembling hands as she is disarmed and left defenceless, and her cowering form when she is brought back to the burning ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple. I try to avoid anything that may elicit the memory, but I can't protect her enough. And every time I see her, shattered and broken, forced into seclusion by ghosts of the past, I am reminded that though I might be able to help her in combat, I cannot save her from her own mind. And these are only the times that I have noticed her illness - Eight knows how many times she has to swallow the searing pain of remembrance as it cuts into her mind, how much she has to endure just to hold a blade, much less to kill. But endure she does, if just for the vague hope of a new beginning.
Personality and Creed: As expected of a fugitive, the Devil is tenacious, observant, cunning, fiercely selfish, and borderline paranoid; she refuses to sleep without her sword by her side and at least two layers of protective cantrips. Ironically, cautious as she may be, the Devil is ultimately a victim of her own emotions. Though I sense that she tries to keep them contained, I could recount numerous occasions in which a sudden burst of anger has ruined a perfect ambush. In combat, the Devil is altogether too easily provoked for someone who knows which buttons press. All semblance of reason and cunning are discarded when she succumbs to the throes of anger, and she throws herself into combat all too eagerly; the Devil’s hotheadedness is one of the few barriers holding her back from truly mastering the art of the blade.
The Devil holds no respect for honor either. According to her, “blind honor was what eradicated the Blades in the first place”. A pragmatist at heart, the Devil will not hesitate to pillage ancient tombs or ruins, or to draw blade at sacred places. She will slay a defenseless opponent, a mere peasant, or anything that stands against her without a second thought. She will never accept an opponent’s yield in combat, preferring to rid a potential threat once and for all, and will at times even amputate, eviscerate, or gruesomely torture her victims given an excuse to do so. It is during these sadistic streaks, when her thin lips stretch into a feverish grin, that I truly believe she is capable of committing the atrocities attributed to her.
The Devil prefers to speak with her blade rather than with words. When she does speak, her speech is short and concise, occasionally betraying a hint of flourish shaped by the Devil's affinity for literature in her youth. However, underneath that eloquence is a bitter cacophony, fermented by two decades in a Thalmor prison and a decade on the run. Things like that - it changes a person in a way that can never be undone.
Absolute in her ruthlessness and resolute in her reservedness, it is no surprise that the Devil has earned herself the title of a cold-blooded killer. The Devil herself does little to disperse this allegation, but certain quarks that the Devil displays made me question whether she truly enjoys killing. Maybe it’s her giving a wide breadth to every bandit establishment she sees, how she dallies for days on end for seemingly no reason before storming Thalmor strongholds. Or maybe it's how she squeezes her eyes shut reflexively every time her blade strikes her opponent. In any other person I would not hesitate to call these peculiarities the mark of a coward, but the Devil is no coward – that I know all too well.
No - the Devil kills to remind herself that she is braver, stronger than she was three decades ago. But the more dangers she braves, the more she hates herself for her prior cowardice; the more she kills, the more she loathes her prior powerlessness. It is a fruitless cause, so she relegates to living out her days as a blade of vengeance. One that's ruthless, brutally efficient and indifferent to her own wounds. Perhaps by becoming what amounts to a twisted ideal of a Blades agent, and by indulging in the fantasy of vengeance, she can hope to atone for her cowardice on that fateful night. It is the only way to handle the death of her family – and by extension her life – that the Devil has ever known, or that she has the courage to pursue. She tells herself the people of the Empire owe the Blades for being sacrificial lambs of the White-Gold Concordat, and that once she acquires the Elder Scroll of Dragons and reverses time, all the deaths by her blade would be undone. But no amount of justification could insulate the shock of taking a life, and on a few occasions the Devil has had spare her victim simply because she couldn't bear to kill them. The Devil sees this as a sign of weakness, an obstacle in her life as an instrument of vengeance that must be overcome, and thus pushes herself harder to kill. Perhaps, though she is ruthless to her opponents, she is more ruthless towards herself.
But past the ruthlessness, the coldness, the anger and the bitterness, I see a hint of someone else. Someone who stared with wide-eyed wonder when we ventured into Blackreach. Someone one betrays the hint of a sigh every time she wipes the blood from her blade. Someone who plays the lute with the same fascination and focus as Lily no doubt once did. The Devil keeps her repressed, but I know she’s still in there – the Lily whom the Devil thought had died with the rest of Cloud Ruler. That part of her is ready to move on from her past and begin life anew. The Devil doesn’t need an Elder Scroll to find what she thinks she lost, she just needs to look inside.
