Character(s) The End of All Things Cast Section

[King Ad Rock]

THE END OF ALL THINGS​

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Please only post your character sheets here once you have gotten full approval from myself.​

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@King Ad Rock
as
Ziek Sidane
(zy-EEK sih-DAYN)​

Age: 30

Race: Nomasda-Kilderlander (Kilderlander Father, Nomasda Mother)

Weapon of Choice: A long, serrated spear with a heavy steel counterweight at the base of its Corl wooden haft, which ensures perfect balance and serves as a blunt tool for non-lethal combat. This mass also allows Ziek to hurl the weapon with deadly precision and force. His former mentor, Syler Hazule, had the unique piece forged as a gift during the War of Royalty.

Personality

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Those who meet Ziek do not forget him quickly. A loud, sarcastic, and self-perceived smooth talker, he always has a witty response, or at least what he considers to be one, for any precarious situation regardless of appropriateness. His abrasive, foul mouth and cocky demeanor have, on more than one occasion, landed him in visible trouble at a time in his life when he should be keeping a low profile. A combat veteran, Ziek suffers from what is known as “Soldier’s Shakes.” To combat the sleeplessness, nightmares, anxiety, and depression that come with this, he spends his time drowning himself in liquor, imbanje, women, and false bravado. While traveling from city to city in Southern Seldwa, he participates in any reckless behavior he believes will help him forget the dead and the past.


Physical Description

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Unless standing beside a towering T’Odis, Ziek is notably tall at six-foot-three. His lithe, muscular build suggests both speed and power; however, it remains largely concealed beneath loose clothing. Both exposed arms are riddled with scars from past conflicts; his right is covered from shoulder to forearm in the black ink of a hawk’s talon. A deep bronze complexion and messy, dark curls make his mixed heritage obvious. Dark circles and heavy-lidded squints reveal a chronic lack of rest, his emerald green eyes remain perpetually narrowed. A permanent half-smirk is plastered across his mouth, signaling a mischievous streak. Piercings in his ears and left eyebrow are habits he adopted during a youth spent traveling with pirates. He spares a few moments every few weeks to shave, refusing to grow a full beard. On his right wrist, he wears an old Nomasda slave chain as a memento of someone from his past.

​

Spoiler: Ziek Reference Picture

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Background

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Ziek was born in a small smithing village on the outskirts of Iorn, Kilderland, to a Kilderlander father and a Nomasda mother. His mother died of illness when he was only five; the loss took a heavy emotional toll on his father, the famed smith Archkan Sidane. Sinking into an alcoholic depression, Archkan largely left Ziek to his own devices to fend for himself. This environment fostered a sense of self-reliance and independence in the boy from a very early age.

Ziek lost his father at the age of eleven when a group of marauders raided and burned down the quiet village he called home; they had come specifically for his father’s steel. Hidden behind a suit of armor, Ziek could only watch helplessly as his father was cut down with his own blades. He escaped both the flames and the killers, running aimlessly into the Kilderland plains. It was there that he met Syler Hazule, a bald, meditative Nomasda man who had just entered the country. Fighting back tears, the boy told the strange man what had happened, hoping to warn him of the danger. Ziek watched in both bewilderment and awe as Syler wordlessly stood and walked toward the burning village with nothing but a cane. He contemplated leaving; however, with nowhere to go and no coin in his pockets, the young Ziek decided to follow the old man out of pure curiosity. From the nearby hills, Ziek watched Syler stroll over to several boorish bandits who were looting a small home on the outskirts of town. It appeared as if one of the bandits was about to speak; before he could get a word out, Syler thrust the tip of his steel-tipped cane deep into the eye socket of the leather-clad criminal. The other two bandits dropped their ill-gotten gains and rapidly drew their blades in panic.

What followed was a work of art. Ziek gazed, almost in a trance, as Syler danced among the flames. Every step and movement was perfectly calculated. The outlaws swung their weapons with every bit of their strength, but they never managed to nick him, not even once. Using only the cane, Syler Hazule ended the life of every bandit who participated in the raid, fighting well into the morning hours. After Syler yanked his cane from the throat of his last victim with a sickening noise, he turned and wordlessly strolled back to his camp as if nothing had happened. Ziek witnessed every action, breathing it in as if it were life-saving air. The tragedy of losing his father, the sight of the massacre, and the cold Kilderland winds left Ziek shaking from head to toe as he slowly approached the now-seated Syler. The trembling young man asked the elder warrior if he would take him to the city of Ozryn, where he had family. Syler agreed; however, they never reached the city, instead deciding to travel together through Seldwa looking for odd jobs.

