Dwarmin / Fiori Suntouched

Fiori Suntouched
Gender: Female
Race: Elf
HP: 10

Skills: Fighter, Double Weapon

Combat stats:
AC: 13
DR: 1

Inv:

Coin: 25m

Weapons:
Heavy Askrima, one hand, 1d8, +2 to hit
Parrying Askrima, one hand, 1d6, +2 to hit
Dagger, one hand 1d4, +2 to hit

Armour:
Ironleaf Armor [Chainmail]: (4p)

Misc:
Bluesilver vine incense: A rare, distinctly scented incense. A powdery blue-silver incense formed into bundles of fragile sticks.

Your special item:
Space Drakeling (Cormyr) ~ Fiori is hardly seen without her small pet Dragonlet perched on her shoulder-it's resemblance to it's larger cousins is quite unnerving-with the top half of it's body starkly white, and the bottom half pitch black respectively (a unique coloration adapted by Space Dragons who hunt the inner worlds and frequently fight gravity wells in search of prey-the dark serving by reflecting the furious heat away their bellies during orbital entry, and the light helping to cool their bodies when traveling the void), and scintillant, nearly transparent heart-golden wings (often stretched to catch stray solar rays, which can allow them to survive for usually very long periods they must go without solid food)...unlike them however, Cormyr-A name meaning 'royalty' in old Elven tongue-is about the size of a housecat (assuming those exist anymore). While her pet can be ferocious in defense of his mistress, she more often uses it as a scout and lookout-Cormyr is quite intelligent, and is well adapted for traveling the void-his senses are very sharp, capable of picking out even minute traces of mana, heat, and light flaring in all the darkness and cold. As far as friends go, Fiori's had much worse, and few better or as loyal-thought he can be temperamental at times and has a habit of hoarding small, semi-precious objects...

Description: Fairly striking at first glance, Fiori seems shorter than the average an Elf, with tucked in, shortly pointed ears, and subtle levender hued eyes-a narrow, delicate, nose over a small, tightlipped mouth-so much she could pass for a human when not under serious scrutiny. Her features are more than passing fair, and refined, but her physique is undeniably honed to a warriors edge, and she has chipped away at the soft, pleasing edges she might once had-Fiori was born to wear steel, rather than silk, as the old saying goes-and her body is lean, muscled, and well balanced. Her short, spiky, dark red hair is tied in an intricate warriors braid that barely touches the back of her neck-no great care taken in the this, merely brutal practicality, to deny her enemy a handhold in a fight-to allow her to cut it off with her belt dagger in one deft motion, perhaps-intersecting geometric loops of great practical design, but no true style. Picture a woman who would probably be considered beautiful in a certain light, wearing certain clothes, posed in a certain way-but the very act seems inimical to her being. You cannot look at this woman-her close set lips (with just the slighest hint of bared teeth when you meet her eyes) and the defiant, arrogant tilt of her body-and imagine you could 'pose' her, anymore than you could chain a Space Dragon and expect it not to rage against it's chains until it freed itself...or, died in the attempt. And you would be right, if you were perceptive enough to glean this-Fiori is best described as two parts strict, regimented discipline and one part pure, empty eyed rage-with a truly melancholy heart, and a pinch caustic wit thrown into the mix.

Backstory: Fiori Suntouched knew she was doomed from an early age-it was just that sort of thing. The Elders frowned and shook their heads, muttering and stroking their chins. They poured ritual waters over her head (her wet hair, dark like blood) under the dying trees of the Tanglewood, chanting half-remembered prayers to Dead Gods-waters rich with pure mana liberated from the Scatterfolken...no change. A week meditating in the stilled heart of the Earth Goddess without food or water-a sobering experience. Nothing. She imbibed a small, precious decanter of Dwarfblood-though the taste wasn't too bad, it didn't do very much for her. They laid her in the shadow of a Star Dragon's passing comet-nest and hoped he would bless her, as the old ways said they still did from time to time-she just managed to avoid being swallowed whole. Which might have been their intention. From an early age, Fiori Suntouched was just bad luck, a curse-a pesky stone in a shoe that they would have shaken free of, if they could.

It didn't matter how liberally she tossed herself into the raids, or how many warriors she felled, or how many sacrifices she captured with her special weapons-lightning fast combat sticks sometimes called 'Askrima' in Elf-tongue-ideal for getting in close and breaking bones, living the victim broken, but alive. The truth was, she had almost no talent for true magic-not even the rudiments. In a society where mana was so precious-life itself-to use it on someone with only fumbling skill was something of an abomination. She found herself at the bottom of a caste system with no hope for ever raising her fortunes...no hope at all, really. Her best result was an honorable death in battle, a deluge of hedonism culminating in one oblivion or another, or brokering herself even further down the ladder-there was always room for another girl at the Bleaken House, after all...

Fiori eventually decided if she was going to die, it would be on her own terms. Turning her back on her people was somewhat easier than she thought it would be, a relief of a secret grief that had been hanging over her, for her entire life...turning her back on her legion, those she had fought and bled withwith, was harder-many who had come to know and value her, even love her, despite those faults-but, she did it anyway. In the end, she consoled herself with the simple fact...it was part of the Way-the Way things had always been. She was a burden, there was no doubt. Sooner or later the mana stores would go dry, as they always did-and, they would have to choose who lived and died. Fiori would rather seek her fortune and fate in the void, than force them to kill her-even by inaction. This was the Way. This was how the Elves had survived. When the lean times come...and these times had grown exceedingly lean even in the best of them, indeed.

Was it really a mercy for them, or her? It's not easy to say which, not even for her.

Duty. Honor. Sacrifice. Words to live by. She carried them with her, and didn't dare look back...had to keep both eyes on the road ahead. She found a world that was not as harsh or alien as she had imagined. Perhaps even someplace she called home. Fiori just hoped no one ever remembered that raider in the skull-white, half moon mask. Wielding two blood soaked fighting sticks with terrible focus and furious intensity-as if trying to outrun a pursuing foe only she could see, even if she had to beat down an army in her way to do so.