There is so much more I have yet to tell, but I have dallied enough. I know where Lilianna is headed, overheard her muttering last night - if the Thalmor could not give her respite, then she would go to face the World-Eater; and I know for a fact that the former has already failed. I shudder to think that, with the time I have taken to prepare this dossier, she might already be at the wyrm’s doorstep. Lilianna might be a competent swordswoman, but she is no Dragonborn. If she challenges the World-Eater, then she will surely perish, and she knows it.
Lilianna has changed me profoundly, and I hope I had changed her too, for the better. For a while I truly believed that the Scroll might be able to reunite Lilianna with her family, just as I once believed that Liliana would find her sanctuary at Sky Haven and learn to move on. But what hope I had - and no doubt what she had too - died at the Reading atop the Throat. She has not been the same since, I know; the Lilianna I knew would never have drawn blade at Delphine, even if she frequently spoke ill of the woman. Perhaps it is arrogant of me to think that I, of all people, has the right to aid her after my deceit. But I know something that the Empire, the Thalmor, and Esbern’s cultists do not: that in the end, Lilianna is neither hero nor villain, neither Devil nor Blade, just a woman searching for a way to confront her past. And there is so much more to life she has yet to experience, so much land that I know she is dying to tread, so many things she'd rather hold than a sword. For that I have to save her - if not from the World-Eater, then from herself.
She is there now, in Soverngarde, seeking her end at the maw of the World-Eater. The prerogative of taking her own life is, of course, hers and hers alone - the Devil has certainly earned the relief of death after a lifetime of sorrow and regret. But there is something I must tell her, something she needs to understand before she makes her choice; that there is a way one can carry the burden of the deceased that is nobler, braver than self-destructive vengeance – moving on to a new life in honor of their legacy.
Signed,
Leymus Telaedron Aliaria, 226th Attendant of the Ruby Library and Provincial High Archivist of the Aldmeri Jurisdiction in Skyrim
***
Howdy Folks!
Thanks for reading this profile! I've been wanting to get this out since March, but real life got in the way and I've had to postpone it until now. That said, it's kinda bitter sweet to finally be 'finished' with Lilianna - she might not be the most original character I've came up with, but I've spent the longest working on her, and she ended up feeling more human than every other character I've played. This has been a lot of firsts for me: first post on the forum, first time using Photoshop (as is probably evident), and first time I've written about a character from the pov of another. There are a lot of things I'm still iffy about - the flow isn't quite right towards the end, and the section on Lilianna's adventures in Skyrim is lacking (I couldn't find an organic way to incorporate a 'journal', so I've just left in hints of how Lilianna affected and was affected by certain major events). Maybe I'll come back to this one later, but for now, I'm just happy to make my first contribution to the forums :)
Once again, thanks to Zonnonn for answering my newbie questions, thanks to all the content creators for inspiring me to write my own profile, and thanks to everyone for creating such a great community. Any and all feedback are greatly appreciated!
All the best,
MaxsonIV
Laid out hereinafter is a dossier I have compiled on all I know of the woman called Lilianna Bolar. It would not surprise me if the name is not familiar to you - the Thalmor have spent many a years trying to conceal her exploits against them, and then many more propagating derogatory tales of her, hoping that the hatred of the easily-swayed would eventually drive her to desperation.
It worked.
I go now to her aid, knowing that I may not return. I am, admittedly, afraid of death - Eight help me, I cannot even begin to imagine what awaits me beyond - but most of all I am afraid that Lilianna's legacy will die with me, and that I cannot allow.
To you who now hold this missive, I implore you, read to the end before passing judgement on her character. Cast aside what the Thalmor, the Mede Empire, and Delphine's goons may have told you. I refer to her henceforth with the title that most know her by - blasted as it may be – as per her last request, but do not let the connotations of said title bias you either. For though she has made mistakes and wrong choices at every turn of her life, she still is - and will always be - the only woman I have ever loved.
Name: Lilianna Bolar
Aliases: The Devil of Bruma, Yarrow Shatterhilt/Yarrow-cub(Companions), The Wolfkiller, Blade-sister (Esbern & Delphine), The Last Ruler, Lily
Sex: Female
Race: Breton
Combat Classification: Blademaster
Alignment: True Neutral
Age: 43
Skin Tone: Light caramel, toned from a lifetime on the road.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 133 lbs
Build: Lean and athletic with slender but surprisingly strong limbs.
Eyes: Storm Blue. Wears a blindfold across her left eye after her attempt to read the Elder Scroll of Dragon left her half-blind.