Along the way, and at Ziek’s behest, Syler began to subject his youthful traveling companion to rigorous, psychotic, and seemingly abusive combat training. Every morning, afternoon, and evening were spent learning to handle a sword and shield. There was sparring with two swords in one hand for weight training as soon as he was strong enough to hold them. For months at a time, he was rarely given a break. Running miles, lifting heavy loads, and climbing hundreds of feet became daily and even hourly activities. When his sword fighting became strong enough, nighttime was designated for reading and study. Syler would pull books, almost as if out of nowhere, and demand that Ziek read them within short windows of time; he was given texts on fencing, hand-to-hand combat, military strategy, herbology, fictional ballads, and poetry. Even a cookbook was once thrown at him while Syler was in a drunken stupor, with a demand that the recipes be memorized. Then, with no warning whatsoever, Ziek would find himself put through bizarre tests and trials formulated by the strange, booze-soaked mind of the mysterious Syler. Alongside the traditional sword training came these intense feats:

• At thirteen, Ziek was abandoned deep in the unsettled Swazi rainforest of Tungwa to survive for two months with only a fishing net and a small dagger.
• He was forced to hunt daily for both Syler and himself, regardless of whether they had coin for a proper meal.
• To teach him horsemanship, Syler tied Ziek’s legs securely to a mount and set the animal loose across the Kilderland countryside.
• For days at a time, Ziek was forced to stand on one leg atop narrow stumps in the pouring rain or snow; Syler would throw pebbles at him and laugh while Ziek struggled to maintain his balance.
• Syler sold him to pirates during his fourteenth year after losing a round of Pa Xhuumese dice to Pirate-King Chavi. Ziek had his left pinky severed when he was caught cheating the King; six months later, Syler bought him back and acted as if the boy had never been gone. Ziek, however, had learned to sail in the interim.
• At fifteen, he was locked in a Tungwa library for a month until he could articulately request his release in Pa Xhuumese, Staal-Spech, T’Odis, and Ancient Nomasda.
• Once Ziek learned tracking, he would frequently wake to find Syler had abandoned camp, leaving only a note (often in a foreign tongue) instructing the boy to catch up.
• While Ziek bathed, Syler would move his clothes to precarious heights, tying them to treetops or cliff edges; Ziek was then forced to reclaim them in the buff.
• He was left in the Desert of Swords in Umushilika for a month with only a few water gourds and a short sword. Syler commanded him never to run if he encountered an Imbulu, claiming he would somehow know if the boy faltered.
• Syler forced Ziek to fence blindfolded once he grew proficient with a blade; every misstep or failed parry earned a sharp crack from the old man's cane against the top of Ziek’s head.
• During part of his sixteenth year, Ziek was left in the North Mountains of T’Odis for two months with nothing but furs and a rickety longbow. Syler stayed comfortably at a Laorn inn; Ziek was forbidden from showing his face there until he returned with a severed Baork’s head.

Syler forced him to take his first life at sixteen while hunting a bounty they had taken in Northern Kilderland. The man, accused of kidnapping, murder, and slavery, pleaded for his life; Syler’s only words were, “Be merciful. Make it quick and painless, young one.”

During these travels across Seldwa, the pair amassed a following of like-minded and nearly as skilled companions. They recruited everyone from expert swordsmen to deadly marksmen of all races. From these associates, Ziek continued to learn. He was taught to properly handle a spear by a famed Pa Xhuumese warrior named Channarong Kaouthai, a weapon he quickly grew fond of. This core group eventually became known as the Black Talon Mercenaries, gaining notoriety for executing any mission handed to them. This reputation earned them a place in Queen Elowen's Mercenary Army at the start of the War of Royalty in the Year ***. Ziek had killed several times since that first hunt, mostly taking crime bounties, but open conflict was different. He proved a fearsome and proficient warrior on the battlefield at only seventeen; however, his adolescent mind struggled to cope with the grim realities of warfare.

After several successful battles where the young mercenary collected an almost unbelievable number of kills and slew numerous high-ranking officers in the Kilderland Royal Army, tales of his speed, ferocity, and tenacity earned him the titles "Syler's Butcher Boy" and "Nomasda Blood Child." These monikers were used by both the royal forces and those fighting alongside him. Something changed deep inside Ziek at one point during the war; he began to freeze in the midst of battle. As his nerves failed him, his blood would rush and his heartbeat would increase until he felt he might lose consciousness. Numerous times toward the end of the conflict, Ziek endangered himself and those around him with his hesitant behavior on the battlefield. These symptoms are known to veterans as “Soldier’s Shakes”; luckily for Ziek, the fighting was nearing its end. Prince Unger’s forces were defeated at the Battle of Boar’s Den, and the allied mercenary forces returned to the capital for their expected nobility.

