Rena Leone

Real Name: Lady Renalia Valentus
Known Alias: Captain Rena Leone
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Race, Nationality: Human, Imperial
Birthplace: Colovia, Cyrodiil
Current Port: Daggerfall, High Rock
Profession: Captain, Trader, Smuggler
Company: The Valentus Trading Company
Ship: The Kiss of Kynareth

With fiery locks and a burning gaze, Rena Leone is a firebrand tempest of a woman. Ill-suited to the noble station to which she was borne, the lady has long abandoned the silks of elegant gowns for the earthen scent of oiled leather corsets. The seductive invitation of her curves is offset by the sharp sting of her tongue - and any who venture to test her boundaries are oft met with the swing of a well-aimed fist. Now the Captain of The Kiss of Kynareth, one of the trading vessels sailing under the Valentus Trading Company banner, the deference of her crew of crude sailors is testament to this brazen woman’s mettle.

"She wasn't looking for a knight, she was looking for a sword."

Virtues & Vices

Virtues:
Tenacity
Resilience & Loyalty
Assertiveness & Daring

Vices:
Recklessness
Arrogance & Aggression
Manipulation & Obstinacy

Betrothed

Renalia Valentus was twelve years old the first time that she tossed her head at a boy, her chin tilting in haughty dismissal as ruby ringlets tumbled over her shoulder with the spin of her cold retreat.

“You’re wrong,” was offered in the way of farewell, the sing-song air of her tone laced with the condescending knowledge that she was, of course, entirely correct in her declaration.

The fourteen-year-old boy in question watched her leave, his jaw set in a tight line and eyes hooded with the pent-up tension of forced deference. It was an unquestionably unfair fight for Vadrien Lentes. The young noble was honor-bound by the expectations of his station; He could raise no hand, offer no retort...

Nor should he want to, he reminded himself. Afterall, the Lord he aspired to be had little time for stupid girls.

Yet as Rena walked away, Vadrien eyed a rock at his feet...and for a brief moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw it directly at the back of those bouncing curls.

“Your saddle isn’t tight enough.”

Vadrien’s voice drifted from the corner of the stables, edged in a perfect blend of triumph and nonchalance. Rena glanced up, her brow creasing as she reached to slip her fingers skeptically beneath the girdle. She could feel his smirk at her back, and after a moment, the young girl’s features twisted, her nose scrunching as a pout brushed briefly across her lips.

“Thank you,” she offered begrudgingly as she tightened the saddle straps with a frustrated tug, the words breathed in a reluctant sigh. The stable was quiet, the day outside beginning to slowly soften to the orange glow of an approaching sunset. The horses shuffled in their stalls, the air thick with leather and hay and a musty midsummer heat.

“You’re welcome,” he quipped back with smug satisfaction as he eased himself up into the saddle of his own horse. The reins resting in one gloved palm, he set his hands on the pommel and simply watched her.

Her hair was longer now, ringlets loosened to soft curls as age drew distracting curves across her figure. Vadrien’s gaze dipped as Rena’s leg lifted, catching her boot in a stirrup as she rose to pull herself up onto the saddle. He’d tried to offer her assistance before, and he’d learned well enough by now that such attempts at chivalry would be ill-rewarded.

So he simply watched, eyes wandering as a smirk tugged slyly at the edge of his lips…

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

His gaze shot up to the green glint of Rena's eyes, his cheeks darkening as he blustered a defensive response, “What? Nothing!”

Yet she was glaring, not at the man, but at his horse. The teenager’s lips pursed and eyes narrowed as her posture straightened with near-royal arrogance, “I intend to ride alone, Vadrien.”

Vadrien grit his teeth at the girl, propriety holding his tongue for a long moment before he nudged his horse to a trot at Rena’s heels. “And I intend to ensure Lord Valentus doesn’t lose a daughter to her own foolish desire to ride alone into bandit-infested forests at dusk.”

She huffed. He laughed.

Her lashes dipping and lips twitching in reluctant amusement, Rena rolled her eyes and snapped back a sly challenge to give chase.

“Then you’d better keep up.”

Sawdust rose in a cloud, kicking up shards of hay as she spurred her horse to a swift canter, a thunder of hoofbeats across the wooden floorboards as she raced away in playful escape.

The trail that cut through the forested edge of the prestigious House Valentus Estate had always been a favored escape of the Lord’s daughter, its winding path through the sleepy creek beds and dense underbrush of the Colovian Highlands was good for putting a horse through its paces, and even better as a respite from the watchful eye of her father and his men. It also just so happened to border the neighboring lands of House Lentes, but she would never admit such a fact mattered to her.

“What are you doing!?” Her voice pierced the shouts and grunts of the boys who now scuffled and fought amongst themselves. Her voice immediately caught their attention, and they stopped their shoving match, all heads turned to the red faced, red haired lady who demanded their attention.