Hair: At our first encounter, the Devil had shoulder length ebony black hair, ruffled and unkempt. However, the strain from being on the run, from having to remain on alert at all times, and from pushing her meager magicka beyond its limits has turned her hair paler by the day. When she left at dusk, her hair was almost completely white.
Apparel: The Devil looks upon armors with disdain; to a master, she once told me, the thick padding slows the body and dulls the senses. Instead she prefers the comfort and mobility simple clothing affords, trusting her defenses to her dexterity and protective cantrips. Though I have insisted that she don a simple Nordic breastplate at times, often a set of worn traveler’s robes, a pair of sturdy leather boots, and a loose-fitting cowl complete with a waist-high half-cape is all that stands between the Devil and certain demise. Perhaps she finds the it exhilarating, dancing with death, or perhaps she relishes another opportunity to put an end to herself. I am afraid to say which possibility I find more likely.
Tattoos/Scars: A shallow cut across her lower left cheek. One-hundred and sixty-eight slash marks of various depth, length, and orientation across her body; the Thalmor are messy.
Physicality: Relaxed shoulders, straight back, walks with a slight limp and leans habitually on her right leg, but consciously corrects herself from time to time. Stands with arms loosely at her side, feet shoulder-width apart, head slightly downcast. Walks deliberately with small, well-paced steps. The keen-eyed would notice her darting eyes and twitching hands under her facade of nonchalance, ready to draw blade at the first sign of commotion.
Weapons: The Devil trusts her blade and her blade alone. Though she is trained in swords of all variety, from humble longswords to exotic scimitars (whose edge, she notes, traces a beautiful arc when blooded), the Devil prefers the traditional Dai-Nodachis of the Akiviri Dragonguard. Something about the slight curve of the body, the perfect balance - just enough counter-weight to accelerate the swings, but not so much as to draw her off her footing. Or, maybe, she just likes how cleanly it cuts through flesh.
In her travels she wields the Dragonguard relic Dragonbane and Memento Mori, a silver Dai-Nodachi she forged in preparation for our journey into Blackreach. She also keeps her father's Oathblade on her person, though she has never used it. At my insistence, the Devil has reluctantly agreed to keep several scrolls of Bound Greatsword inside her knapsack, in case she is disarmed in the throes of battle. She was resistant to the idea at first, but relented when her sword was shattered whole in a harrowing encounter with a Giant. I am sure that she is grateful.
Combat Style and Abilities:
The bladework of the Blades is profound, passed down from the Akiviri and refined throughout the ages by countless masters, but the Devil was too young at the time of the Cloud Ruler invasion to learn any of its intricacies. Nor does the Devil possess any kind of gift with the blade in the first place – she had barely paid any attention to her lessons at Cloud Ruler Temple. Instead, the Devil has to rely on her raw strength, speed, and agility to overcome her opponents. Her bladework is straightforward and fiercely aggressive, using rudimentary Blades techniques to increase the speed and impact of her swings. Each strike is calculated to end the battle in the shortest amount of time, before her opponent can leverage their superior skill or experience, and to force them into a direct contest of brute strength. It is a crude combat style - the bladework of the fool, the meek and the inept - but it is the only way the Devil can hope to overcome opponents more skilled and more experienced than she is.
To a master, however, the flaws of her style is altogether too apparent: it is inflexible, predictable, and overly reliant on the Devil’s raw physical attribute. The Devil herself recognizes this and, to compensate for these weaknesses, has learnt to incorporate into her combat style a variety of cantrips, minor arcana, and shouts that enhance her melee prowess. For example, to make up for the inflexibility of her combat style, the Devil uses the Tiid Klo Ul shout to adjust the trajectory of her body mid-motion and to recover from overcommitting to an attack, while using Feim Zii Gron to avoid lethal damage when trading blows with an opponent. To counteract the predictability of her combat style, she utilizes a modified shout which allows her to manifest temporary simulacrum of herself. And to make sure that she is able to out-pace and overpower most of her opponents, the Devil has learnt to invoke a plethora of minor augmentations that enhance her physicality, including enhanced reflexes and increased strength and agility. Although she is skilled in neither blade nor magic, her ability to weave the two together seamlessly in combat has allowed her to survive encounters with foes that are much stronger than her, if only by the skin of her teeth. Those who have faced her in combat lovingly refer to her fighting style as ‘the Devil’s Dervish’.