Things took a turn for the worse for the Black Talons. Only Syler, Ziek, and Queen Elowen herself know exactly what happened that evening; for reasons unknown, Syler Hazule was accused of attacking the monarch. Upon learning this, and with the Queen’s permission, the noble lords decreed that every Black Talon be executed without question. What followed is now known as “The Slaying of the Talons,” as the royal guard surrounded and attacked every mercenary in Kein. They fought bravely and the streets ran red with blood; however, the group was eventually overwhelmed and slain one by one.

Only Ziek and Syler managed to escape the chaos. Once the pair had made it safely from Kein and could rest, Ziek confronted Syler with bitter truths. Their heated exchange ended in a physical altercation between mentor and protégé. Finding that Ziek had become his match, Syler let him go. The men parted ways, and they have not crossed paths since.

Nearly a decade has passed since that day; Ziek now wanders through Seldwa without direction, drinking whatever he can get his hands on to help him sleep and drown out the past. His journey has brought him to a small village called Jakka’s Crossing, nestled in the jungles along the border of Kilderland and Tungwa. In this remote settlement, he has taken up residence at a local tavern to cause a ruckus, much to the frustration of the owner and staff.

 

[Angel of Mercy]

Name: Fa-Ying
(Celestial Princess)​

Age: 23
Race/Ethnicity: Pa Xhuumese
Weapon of Choice: Short Sword (Dao)
Languages Spoken: Primarily Kilderland Common, with a smattering of Old Pa Xhuumese

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Personality: Fa-Ying is a very curious young woman, always eager to experience new adventures. She cares little for the mundanity of normal life, and since she was very young, she’d been rebellious towards any authority figure that would try and restrain her. She’s wise beyond her years and yet there seems to be reckless streak inside her. While she is good hearted, helpful and generous, she has no qualms about stealing from those who would oppress others or from those who can afford it. She has little desire to be rich, only taking enough to get by.

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Physical Description: Fa-Ying has a very athletic build. She stands at close to 5’4” and is deceptively strong for her diminutive stature. She has long, thick black hair and dark brown eyes. Her hair is usually kept in a long braid or ponytail. She walks gracefully, with perfect posture. She has traditional Pa Xhuum runes and symbols tattooed along her shoulders and upper back. She often paints her fingernails black using a dye made from a mix of fish oil and a dark herbed that grows only along the cliffs of Pa Xhuum. Her unblemished skin is the colour of bronzed sand.

Spoiler: Fa-Yang, and Typical Outfit

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Background/history: Like many of her kin, Fa-Ying was born into a fishing family, along with her two older brothers. As they grew, the sons were thought to sail and fish and fight, while she was expected to remain at shore to help her mother clean and extract what resources could be gleaned from the catch of the day and prepare it all for market. Despite these family traditions, this was not the life she wanted for herself. She rebelled all through her youth until she reached about fourteen, at which point she outright defied her family’s wishes.

She, along with several of her friends began to wander around the isles, at which point they met a group who favoured a globalist leanings as opposed to the more traditional life of the Pa Xhuum. Within this group she learned about the other lands, far and wide, as well as how to survive, fight and defend herself and she took to the art of Vavos-Ka quite eagerly. By the time she was sixteen she and a few others of her group began to wander, moving away from their home to travel foreign lands and see what adventures might await them.

Now age twenty-three, she continues to wander the lands, working as a petty thief, street performer as she goes. Her companions have all returned to the Isles now, but a deep sense of wanderlust within her persists. Fa-Ying is a skilled pickpocket and burglar and is very acrobatic, using her people’s natural short stature and skills as she travels the land. She tends to travel light, taking with her only what is most needed. She cares very little for physical wealth, only needing enough coin to reach her next destination.

 

[Ark]

Tillie Kiritasena​

Age: 24
Race/Ethnicity: Her mother, Araya Kiritasena is Pa Xhuumese. Her father, Nsama Ardene is Nomasda, from the Northern fringes of Tungwa.

Weapon of Choice:
A small harpoon gun powered by compressed air. It is the gun she used on her first successful hunt, and on land it holds more sentimental value than practical defense. But Tillie has had it for so long that she has found many practical uses, like sending a rope up a tree to pull herself up, knocking down large fruits, and feeling safer around wild creatures smaller than her. But it would still hurt to get hit in the face or hooked by it.

Spoiler: Reference Pic

Languages Spoken:
She is fluent in both Old Pa Xhuumese and Kilderland Common, and have studied others to a limited degree.