The dark haired young lord had one of the boys, dressed in his fine, richly colored tunics by the collar, his nose bloodied, terror in his eyes. His friends had Vadrien by the neck, about to tear him from the noble boy. “Let him go!” her familiar voice commanded, fire burning in her voice as brilliantly as the red locks that framed her face.

Vadrien sneered at the boy and shoved him back, releasing him from his stronger grip and throwing him to the ground. His friends obliged the young Lord Lentes the same fate, and violently threw him into the dirt of the cleared path they’d found one another upon.

“My father will hear about this, Lentes.“ The fallen boy cried, scrambling to his feet. He tried to wipe the dirt and grass from the fabric of his tunic to no avail. It only fueled his rage.

Rena looked at Vadrien with that same unbridled anger as he wiped his bloodied lip, slowly rising to his feet, still wearing that characteristic smirk he never seemed to be without. “I’m sure Lord Valentus will be thrilled to know what you wished to do with his daughter.” He offered in a threatening tone, his hand falling around the pommel of his sword. He failed to notice the white knuckled fist that her hand had curled into beneath her riding glove as she slipped down from her saddle.

They were children no longer, and the roads were dangerous. To be unarmed, was to be foolish. Without warning, he unsheathed his blade. Vadrien pointed the sharpened tip right at the neck of the upstart boy, tilting his chin upward. The boy’s rage melted to fear in an instant at the thought of facing someone trained with the decorative rapier at his own hip.

“Let me see you on Valentus or Lentes lands again, and I’ll open you from balls to brains and see what Asthers are made of.” He offered with finality. Neither of the three boys had anything further to say before he lowered the sword, and they turned to sprint to their waiting horses to flee.

When Vadrien turned, sword in hand to face the wrath of Rena, he had hardly opened his mouth to speak when her gloved fist connected with the hollow of his check, sending spittle from his lips and his body stumbling back from the sucker punch.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with you?” She screamed, the firebrand Lady of House Valentus was fury incarnate with the proud Lord of House Lentes. “What gives you the right!?” She yelled, and sent her fist for mouth this time. He spat into the dirt, catching her wrist with his free hand, holding her still.

“Ren-“ before he could finish his words, her other fist reactively went to his gut. With the air knocked from his frame, his sword fell to the dirt and he doubled over, coughing. There was little he could do, no matter how angry, to Lady Valentus, after all.

She didn’t say another word to him, she left him to collect himself in the dirt. She mounted her horse with one final glance down at him with utter disdain, and galloped away.

“I suppose you’re proud of yourself?”

His hand stilled atop his horse’s back, the wood pommel of a brush pressed against his palm. Her tone was etched in poison, and at the sound of it, a throb cut across the bruised swell that shadowed the edge of Vadrien’s jaw.

Rena had not spoken to him in almost a week, not since his attempt to defend her honor had earned him the now-fading marks of her ire. She had remained silent as Vadrien boasted his bruises to be the proud marks of his scuffle with the men - because of course, in the retelling, they were no mere velvet-clad gang of overprivileged boys. She had remained silent, though fuming, as her father, the Lord Valentus, rewarded his actions, gifting him with a horse she’d longed to ride. She had even remained silent through more than one awkwardly-executed attempt to regain her favor over the past few ice cold days.

Vadrien turned, his jaw clenching in anticipation of another wild swing of the harpy’s fist…

And when it didn’t come, he sought to earn it.

“Am I proud that my gallant and chivalrous actions in defense of a Lady’s honor has earned your father’s favor?” He couldn’t quell the curve of a smirk that tugged suddenly at his lips as he watched her green eyes flash with indignation, “Yes, my Lady, I am proud of myself.” He ventured a step towards her, thrilled by the danger that lay in the narrowing of her gaze, “Indeed the only weight upon my heart is the absence of my Lady’s favor.”

Rena growled softly, her fingers curling at her sides. “I am not YOUR Lady, Vadrien!”

This time, he was prepared for her sudden swing, and he caught her wrist with an iron grip. He turned before she could retaliate, tugging the noble girl forward in a spin to pin her back against the stall. Vadrien leaned in, grazing his bruised jaw across the heated flush of her cheeks, “Yes, Renalia...you are.”

He felt her surrender; her anger draining to the strength of his young charms. Rena turned her head, breathing one last stubborn retort against his lips, “I hate you.”

Vadrien chuckled, his free hand falling to settle possessively on her hip as he closed the distance with a teenage kiss, laden with a reverent passion and the awkward innocence of chastity.

“No, you don’t,” he retorted in low breaths, “You love me...and I-”

“No!”

Of all the reactions he could have expected, Vadrien was ill-prepared for the sudden shriek of horror that left Rena’s lips as she shoved him abruptly away. In doe-eyed panic, she stared at the boy as though he’d summoned a demon between them.