Unlike much of Skyrim’s adventurers, the Devil prefers not to taint her swords with poisons or enchantments. This does not mean she’s not aware of the lethal potential of a cleverly-weaved enchant or a dose of the Brotherhood’s concoctions – in fact, several nasty encounters that left her with broken blades have taught her to protect her swords against them, by spreading a solution of snowberry extract and powdered moonstone on her blade before combat. No, the Devil stays away from poisons and enchantments in part out of respect for the ‘soul of the blade’(foolish), and in part out of her arrogant belief in her own steel (even more foolish). These mundane weapons do have their perks, however; the absence of magical interference allows the absorbent property of steel to manifest. The Devil takes advantage of this to retain part of her Thu'um within her blade, imbuing it with unearthly speed and lightness almost as if the zephyrs themselves carry the weapon. Though the Devil can be stubborn at times, I must concede she has a certain knack for innovation
Place of Birth: Cloud Ruler Temple, Bruma.
Education: : The Devil was taught basic swordsmanship, restorative herbalism, and practical magic as part of her Blades training. Her uncle has personally given her lessons in Tamrielic history, geography, and astronomy. The Devil’s education has instilled in her a passion for literature, an insatiable wanderlust, and a
curiosity for the unknown.
Criminal History: Stories of the Devil vary greatly depending on the teller of the tale.
The Thalmors propagated the story that she is a crazed madman who kills for sport. Imperial soldiers say that she is an assassin, born and raised to serve the Emperor (though the incident at Solitude put a quick end to that tale). Radical Stormcloack sympathizers claim that she is a faceless vigilante who preyed on Thalmors and ate their flesh to gain strength. Rumors among the younger Companions state that she is a disciple of Mephala, that she revels in stealing the hearts of others just to murder them in cold blood. Some even claimed that she was the one who opened the gate for the Thalmor and caused the destruction of Cloud Ruler Temple, in the hopes that the Elves would let her live. But no matter which version of her tale you hear, one detail is always consistent – that she is a heartless, ruthless, and brutally efficient killer.
Religion: The Devil has a preference for Zenithar and Talos (though I personally question his divinity). She respects Talos for the warrior that he was and for his ascension, seeing him as the epitome of human determinism. Zenithar, on the other hand, she regards as a patron of blacksmiths, the patriarch of the forge. She would ritualistically pray to Zenithar before using an anvil, forge, or other tools of the trade. Whether this is borne out of her own reverence, or simply a tradition of the Cyrodillian blacksmiths, I can’t quite tell.
At heart, however, the Devil is cautious of anything that does not bleed by mortal steel, and generally tries to steer clear of them. Even her affinity for these two deities seems to stop at mere respect; I have never seen her seek out a shrine to meditate at, only stopping for the briefest moment to pay her dues when we come across one by accident. In this respect, the Devil does not view the Aedra very differently than she does the Daedra. She is well aware that both are to be treated with caution, and that their gifts always come at a price, even when the offer seems irresistibly innocuous.
Drinking Habits: The Devil was taught at a young age to drink only in mediocrity. The Devil kept this at heart, and while on the run has never allowed her gluttony to bring about her demise. When she feels sufficiently at ease to indulge herself (a rare occasion), however, she displays a strong capacity rivaling my own. When she does succumb to inebriation, she is possessed by a fervent passion, and all semblance of the bitter, cold, and ruthless Devil seemingly vanishes. I imagine that this woman, whose eyes sparkle with intelligence and life, whose peppy charisma can infatuate even the stony heart of the Deceiver himself, is who Lilianna would have been had her life taken a different course. But come next morning when the magic fades, when memories of last night is left slowly rotting away in the deafening silence between us, I am reminded, more painfully than ever, that no one can challenge the tyrannical hand of fate.
Political Affiliations: In her own words, "an Empire that kneels to kinslayers is no Empire at all". The Devil loathes the Mede who betrayed the Blades so effortlessly. And though she is not fond of the Lord of Windhelm, the Devil would rather a warrior rule his own people than bureaucrats who measure the lives of their sons and daughters by septims. While she tries to avoid taking an active part in the war out of respect for the old tradition of the Blades, she's made sure to give Imperial sympathizers that cross her certain 'special treatments'.
Interests: The Devil is obsessed with the forging, tempering, and wielding of the blade. Those who know her claim that she looks at swords with the passion and tenderness of a lover, and certainly cares for them more than she does her companions (myself included) - or herself for that matter. She is willing to acquire exotic blades at any cost, if only to sharpen their edges and study their making. Whether she simply wishes to perfect her instruments of death, or if she sees something else in the blades, I cannot say.
As part of our promise she has started taking regular lute lessons from me, and proved surprisingly gifted at it. While she has vocalized her disinterest in the instrument many a times, I have often caught her plucking away thoughtfully at its strings when she thought I was elsewhere.