Personality:
Whether she is naive, inexperienced, or brave would be up to the opinion of others. Knowing nothing but the islands all her life, she knows no danger greater than a stormy sea, and no pain greater than the sting of rejection... or a radiant jellyfish.
By her mother's guidance and the support of a very few and very close friends, Tillie hasn't let her differences drain her spirit. She is always willing to show off and be seen, even if that puts her in a little bit of danger. As a Pa Xhuumese by heart, she knows how to embrace danger.
While never mastering it, Tillie has trained in both deep sea hunting and Vavos-Ka combat. It had taught her the art of defeating a larger and stronger foe, and of finding beauty in chaos.

Physical Description:

Spoiler: Reference Pic

With a slender frame and height of 5'4, she is usually the least intimidating one in the room. Her mixed features often give her trouble fitting in with her peers. Her skin is darker than other Pa Xhuumese folk, while her hair is a mix of dark and light brown that match her skin tones. For clothing she prefers light and simple outfits of dark colors, like black as the deep sea, dark blue like the sky, and shades of indigo. She contrasts the dark colors with jewelry of sea gems and pearls. Her voice is a little softer and her speech is slower, more thoughtful, than others, which further makes her stand out from her peers.

Background/history:
Her mother has told her the story that once a traveler, by the name of Nsama Ardene, came from the main land to visit. He fell in love with the sea and the trill of their hunts, and inevitably fell in love with her mother, Araya. He stayed long enough to give her Tillie as a single child, but important duties back home called him away. Nsama promised to return to his new family on the islands, but it has been 24 years since, and Tillie has never seen her father.

Growing up, despite showing promise, Tillie was deemed too weak and too different to hunt the deep sea for Vavos Pearls. She had always been a bit smaller and weaker than most. She felt excluded by the other girls, while the boys would only take her on their hunts to make fun of her. She wasn't as able to conserve her heat in the icy wind, or hold her breath under water for more than ten minutes per dive. Some may say that's a long time, but hunting in the northern seas demanded more.
But this judgement was a product of her own making, just as much as it was of her mixed race. She could stay home with her mother, learning skills that she could handle, but she chose to follow the path of the Sea-Wasps. She could have settled with the younger girls, or become a caretaker, but she chose to follow the boys out on the waves. So their judgment was frustrating, but it did not traumatize her as it would have otherwise.

Despite her fondness of the Pa Xhuumese tradition and the islands, Tillie had many reasons to leave home on a pilgrimage of her own. To find her father, who she only knew from her mother's stories, to follow her few close friends, and most importantly, in her pursuit of knowledge of the world. With more and more ships traveling to and from the main land, such a journey seemed more and more within reach.

With a heavy heart Araya let her only daughter go, but not without a few conditions. Araya would use any influence she has back home to periodically send messengers after Tillie to keep in touch. Tillie promised to leave a trail that other Pa Xhuumese can follow. She'd tell them stories of her adventures if they found her, or send messages back home if they didn't. She also promised to find news of her lost father, whatever they may be, and secretly hoped to reunite the old couple one day.

To her surprise, down here in the South, she fared better than most other Pa Xhuumese who ventured South. Perhaps her mixed blood was better suited to the warm and bright lush lands, while her training in Vavos-Ka served her well. But her heart would always remain back home on the islands.

 

[.xxnostalgia]

@.xxnostalgia
as
Thalia Marron
​

Age:
20

Race/Ethnicity:
Gilgrender; distinctively Northern-featured through her mother’s blood. Pale skin, heavy freckles, wild red hair, and grey-green eyes. In Silt Harbor, she is perceived as an outsider before she even opens her mouth.

Weapon of Choice:
A long hunting knife and a short arming sword. Never received any kind of formal knight training and dislikes weaponry that is too ornate or noble. She prefers things that can be drawn fast and used dirty when needed.

Languages Spoken:
Kilderland Common Words, camp slang from her time on the road, and enough court speech to hold her own if forced.

Personality:
Sharp-tongued, hawk-eyed, and stubborn. Embarrassingly hard to civilize. She is often crude in speech or action when she is comfortable, but she is not cruel for sport.
Beautiful like a fox that has learned to survive by tooth and claw. She laughs easily and loudly, is slow to trust strangers, quick to anger, and rarely offers forgiveness.
She does not enjoy humiliating those now perceived as below her and has a genuine tenderness for the servants, stableboys, and soldiers because they remind her of the people who raised her more than any tutor or cleric does.
She despises ceremony and conversations where no one speaks plainly about their ambitions.
Under her feral edges, she is deeply intelligent about people, class, and fear. She is not ignorant to the way other nobles cast long glances at her or the way common folk doubt her.
She is unsure if House Marron deserves what it has been given, and less sure that she deserves to inherit it.