“Rena…” He started, but she was already out of the stall and moving swiftly across the barn. He chased after her, reaching out to catch her arm.

“I don’t love you!” She spat the words as though they were weapons, the force of her statement stopping Vadrien in his tracks. Rena trembled, her jaw clenched and fear snapping at her features.

“I...will NEVER love you.”

When she fled again, he let her go...

Two days later, Vadrien Lentes joined the Imperial Legion...and war would soon tear their lives apart.

Don't Try to Fight

Renalia could taste the ash in the air, smoke rising from the horizon as the night sky was alight with the burning glow of the fires that raged across the Colovian countryside. At the cusp of 18, the young noble woman had rarely known fear, but terror now gripped her heart as she was ushered from the manor house to the waiting horses. There were screams in the distance and the horses whinnied nervously, hooves shuffling in the dirt in a fearful dance.

“Renalia…”

“Rena!” The grip of strong hands on her shoulders focused her attention on her father as he towered over her, a grave look etched across his features. “You need to ride to the river, do you understand? Don’t stop, don’t hesitate…and don’t look back.”

Her brow furrowed, a terrible understanding settling through her, “You’re not coming?”

He answered silently, drawing her into an embrace against the cold metal of his armor as he sighed a quiet breath against her hair. She reminded him of her mother - the same loose red curls, the same fierce spirit and biting tongue. It pained him to know that his daughter would likely be an orphan by the time the sun touched the world again at dawn. “Ride to the river,” he continued, “A waiting boat will take you to your uncle and to safety. Don’t try to fight, Renalia. Just run.” It was a gently given order, but an order nonetheless.

He released her, studying her features for a long moment before he ushered her towards her horse and turned his attention to his men, gesturing two of them to accompany the heir of House Valentus to safety. Swallowing the lump in her throat and blinking back the insistent sting in her eyes, Rena mounted her horse and watched her father as he gathered the rest of his soldiers and moved back towards the house.

Urged on by her guardians, Renalia Valentus began her flight, riding fast across the burning highlands of her home.

Just Run

Don’t try to fight, Renalia. Just run.

The last words of her father often echoed in her mind. There was speculation among the scattered Imperial houses that the young lady of House Valentus had also perished the fateful night that Daedric forces had swept across the Colovian highlands, and Rena had no real desire to proclaim her cowardice and quell the rumors. Her nights were sleepless, her guilt still weighing heavily upon her. It was that guilt that had spurned her into action, fighting viciously with her uncle until he relented to her madness and in his words would, "let the headstrong little fool take one of the ships.”

That ship was now anchored offshore, supplies loaded heavily into the row boat that crept through the rivers under the cover of night towards the frontlines. News traveled slowly from Cyrodiil and though she cared deeply about her homeland, her thoughts were anchored to the fate of one particular soldier. She’d seen him last in a different lifetime and a different world, their ill-fated betrothal now lying as much in ash and cinder as his family estate. The fighting across their homeland waged on endlessly, and Rena had no idea if Vadrien Lentes was even still alive.

Over these recent months of smuggling supplies, she had searched the face of every soldier and asked a dozen times over for news of his regiment. She hoped, as she stepped ashore to creep through the darkness and meet her waiting contact, that this time would not be as fruitless as the last.

She spied the soldier from a distance, his face turned away from her as he ran a hand reassuringly down his horse’s neck. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, no light to illuminate his Imperial features, and yet she knew before his gaze lifted to settle upon her approach.

“Rena? What are you doing here?”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she wanted to run in that moment - whether into his arms or back to her ship, she could not answer. “Vadrien -”

He closed the distance before she could gather her thoughts, and they crashed together like waves against rocks. He smelled like blood and steel and dirt, and she inhaled him deeply as her lips crushed to his in a surge of desperate emotion. They had both lost so much, both mourning those moments before this nightmare began.

“I thought you were dead,” he murmured quietly against her mouth in an offer of apology before drawing back to study her features, his jaw tensing in anticipation of her fist.

She didn’t swing this time, her cheeks still flushed and her eyes dark, but she did pull away after a moment’s hesitation. A war waged within her as fierce as the war the soldier now fought, but she refused to name him a casualty. Clearing her throat, Rena looked away from him towards the river, “The supplies are in the boat nearby. Look for the willow...I tied the boat in the reeds at its roots.” Lifting a hand to drag back through loose curls, she moved towards the spare horse, saddled and waiting for her.

“Renalia, wait…”

“It’s not safe to linger here, Vadrien.” It was true, but they both knew that safe wasn’t something she often made an effort to be. Her motion was hurried, and it wasn’t the first time that she’d bolted from what bound and burned between them. She untied the horse and mounted, shifting in the saddle to meet his gaze for a lingering moment.

“Don’t die,” she ordered him before spurring her horse into flight. It was the closest to I love you as she’d likely ever say.

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