Favorite food/drink: The springwater from Dragonbridge; its crisp texture and bitter-sweet aftertaste reminds her of the Jerall Creek behind Cloud Ruler Temple.
In the several months that I have accompanied her, the Devil has also developed a liking for roasted leek and horker stew with a side of grilled carrots – a Winterhold specialty. That said, she adores all kinds of cuisine that Skyrim has to offer, whether gourmet or rustic. Her vigor at the dining table is perhaps only matched by her prowess in combat; for though she may prefer the Dai-Nodachi, it would seem that she is most proficient with the knife and fork.
Personal History:
The Devil was born to Caroline and Acilius Bolar, two Blades agents stationed at Cloud Ruler Temple. Due to their ranking within the order, the Devil's parents were often gone for months on end, only stopping occasionally to reprovision. They entrusted care of their child to Caroline's brother Fortis, the deputy quartermaster of the order. Lonely, the Devil took solace in music, and would spend hours with the lute by herself outside of the fortress walls. Sympathetic for the child, Fortis insisted that she train with the rest of the Blades agents to distract her from her parents' absence. Although the majority of the Devil's childhood was spent in the company of her blade between Fortis's lessons and her own practice, training in the Temple courtyard under the beating sun, the Devil was not gifted in the art of combat, and with time it became clear that she would never grow to her parents’ legacy. While she was saddened to disappoint her parents, she took comfort in the fact that she can now pursue her true passion without guilt; she was never fond of the brutish weapon in the first place. As days went by the Devil spent less and less time in the courtyard, and more and more time sneaking away from training to fiddle with her lute outside the walls of the Temple, much to her uncle’s chagrin.
Her childhood at Cloud Ruler Temple had been a happy one, marred only by the void her parents left. That is, until the 15th of Frostfall, 4E 171. Despite my insistent prodding the Devil refused to let on what exactly transpired on that fateful night, and with time I learnt to avoid what must be a painful memory to elicit. I was, therefore, surprised when the Devil answered my quandary last night in a rare display of veracity. A final act of kindness, perhaps, to sate a scholar’s appetite before she goes to die. Whatever her motivations might be, I have left the account in the Devil's own words, for it felt inappropriate to do otherwise.
"They rode up Jerall Mountain at night. The Thalmors. One hundred and fifty Justiciars, maybe more. Fifty Magus...Magi. All wore black capes over their gilded armor. Smart, too - they had the cover of night; patrol didn't see them until they're at the gate. 'Gate', heh. Went down in seconds - the patrol too. Maybe rats from the inside. Maybe the Magi were that good. But yes – seconds. That’s all it took to breach our Santuary. "
"Uncle Fortis was awake. Some others, too. The gate exploding was loud. Anyways, Uncle Fortis. Ran outside at first noise. The fool - five vanguards were on him at once. He took out three, one stroke each: split, slice, stab. Elegant. But there were two left, and one circled behind Uncle Fortis and planted a kick to his back - dishonorable, blasted elves – knocked Uncle Fortis off his footing. The last one? Had this strange sword. Blue sword. See-through, too... Ghastly, yes. That's the word. Cut straight through Uncle's parry. Watched his head roll clean right off. Then the left arm, the right arm. Right leg. Left leg. Just to make sure, you know?"
"Blades? We were good. Trained plenty. But. The Thalmor? Better prepared. The elves are no fool. They sent ten, twenty times our number: we had no chance. Some were killed sleeping - lucky bastards - others tried to run. Can't blame them. Really. Did it work? No. The elves had twenty archers lined up at the gate. Fell them like weed. Every last one of them."
"She ran, too. Lily, I mean. That’s what they called the girl, then. Pathetic, feeble. Not me, not anymore. Anyways. Not the gate, she saw how that went. She ran down the catacombs instead. Cloud Ruler Temple runs deep into Jerall Mountain. Deep. And down there it’s...old. Everything, ancient as the first of the order. She opened grates, stumbled down stair, crawled through forgotten passageways. Then she hid. Yes. Up above it’s chopping and cutting and dicing and slicing and down below little Lily hid and cried and munched on goat cheese. Like a rat. “
The Devil mumbled something under her breath, then fell silent for a moment.
”It took her three days. To dare come out of her little hole. Two more to find her way back up. Don’t know what she expected to find up there. Just corpses. And Maggots. Lots of burning too – the whole package. No elves, though. They were long gone by the time the rat crawled out of her blasted nest.”
”The Thalmor didn’t find her then. No. But five days later, I found them.”