Physical Description:

Spoiler: reference image

Thalia is striking enough to be a problem in any room, with the pale, freckled skin and copper hair more common to the north than the southern coast, which makes her stand out in Silt Harbor and feeds the questions about House Marron’s legitimacy.
Her hair is thick and usually half-bound with leather cord on good days (she tolerates grooming it but does not enjoy it).
Her face is beautiful but not delicate: strong features, sharp eyes, and an old break in her nose that soldiers say makes her honest and ladies say makes her a savage. She is sturdier than most noble women, built from riding, loading wagons, and an early understanding that men test boundaries with their hands if you do not make them fear for their fingers. She cleans up well enough, but even in silk she looks like she might have fangs. She moves poorly in court dress, but beautifully in boots and leather. Her hands are too callused for the daughter of a noble house.

Background/History:
Thalia was born shortly before House Marron was lifted to nobility, back when her family was still one of the many hard-nosed mercenary bands peddling death or protection. Her father, now her Lord father, was only a captain with ambition and sense enough to recognize the war would reward those who dared to bend already flexible morals.
Her earliest memories were never of halls or hearths, instead she remembers mud, horses, cookfires, drunken songs, and the aftermath of war with a kind of fondness. She was raised in part by her mother and in part by the camp as a whole. She picked up its obscenities and muttered prayers, stitched wounds where others embroidered, and learned at a young age that men act differently when they’re hungry or frightened. She slept among the wagons, under canvas tents, and ruined keeps. She was never expected to be a lady.

The War of Royalty changed everything.

Her father sided with Queen Elowen under Syler Hazule’s coalition, not out of love or duty, but because he saw the future clearer than most noblemen did. He gambled everything- and he won.
His mercenaries bled heavily for Elowyn’s cause, and Thalia watched men she had known since childhood die to win her family rewards they could not have dreamed to hold. The illusion of hard-won wealth made the steady thrum of bloodshed in the camps and the shakes in the veterans feel worth it. Camp had a lighter air, and the world seemed more open to possibility than ever before.

Then politics offered a vicious reminder of reality.

Thalia can’t prove it, but she’s suspicious of her house’s involvement in The Slaying of the Talons and desperate to know the truth of the sordid ordeal. She understands that the details known to history are far cleaner than the story veterans tell through blackened teeth.

Before the blood had dried on the cobblestone streets of the capital, the camp-following daughter of a mercenary captain became the heiress to a coastal noble house trying desperately to prove its belonging.
Tutors and matrons corrected her posture, courtiers chipped away the rough edges of her speech, clothes, and past. She fought against all of it. She was not stupid, and she understood the court’s urge to erase the parts of her life and her family that were too ugly to remain recorded.

Thalia’s mother died soon after the final aftermath of the war, only making her already precarious position worse. Rumors swirled about grief or fever or something unnatural, whispered evidence of a House built too quickly. She lost the only person who seemed to make the life of today connect to the life of the past. Her father became more severe out of necessity, desperate for an heir the realm could stomach, and needing a proper match for his newfound position. Instead, he had a daughter who spoke to soldiers like brothers and disappeared into dockside taverns in plain clothes.
Her appearance follows her like a curse. In the streets of Silt Harbor she is too obviously not of its people. Among nobles, the criticism is worse- with whispers that she is not even her father’s daughter or that her mother was false. None of it can be proven, but it wounds all the same.

As an heiress, she is somewhere between political burden and asset. She speaks well with the people of the docks and markets better than most nobles could hope to. She can sit with sailors and tradesmen without showing fear. She understands the lower born who keep the empire running. The commoners, in turn, often appreciate her when given time, but first impressions scream that she’s another conqueror sent to rule a people she does not resemble. She resents this- in large part because it’s true.

She begins the story in Iorn as part of House Marron’s formal party, sent alongside her father to represent Silt Harbor at the restored royal tournament. House Marron is still too green and untrusted to treat the event casually, and the event stands as a deeply public test of her ability to demonstrate aptitude on behalf of her House.

 

[thropian]

Name: Robin Mason

Age: 32

Race/Ethnicity: Kilderland

Weapon of Choice (if applicable): One handed swords, often paired with a shield if available. Carries an elaborately decorated short sword that is their main weapon when needed.

Languages Spoken: Kilderland Common. Some reading knowledge of other languages, where these languages have touched religious topics.

Personality: Intense and overconfident. Driven with religious fervor, they do not think twice about their actions.
They are quick to act, especially reacting to anger or fear, but rarely if ever hold a grudge. This lack of grudges is less forgiveness and more forget-ness, as they do not think about the past to reflect on theirs or anyone elses actions.
"Azae will guide my hand. If they live or die, it is by her will alone."

Physical Description: Pale skinned and white haired, the only splash of color is their bright blue eyes that they claim are "Mother's eyes" despite none other in their family having blue eyes. Thin, lean, and wiry, they use grace and speed where they can, as they know they cannot best most others in strength.

