A tall and slender frame, often silent except for an occasional scrape or clink of metal upon metal. Her hair is bound and held with silver pins and bedecked with a variety of coins glinting dully against her dark hair. Much of her skin is bare, intricately tattooed with a labyrinth of shapes that obscure the silhouette of her, like the spots on a leopard. Her ankles and wrists are braceleted by coins on thin chains. Corseting her waist and hanging to hide her feet is a long leather skirt.
She was born far to the west on the Isles, raised as a member of a now extinct tribe and honing her skills to take her place as a body guard to the Chieftain’s family. Unfortunately, their physical prowess was not enough to withstand the weaponry of the Dragonblooded who invaded and destroyed or captured her people.
She was traded to slavers of Chiaroscuro and taken from the lush jungles of her home, across the sea to the terrible heat of the desert. She watched the way of this new place, and the way of the slaves, and took note of the punishments and rewards that were dolled out on behavior. The best way was to not be noticed, she realized. Neither for good behavior or bad behavior. Avoid punishment but also avoid favoritism that drew attention.
She managed well enough until she was sold to a nobleman who took her across water again, along the coast she learned later when she saw a map of creation, to the city of Thorns. This place was different still from the homeland she only dreamed about occasionally now. So she watched and learned again, doing as she was bid, and waiting for the moment she might escape. Her head down tactic did not serve her though, for she was watched anyway. The Nobleman who loved maps and learning about things, had noticed her appearance and had shown favor because of the exoticism to his eyes. He also discovered that she was not without skill in combat and appointed her a house slave in charge of defense.
More was the pity, for she grew tired of his pride in her and the boasting that had her on display for his guests.
So when the dark ones came to take Thorns for their own, when he called to her for help, she had simply stood back and watched as he’d been slain. They had come for her then, and she had lifted a blade to her own throat, refusing to let her destiny be dictated by yet another set of strange faces.