”They were camped close to the Temple. Small village at the foot of Jerall – twenty or so people, forgot the name now. Used to carry provisions up the mountain, don’t know when or why they started kissing the Thalmor’s boots. Don’t want to. “
”So. Elves. At least forty of them were stationed there, standing around in their gold armor. Very golden, real tired of that. Took one look at them to know that I stood no chance – I haven’t grazed Uncle Fortis once in practice and he wasn’t even trying. Wouldn’t even be able to take one down with me. But I knew. There’s someone even I could kill.”
”The girl had black hair. I remember. And black eyes, too. Maybe an inch or two shorter than I was, not much. Red robes. No armor. No weapons. Took a second.”
”The feeling of steel against flesh...it’s different. Smoother, like cutting through butter, and the bones, more brittle than I had imagined. Then I felt sick. I vomited. I wanted to turn and run. But then I saw the corpses. The Maggots. And I thought of them. The townsfolk, I mean. Cheering the Thalmor through. Up the mountain. And I took another looked at the girl’s eyes and they don’t look innocent anymore. Plotting. Deceitful. Murderous. Pathetic. Yes. Sorry now, I bet. ”
”Someone else yelled and ran over. The mother, I think. Black hair, black eyes, tavern clothes, no armor, no weapons. Five seconds. I vomited. Corpses. Maggots. Yes. Sorry now, I bet.”
”A man this time. Black hair, green eyes, worker’s clothes, no armor, a lumberaxe. One blow from him and I’m sprawling on the ground, my sword rolling away from me. He must have seen it to, because he reached for it like a vulture. But I was faster. I grabbed the hilt and severed his ankle and he tumbled and he fell and it was over. Fire. Thalmor. I held back the vomit. Then the left arm, the right arm. Right leg. Left leg. Just to make sure, you know?”
“I knew at that moment that I was a killer, then and always. There’s no taking it back, not when my hands and my blade are soaked through and through.”
”Then the elves came. A whole lot of gold. Blue, ghastly blades. I screamed, they grabbed me and my pathetic crusade was over.”
”I didn’t know why they didn’t kill me outright. Maybe they should have. Their loss. Because I fell in love that day – with the sword, I mean. It cuts, breaks, severs. It kills whom I will it to, and protects who I will it to. It goes where I want it to and stays when I want it to. It’s something I can control. ”
”Sometime later I heard that the village was raised to the ground. The Thalmors themselves, probably. Grew bored of their lapdogs. Blamed it on someone the Thalmor called the Devil of Bruma; I think that’s me. But I don’t mind. I’d have killed the whole lot of them if I could. Felled them like weed.”
***
The Devil was transported to Northwatch Keep after her capture in Bruma. While the Thalmor had tried to interrogate her at first, it soon became clear that this was a fruitless effort – she was too young to be privy to any Blades secrets, and had little knowledge of prior Blades operations. Hence they imprisoned her in the depths of Northwatch Keep, leaving her there as bait to lure the remaining Blades out of hiding. A tired attempt to milk some use out of the obsolete Blade before she expired, no doubt. For eighteen years no one came to her rescue, and slowly the Devil was forgotten. In 4E 189 Acilius Bolar rescued the Devil from Northwatch Keep, leaving her in the care of Kodlak Whitemane, before sacrificing himself to lure the pursuing Thalmor to a death trap at Bloated Man’s Grotto. The Devil remained with the Companions for a good part of a decade under the guise of Yarrow Shatterhilt, performing odd jobs and acquainting herself with the foreign land of Skyrim.
In 4E 197, while in pursuit of an Imperial deserter, the Devil and Farkas ran into a band of Thalmor Justiciars. Although the Devil took great care to conceal her identity, she was recognized by the elves, but managed to defeat them in the ensuing battle. Farkas, having heard tales of her deed in Bruma, recognized her as well, and the Devil was forced to murder him in cold blood. She was cast out of Jorvaskarr when news of the encounter reached the Wolves. Kodlak refused to declare her an enemy of the Companions, but some dissenters (Vilkas and Skjor, amongst others) have placed contracts on her and spread word of her crimes to the major holds. This kept the Devil on the run, only stopping occasionally at the smaller settlements to reprovision.
She found me in 4E 201, at my lodging in the College, and ‘inquired’ as to the whereabouts of the Elder Scroll of Dragons. As much as I want to, I do not have the time to recount in detail our exploits thereinafter – seek out my journal if you wish to learn in details the events that transpired hitherto – but know that my existence had taken a drastic turn there. A turn, note, that I now recount with a peculiar mixture of sorrow and fondness.