Preferring to keep to the hooded robes common in Roadalia, they keep as much of themselves concealed as they can. As they are only 5'4, they are still relatively easy to pick out, as long as they aren't hidden fully in a crowd.

Background/history: Robin's parents were no one of significance. Of note was that their father was a stone mason who spent most of his life tending to the great border wall. Their mother barely kept the house tended, and struggled often with melancholy. She began using black tar in secret. When her husband discovered this fact, he fought savagely to break her of this addiction.

This addiction did not stop before she discovered that she was pregnant, and though it was diminished, Robin was born while she was still consuming black tar regularly. She would pass early in Robin's life, and the secret of her addiction would be buried with her.

Robin's father, unable to raise them alone, unable to trust his neighbors as one of them must have supplied the poisons that claimed his wife, but unwilling to fully relinquish his daughter, left Robin in the care of local church officials often. Though their development, both physical and mental, were stunted by their mother's drug use, the church was more than willing to take their aid in the works they could do.

Much of their youth was spent on scribes work, duplicating scriptures and preserving lesser holy works. Once they were of age, they were schooled in the basics of warfare and told of the wall patrols. This was the first skill set they took to quickly and easily. Despite their smaller stature, their quick movements and uncanny ability to read the movements of others, allowed them to hold their own against the larger students of their age.

Violence became the normal of their life. If not sparring matches, they were regularly getting into fights with anyone they could. Their training became more rigorous, in hopes of wearing them out, which worked for a time. The regularity of bruises and cuts from sparring matches also helped to hide the other injuries they were receiving. And not all of these were received from others.

Robin had begun to exult in pain and injury, and when they were not receiving these from others, they began to inflict them on themselves. In secret, they began to ritually scar themselves, etching hymns and prayers into their body. This practice has ebbed and flowed over the last few years, as stresses and personal time shifts.

The combination of their intensity, unshaking faith, and fearlessness to act, has given them ample opportunities to climb the ranks, and brought them to the attention of the Holy Knights. Given the glimmer of chance, they worked relentlessly earning position among the Knights.

 

[Saix]

[WIP]​

Name: Mahira Khan

Age: 33

Race/Ethnicity: Cissian

Weapon of Choice (if applicable): Long Bow and Dagger

Languages Spoken: Cission, Umushilikan

Personality:

Mahira is a young, ambitious woman who prides herself on her strong work ethic and straightforward honesty. It has awarded her not only the trust of her father’s guild, but also her customers that rely on her to provide them their goods at a fair price and for her to endeavor to deliver them in a timely manner. She treats every customer with respect and prides herself as a representative of her guild. As an employer Mahira is a fair but strict with clear expectations of each position and their workloads as she has performed many of the positions herself so there aren’t many who could slack while under Mahira’s watchful gaze and those that do are not able to enjoy that tactic for long. In her personal relationships, Mahira is much less demanding and allows herself to slow down to appreciate the true moments in life that matter.

Physical Description:

Spoiler: Character Image

Mahira stands at 5’8” and sports a lean, muscular build from spending her lifetime traversing the endless steps of Rim-Thanas before transitioning to life at sea. Her caramel colored skin has been smoothed from a lifetime of living between the sands of the desert and the salty winds of the open seas resulting in a blemish free complexion. When not on the ocean, she wears the ornate silk clothes and jewelry that distinguishes her as part of the elites of Rim-Thanas, delicate clothing that wouldn’t withstand life out at sea. While often tied back against her head in secure braids, Mahria’s ebony colored hair falls in line with the curve of her full hips and sports soft waves when loose. Her eyes resemble that of iron-glass which many people find unnerving especially when under her scrutinizing gaze, but when under the illumination of the sun the flecks of amber shine through the darkness.

Background/history:

Mahira was born to Azad and Rai Khan, two highly respected members of one of the most prominent merchant guilds in Rim-Thanas at the cusp of the fall months where the sweltering summer days give way to much cooler temperatures of their minimal rainy season. It wasn’t until she was much older that she learned her mother’s difficulties in carrying her that ultimately lead to her early death. Rai had to be placed on bed rest halfway through her pregnancy with Mahira and her father paid for the best medical professionals he could find to be held on retainer close to their home. In some cases they were offered the guest room to be able to provide her mother with immediate care rather than waste time running to their home. This was especially true towards the end of her pregnancy when Mahira was ready to enter the world and her parents were forced to have the tough but very real conversation of if things went south who would they choose to save? The mother… or the child?

