Post by Rae on Aug 7, 2005 21:42:21 GMT -5
Name: Aizan
Age: 19
Sex: Female
Appearance: Usually scowling.
She has brownish red hair which comes off dull and dusty, and a short, slight build made for speed rather than power or endurance. Her eyes are brown.
Personality: Aizan is irritable, cranky, and sarcastic with a dislike of heat and sand (surprising because everyone takes her to be Jehannan). She can be nice. She can be understanding. She can be just about anything. She just doesn't bother. She is honest, however, and somewhat polite to people of authority.
Skills: She's fast with a sword. Really fast. But unfortunately, she doesn't have the strength to go with it, nor the endurance to keep going for much longer than 20 minutes. So, in an attempt to survive (and to get out of strength training), she uses speed to compensate for everything else.
Background: Aizan is assumed to be Jehannan for her red hair, but when compared to other redheads from Jehanna she appears to have other blood as well. She became a myrmidon at 14 and a mercenary at 16, joining Gerik's mercenaries and leaving after a month or two. No one knows what happened to her before or after that, and no one really cares. She doesn't seem to mind.
Sample Post
Aizan trudges through Serafew, disheartened by the fact that she'd been beaten in the arena for just about the second time in a row. She wasn't about to push her luck again--she needed the money for the inn, and maybe a new sword.
"Third time's the charm, indeed." She looks down at her forearms and locks her hands together, stretching them and then rolling out her neck before scoffing. "Why I bother is beyond me. I know I've got no strength to keep up with any other mercenary, and they usually beat me after they see I'm completely exhausted after dodging the first few blows..."
"Hey, kid. You all right?"
Aizan half-turns. "Ger..." She stops in the middle of the name as she hears the question. Gerik--the name of her former commander--used to ask her every once in a while in the exact casual yet concerned tone, but this voice is unfamiliar.
Rather than correct her slip-up, Aizan observes the owner: an attractive redhead with an interesting hat. Judging from the sword and general appearance, he was probably also a Jehannan myrmidon.
Gods, there were too many of those. She just didn't feel special anymore, not even with her mixed blood.
Aizan sighs and jerks her head down in a nod, supressing the urge to snap at him.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
Do you see any blood? I'm pretty sure I forfeited as soon as this one pegasus knight flew at me with a heavy spear. Or maybe my anger and resentment is showing on my face--
Aizan's train of thought is halted as she walks straight into a Grado soldier.
"Get lost, little girl!" he barks. The impoliteness grates on Aizan's nerves as he goes on, "We're searching the area!"
She rolls her eyes and heads for the inn, planning to grab her things and go somewhere else. Ide, maybe. Camping out wasn't a problem for her, not as long as it got her away from any gods-blasted rude people with gods-blasted lances.
Age: 19
Sex: Female
Appearance: Usually scowling.
She has brownish red hair which comes off dull and dusty, and a short, slight build made for speed rather than power or endurance. Her eyes are brown.Personality: Aizan is irritable, cranky, and sarcastic with a dislike of heat and sand (surprising because everyone takes her to be Jehannan). She can be nice. She can be understanding. She can be just about anything. She just doesn't bother. She is honest, however, and somewhat polite to people of authority.
Skills: She's fast with a sword. Really fast. But unfortunately, she doesn't have the strength to go with it, nor the endurance to keep going for much longer than 20 minutes. So, in an attempt to survive (and to get out of strength training), she uses speed to compensate for everything else.
Background: Aizan is assumed to be Jehannan for her red hair, but when compared to other redheads from Jehanna she appears to have other blood as well. She became a myrmidon at 14 and a mercenary at 16, joining Gerik's mercenaries and leaving after a month or two. No one knows what happened to her before or after that, and no one really cares. She doesn't seem to mind.
Sample Post
Aizan trudges through Serafew, disheartened by the fact that she'd been beaten in the arena for just about the second time in a row. She wasn't about to push her luck again--she needed the money for the inn, and maybe a new sword.
"Third time's the charm, indeed." She looks down at her forearms and locks her hands together, stretching them and then rolling out her neck before scoffing. "Why I bother is beyond me. I know I've got no strength to keep up with any other mercenary, and they usually beat me after they see I'm completely exhausted after dodging the first few blows..."
"Hey, kid. You all right?"
Aizan half-turns. "Ger..." She stops in the middle of the name as she hears the question. Gerik--the name of her former commander--used to ask her every once in a while in the exact casual yet concerned tone, but this voice is unfamiliar.
Rather than correct her slip-up, Aizan observes the owner: an attractive redhead with an interesting hat. Judging from the sword and general appearance, he was probably also a Jehannan myrmidon.
Gods, there were too many of those. She just didn't feel special anymore, not even with her mixed blood.
Aizan sighs and jerks her head down in a nod, supressing the urge to snap at him.
"I'm fine. Thanks."
Do you see any blood? I'm pretty sure I forfeited as soon as this one pegasus knight flew at me with a heavy spear. Or maybe my anger and resentment is showing on my face--
Aizan's train of thought is halted as she walks straight into a Grado soldier.
"Get lost, little girl!" he barks. The impoliteness grates on Aizan's nerves as he goes on, "We're searching the area!"
She rolls her eyes and heads for the inn, planning to grab her things and go somewhere else. Ide, maybe. Camping out wasn't a problem for her, not as long as it got her away from any gods-blasted rude people with gods-blasted lances.