Motivation: The Devil is obsessed with finding the Elder Scroll of Dragons, convinced that it can send her back in time the same way it had sent the World-Eater forward. How she came to know of the Scroll’s existence I can only surmise – some ancient Blades legend dating back to the days of Reman’s Dragonguards, if I had my guess – and how she became convinced of its time-altering properties I am entirely unsure. But she is certain that, once she acquires the Scroll, she will be able to transport herself to a time before the fall of Cloud Ruler Temple and – evacuated the Temple? Defeat the invading Thalmor? Turn the tides of the Great War? The Devil never told me. I suspect that, somewhere deep down, the Devil knows that the Scroll cannot do what she wants it to, and that she can never turn back the hand on the wheel of time. If this is true, the Devil buries it well. After all, how could she so easily shatter the tantalizing promise of a new beginning, even if it is but an illusion?
Perhaps I shouldn’t have indulged her fantasies, shouldn’t have seduced such a broken spirit with false hope. Perhaps I should have told her at our first meeting that the Scrolls have no such power, that not even the eldest Moth Priests can reverse the effects of an Elder Scroll under the laws of Nirn. I like to think that I was perserving the solitary ember that illuminates her hollow existence, but that would be a lie. In truth, I was afraid that, once she knew that I was no longer useful, she would slay me like the rest. What choice did I have? I am a coward, and I was so afraid of death.
Illness: Although the Devil puts up the pretense of indifference, it is painfully clear that the events leading up to her capture in Bruma, including the decade she spent rotting away in Northwatch, have scarred her irrevocably. Even to this day the memory plagues her like a parasite of the mind. It is agonizing to witness: her frantic eyes as she confront a Thalmor, her trembling hands as she is disarmed and left defenceless, and her cowering form when she is brought back to the burning ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple. I try to avoid anything that may elicit the memory, but I can't protect her enough. And every time I see her, shattered and broken, forced into seclusion by ghosts of the past, I am reminded that though I might be able to help her in combat, I cannot save her from her own mind. And these are only the times that I have noticed her illness - Eight knows how many times she has to swallow the searing pain of remembrance as it cuts into her mind, how much she has to endure just to hold a blade, much less to kill. But endure she does, if just for the vague hope of a new beginning.
Personality and Creed: As expected of a fugitive, the Devil is tenacious, observant, cunning, fiercely selfish, and borderline paranoid; she refuses to sleep without her sword by her side and at least two layers of protective cantrips. Ironically, cautious as she may be, the Devil is ultimately a victim of her own emotions. Though I sense that she tries to keep them contained, I could recount numerous occasions in which a sudden burst of anger has ruined a perfect ambush. In combat, the Devil is altogether too easily provoked for someone who knows which buttons press. All semblance of reason and cunning are discarded when she succumbs to the throes of anger, and she throws herself into combat all too eagerly; the Devil’s hotheadedness is one of the few barriers holding her back from truly mastering the art of the blade.
The Devil holds no respect for honor either. According to her, “blind honor was what eradicated the Blades in the first place”. A pragmatist at heart, the Devil will not hesitate to pillage ancient tombs or ruins, or to draw blade at sacred places. She will slay a defenseless opponent, a mere peasant, or anything that stands against her without a second thought. She will never accept an opponent’s yield in combat, preferring to rid a potential threat once and for all, and will at times even amputate, eviscerate, or gruesomely torture her victims given an excuse to do so. It is during these sadistic streaks, when her thin lips stretch into a feverish grin, that I truly believe she is capable of committing the atrocities attributed to her.
The Devil prefers to speak with her blade rather than with words. When she does speak, her speech is short and concise, occasionally betraying a hint of flourish shaped by the Devil's affinity for literature in her youth. However, underneath that eloquence is a bitter cacophony, fermented by two decades in a Thalmor prison and a decade on the run. Things like that - it changes a person in a way that can never be undone.
Absolute in her ruthlessness and resolute in her reservedness, it is no surprise that the Devil has earned herself the title of a cold-blooded killer. The Devil herself does little to disperse this allegation, but certain quarks that the Devil displays made me question whether she truly enjoys killing. Maybe it’s her giving a wide breadth to every bandit establishment she sees, how she dallies for days on end for seemingly no reason before storming Thalmor strongholds. Or maybe it's how she squeezes her eyes shut reflexively every time her blade strikes her opponent. In any other person I would not hesitate to call these peculiarities the mark of a coward, but the Devil is no coward – that I know all too well.