Thankfully, that decision never came to pass as the team of skilled physicians and apothecaries managed to keep both Rai and Mahira through delivery, however, her mother never truly recovered from the ordeal and Mahira was destined to be the only child of her parents. Despite Rai’s determination to take care of her daughter, her constitution had weakened considerably which often left her bedridden after exerting herself to be present for her child and children see much more than their parents intend. Mahira remembers asking why her mother couldn’t play with her in her early years, asking if you mother was sick, and if so, why isn’t she feeling any better? Her father wasn’t one to lie, a trait that Mahira inherited, so explained it in a way his precious daughter would understand and from that day forward Mahira always brought her activities to her mother or found ways to include her without contributing too much to her illness.

When Mahira turned six, her father introduced her to an Umushilikan man, Musonda, and his seven year old son, Bukata, that ended up being her teacher for many years to come. This was a joint decision made by both her parents as they both wanted her to be able to stand on her own two feet in the world outside their home. The man was a high ranking officer of the Sunkutu Generalate that her father had done business with in the past and hired to personally train his daughter, but he had wanted to see her first. Measure her worth for his time and as a training partner for his son. The children were young enough that physical strength didn’t matter, skill and determination did, so he needed to see what himself what a merchant’s precious daughter had to offer. Initially, he saw is what he expected to find, a child carefully put together, clean, with impeccable manners being reared in the upper society of Rim-Thanas that he was accustomed to but her small unwavering dark eyes met his own squarely even though she had to strain her neck to do so. She did not complain, she did not show discomfort, and instead she waited patiently for him to decide what he would do next. In her eyes he saw determination and a hardness of someone well beyond her years. With a nod he extended his hand towards Mahira, his large one engulfing her tiny hand in his own battle scared one. She did not flinch at the sight of it and instead looked at it with acceptance and a slight curiosity where he was sure at some point would divulge stories of how they came to be. He determined she would be a good training partner for his son even though she would have a tough start ahead of her.

The physical demand of training was difficult for Mahira but was nothing compared to the fall season of the year she turned eight. That was the year when her mother finally succumbed to her illness, surrounded by her family that came to see her off during her last moments in life. Mahira watched as her mother’s breathing transitioned from labored to shallow and eventually sparingly until she didn’t inhale anymore. Aunts wailed, cousins and uncles cried quietly in the hall, and the only person who stood next to Mahira was her father. They both stood at the foot of her bed squeezing each other’s hands with tears welling in their eyes but not falling. Mahira heard her father cry later that night after everyone had left and he thought she was asleep, a broken sound that she had never heard from him before. She knew he spoke through the sobs but couldn’t hear the words said through the closed doors of her parent’s rooms as she stood in the hallway barefoot in her nightwear. She left as quietly as she had come, letting her feet guide her to the sunroom where she used to spend time with her mother on days where she felt better. The sunroom acted more as a greenhouse with tainted windows to protect her mother’s favorite plants from the harsh desert sun and Mahira sat quietly among the flora of distant lands until her father found her after sunrise. They had to get ready for the funeral.

The ceremony itself was long and filled with mostly people Mahira had never met coming to give her their condolences, speaking of her mother when they knew her before she got sick. She absorbed their words but couldn’t process them, she just kept staring at her mother’s silhouette as she lay underneath her white veil at the front of the room of the chapel. Priests spoke of her joining the ancestors who would guide her through this transition and how it is more difficult for those who are left behind. As they continued through their speech, a calloused hand not much larger than hers slide against her palm and she turned to find Bukata beside her. Behind them she could see both their father’s standing next to each other, Musonda’s arm was around Azad’s shoulders as he spoke words that were only meant for her father. When she finally looked back at Bukata, he didn’t say a single word to her and only squeezed her hand in understanding. In the two years that they have known each other, they learned to speak without words and with their gazes locked she asked the one question that has plagued her life. Was it her fault her mother died? The answer she found in his gaze finally broke through the numbness and tears began to freely fall from her face. It would never be her fault. He pulled her into a strong hug, allowing her to sob into the black silk tunic that he wore for the funeral.

He held her hand throughout the rest of the service and as her father, Musonda, and some of her uncles carried her mother down to the Eye. Citizens of Rim-Thanas covered the steps of the city in black dots as they paid respect to Ria and watched as her body was gently placed in a small boat adorned with white lilies. They watched solemnly as her mother was pushed gently out into the water and a singular fire arrow arched through the sky to light the vessel aflame. She did not see who was the one to let loose the arrow. The first to burn was the flowers, a mixture of ash and flaming white petals drifting into the sky as a gentle early evening breeze took them a-flight. It wasn’t long until the flames spread to the rest of the boat as the mixture of dry wood and varnish accelerated the process until the vessel could no longer stay afloat and the Eye swallowed Ria’s remains into it’s dark depths.