No - the Devil kills to remind herself that she is braver, stronger than she was three decades ago. But the more dangers she braves, the more she hates herself for her prior cowardice; the more she kills, the more she loathes her prior powerlessness. It is a fruitless cause, so she relegates to living out her days as a blade of vengeance. One that's ruthless, brutally efficient and indifferent to her own wounds. Perhaps by becoming what amounts to a twisted ideal of a Blades agent, and by indulging in the fantasy of vengeance, she can hope to atone for her cowardice on that fateful night. It is the only way to handle the death of her family – and by extension her life – that the Devil has ever known, or that she has the courage to pursue. She tells herself the people of the Empire owe the Blades for being sacrificial lambs of the White-Gold Concordat, and that once she acquires the Elder Scroll of Dragons and reverses time, all the deaths by her blade would be undone. But no amount of justification could insulate the shock of taking a life, and on a few occasions the Devil has had spare her victim simply because she couldn't bear to kill them. The Devil sees this as a sign of weakness, an obstacle in her life as an instrument of vengeance that must be overcome, and thus pushes herself harder to kill. Perhaps, though she is ruthless to her opponents, she is more ruthless towards herself.
But past the ruthlessness, the coldness, the anger and the bitterness, I see a hint of someone else. Someone who stared with wide-eyed wonder when we ventured into Blackreach. Someone one betrays the hint of a sigh every time she wipes the blood from her blade. Someone who plays the lute with the same fascination and focus as Lily no doubt once did. The Devil keeps her repressed, but I know she’s still in there – the Lily whom the Devil thought had died with the rest of Cloud Ruler. That part of her is ready to move on from her past and begin life anew. The Devil doesn’t need an Elder Scroll to find what she thinks she lost, she just needs to look inside.
There is so much more I have yet to tell, but I have dallied enough. I know where Lilianna is headed, overheard her muttering last night - if the Thalmor could not give her respite, then she would go to face the World-Eater; and I know for a fact that the former has already failed. I shudder to think that, with the time I have taken to prepare this dossier, she might already be at the wyrm’s doorstep. Lilianna might be a competent swordswoman, but she is no Dragonborn. If she challenges the World-Eater, then she will surely perish, and she knows it.
Lilianna has changed me profoundly, and I hope I had changed her too, for the better. For a while I truly believed that the Scroll might be able to reunite Lilianna with her family, just as I once believed that Liliana would find her sanctuary at Sky Haven and learn to move on. But what hope I had - and no doubt what she had too - died at the Reading atop the Throat. She has not been the same since, I know; the Lilianna I knew would never have drawn blade at Delphine, even if she frequently spoke ill of the woman. Perhaps it is arrogant of me to think that I, of all people, has the right to aid her after my deceit. But I know something that the Empire, the Thalmor, and Esbern’s cultists do not: that in the end, Lilianna is neither hero nor villain, neither Devil nor Blade, just a woman searching for a way to confront her past. And there is so much more to life she has yet to experience, so much land that I know she is dying to tread, so many things she'd rather hold than a sword. For that I have to save her - if not from the World-Eater, then from herself.
She is there now, in Soverngarde, seeking her end at the maw of the World-Eater. The prerogative of taking her own life is, of course, hers and hers alone - the Devil has certainly earned the relief of death after a lifetime of sorrow and regret. But there is something I must tell her, something she needs to understand before she makes her choice; that there is a way one can carry the burden of the deceased that is nobler, braver than self-destructive vengeance – moving on to a new life in honor of their legacy.
Signed,
Leymus Telaedron Aliaria, 226th Attendant of the Ruby Library and Provincial High Archivist of the Aldmeri Jurisdiction in Skyrim
***
Howdy Folks!
Thanks for reading this profile! I've been wanting to get this out since March, but real life got in the way and I've had to postpone it until now. That said, it's kinda bitter sweet to finally be 'finished' with Lilianna - she might not be the most original character I've came up with, but I've spent the longest working on her, and she ended up feeling more human than every other character I've played. This has been a lot of firsts for me: first post on the forum, first time using Photoshop (as is probably evident), and first time I've written about a character from the pov of another. There are a lot of things I'm still iffy about - the flow isn't quite right towards the end, and the section on Lilianna's adventures in Skyrim is lacking (I couldn't find an organic way to incorporate a 'journal', so I've just left in hints of how Lilianna affected and was affected by certain major events). Maybe I'll come back to this one later, but for now, I'm just happy to make my first contribution to the forums :)
Once again, thanks to Zonnonn for answering my newbie questions, thanks to all the content creators for inspiring me to write my own profile, and thanks to everyone for creating such a great community. Any and all feedback are greatly appreciated!
All the best,
MaxsonIV