Mahira did not see Bukata or his father Musonda until a month after her funeral as a month of mourning always followed after the funeral. They were both dressed for training practice and it took all of Mahira’s willpower to join them, but they did not rush her. They waited patiently for her to join them and pushed her just hard enough with each exercise, an act of kindness that slowly brought her out of her shell with each simple practiced motion that was the catalyst to her resuming her life after her mother’s passing. Each day she managed to reclaim more aspects of life before her mother’s passing until eventually, she was able to smile and laugh again like she used to.

The year she turned 11, Mahira learned that she only had one year left to spend training with Bukata until he had to leave for military service. A truth that she didn’t learn from them but instead her tutors that came to her home five days a week. She was so angry with him she didn’t speak at length with either Umushilikan for a whole month until Bukata confronted her after training one day, demanding to know if this was how she wanted to spend their last year together. A heated argument started that eventually lead to shouting and ended with Mahira crying as she pushed him into a corner in her rage. Their fathers watched silently as the exchange finally unfolded letting their children work out their conflict on their own. Eventually her blows lessened as she lost the will to maintain her assault through her tears and Bukata was able to speak with her once more but softly. He still had to leave for the First Blood once he turned 13 and join the military after surviving the night. It was a possibility that he could die, whether during the first blood or at any point during his military service. He didn’t know if they could write one another, definitely not in the beginning but after a few months had passed. Mahira accepted his answers and apologized for her behavior for the past month which was then extended to Musonda as well.

Before they knew it, the year had passed and their last session together was upon them. It was a bitter sweet sparing match, the last one that they would have while they were still physically equal until genetics took them on their separate paths with each budding teenager giving it their all and applying everything they learned while together for the past six years. They were evenly matched at the start where each fighter is testing one another but Mahira could see Bukata had come to a decision as his gaze transformed into something more mischievous. He increased his intensity as he went more on the offensive, using a style of fighting that was more advanced from what they had taught her and she felt panic begin to rise in her chest. She knew the Umushilikan people were great fighters but it was at that moment, in this sparing match against the nearly 13 year old boy whom she considered her brother, that she realized just how skilled they really were. Mahira stood no chance as trying to fight him as an equal anymore so with one option left to her at Bukata’s next assault, she feigned fatigue where each strike he delivered she made herself appear to be closer to defeat. If there was one thing Mahira was confident in knowing about the boy in front of her, its was that he was a cocky fighter ruled by hubris when in the sparing ring. She had seen it in their matched for years and it was a trait his father tried to break him of before someone else broke it for him in a way that destroyed him forever. Bukata thought he saw his opening, setting his arm for a wide unnecessary swing that would have laid her out against the ground were Mahira actually as spent as she made herself to be. Everything happened in seconds, his arm arching over, Mahira ducking under it to land two solid punches to his stomach that left him breathless before sweeping his feet from underneath him and pulling her final punch just short of his nose. Everything had gone quiet except for the sound of her labored breathing and Bukata’s gasping for a few seconds before his father’s bellowing laugh filled the courtyard. It was a joyous, hearty sound and Musonda praised Mahira for her well earned victory against his son. Several emotions went across Bukata’s face before he finally settled on a smile, his white teeth a stark contrast against his darker skin tone, and raised his hands in surrender before asking for a helping hand.

The following morning the father and son pair left for Umushilika which gave her father the opportunity to talk to Mahira about how her life will change as well. While he had personal tutors for her formal education, he would start taking personal time to start teaching his daughter the more intricate details of working at the guild. The best he could for her as his daughter is get her debt inscribed underneath his guild rather than another, otherwise it was up to Mahira to get herself in the black. This was her life until the year she turned sixteen where her time with her tutors and personal lessons with her father was to end to make room for the guild. She started at the bottom in the warehouse and spent years working up the ranks, chipping away at her debt until she finally cleared her name at the age of twenty eight. It was a fall day that she was called into the guild’s council room where eight of the guild’s highest ranking members gather to discuss the health of business and make major decisions. Mahira wasn’t nervous in the way most members would have been as these were all men she was familiar with since her father made council when she was twenty-one. Her nerves came from what was to come next. The council confirmed what she had calculated the night before. Her debt was cleared and she could choose to leave the guild or stay to continue climbing the ranks. Mahira had been working as the second in command to a merchant caravan for the past three years, using her own experience of climbing through the ranks to apply to her role as a leader and shadowing her superior in how he handled difficulties when traveling outside Cission. What she hadn’t known was that he had written a letter of recommendation to the council stating she was ready to lead her own caravan and listing his own account of her accomplishments. There were several paths laid before her that would either keep her in Cission or take her back beyond it’s borders but, Mahira chose to take to the sea and assume responsibility of a crew from a retiring member. Managing a ship was outside her wheelhouse but the prospect of a challenge made her excited rather than scared and she would spend the next five years learning how to do so.