Aliya Ifarsi
Dec 26, 2011 3:52:57 GMT -6
Post by aliyah on Dec 26, 2011 3:52:57 GMT -6
Name: Aliya Ifarsi.
Class: Thief.
Hair Color: Dark brown / natural black.
Eye Color: Brown.
Age: Twenty-six.
Appearance: [example image one] [example image two]
She's kind of brown and kind of pretty and kind of hard to pick out of a line-up. Generally because you won't see her if she doesn't want you to, but also because she's only slightly darker than the general dirt-covered population. The only difference is, she's had a bath, so her wavy sable hair tends to move rather than sag full of grease, and her limbs look more supple and toned than emaciated and exposure-burned.
Clothes: Sensible boots are the start of Aliya's typical appearance - but far from the end. They go on and on, both mildly protective and also kind of nifty with buckles up the side. They stop somewhere around her thighs, leaving a tantalizing peek of her mocha skin visible between the swath of a typically white linen shift. It would be a tunic if not for the fact that she has taken it in on the sides - form fit for freedom of movement - and laced up the front. If a tunic and a corset had a baby and that baby was really sexy, it would basically be what she wears, with a fairly low-plunging neckline and everything. All the better to display her prizes, the armoured arm-wrappings and beaten-bronze torc that cover her neck, shoulders and arms. Bangles adorn her wrists and more beaten brass hang from her ears, all of it topped off with a slightly faded cerulean bandana that keeps her hair out of her face and the sun out of her eyes.
Born in: A small town in the Nabata Desert.
Story:
"Experience is the name so many people give to their mistakes."
- Nabatean proverb
On the edge of a small oasis in the Nabata desert is a village in the middle of nowhere. It was little more than a ramshackle hamlet of hardy desert-folk who one day decided that it would be an auspicious place to live out their lives. Or, perhaps in an act of extreme and cruel foresight, the most boring place in the world for me to grow up. There were so many things for a little girl to do! Like the washing, and the cleaning, and mucking out the few horses and camels in town. Sounds like fun, right?
No?
So you can't really blame me for being... rambunctious as a child. It all started when I was really young, maybe four or five. Being one of the only sources of fresh water for leagues in any direction, the odd traveler would come through town once in a blue moon. And when I say odd, I mean it. What kind of people do you think head purposely deeper into the desert - or worse yet, emerge from it? But they would bring stories of far off places, exotic foods and magnificent monuments in distant lands. It sparked my imagination and kept me thinking, and whenever I could escape my chores I would slip away to listen to their tales.
Not all of them were interesting of course - some hermits from the deep desert were as sociable as a male camel being milked. My curiosity grew and grew (as did my irritation when strangers had nothing to offer me in terms of entertainment), and so did my boldness. I defied my parents many a time, and though they were well-meaning they were strict, and I was faster than their switch. My mother spent many afternoons hollering my name in the street...
When I turned eleven, I stole for the first time. A woman had come through town - a rarity to be certain, but traveling with her husband as they headed toward Lycia - bearing the most beautiful thing I had ever set eyes upon. From the outset, I was called out, for my mother saw the way my eyes lit up when they lay upon the golden torc, a neck piece more refined than anything in our village and probably worth at least half of it. She sent me to sweeping, telling me to stay away from the travelers... but no chore was ever done so fast as one meant to keep me away from something.
I remember she was a nomadic princess sent to civilization, or something to that effect. I spent an entire afternoon plying her with questions after I snuck away, tugging her sleeve as I pestered and charmed her in the way only little girls can. Eyes wide with admiration and questions, how could she say no to a simple girl from the oasis? When she slept that night she removed the torc and placed it in a palmwood box, and it was quick work for me to sneak in and snatch it. I made off into the night and in my exhilaration I didn't have a single moment to stop and be guilty.
After putting it on I went to see my reflection in the oasis, oh how glamorous I looked even in my simple linen shift now that it was adorned with such an ornament. Morning came too soon, however, and they found me curled up on a stone by the water's edge, evidence hanging loosely from my too-small neck. It was my first real beating, a reality check that stoked the fires of my stubborn will; I promised myself I'd never be caught by my parents again. That, and I pretty much had to leave town because I had embarrassed everyone. There was that.
I headed for Lycia then, and after a week's hard travel I was on my own in a strange city. It was difficult to blend into a crowd with my high color, but I made it work as best I could. Among the urchins and filthy street-folk, I didn't stand out so much - the only difference was I could take a bath and not lose three shades of brown. Stealing kept me alive, then, and I learned to think on my feet and be swift. Avoiding guards was one thing, and easy enough once you learned to hear them coming, but the armed adventurers were another story. Knights and soldiers were more prone to forgiving a pretty little girl who only wanted a scrap of bread, but more likely to cut your hand off on instinct.
I was fifteen when I started moving around, feeling the itch of adventure in my borrowed shoes. There were better goods further in Lycia, and more food than I could shove down my shirt. I learned to pick my way out of tough spots and be quick-witted, keen observation saving my hide more often than my prowess with a little dirk I knicked from a bard in Laus.
Now I go here and there, where the money is, and where the spice flows, doing odd contracts when someone catches wind of my skills. I've never held an honest job, but I've held plenty of other things that people saved their whole lives for, from gems the size of my hand to gold-woven silks. I take my cut, and do alright, but I never keep anything I can't wear. After all, my humility is my redeeming trait, isn't it? At least it makes it harder for them to pin anything on me.
But you? Oh, you can pin me anywhere you want... you just have to catch me first!
Class: Thief.
Hair Color: Dark brown / natural black.
Eye Color: Brown.
Age: Twenty-six.
Appearance: [example image one] [example image two]
She's kind of brown and kind of pretty and kind of hard to pick out of a line-up. Generally because you won't see her if she doesn't want you to, but also because she's only slightly darker than the general dirt-covered population. The only difference is, she's had a bath, so her wavy sable hair tends to move rather than sag full of grease, and her limbs look more supple and toned than emaciated and exposure-burned.
Clothes: Sensible boots are the start of Aliya's typical appearance - but far from the end. They go on and on, both mildly protective and also kind of nifty with buckles up the side. They stop somewhere around her thighs, leaving a tantalizing peek of her mocha skin visible between the swath of a typically white linen shift. It would be a tunic if not for the fact that she has taken it in on the sides - form fit for freedom of movement - and laced up the front. If a tunic and a corset had a baby and that baby was really sexy, it would basically be what she wears, with a fairly low-plunging neckline and everything. All the better to display her prizes, the armoured arm-wrappings and beaten-bronze torc that cover her neck, shoulders and arms. Bangles adorn her wrists and more beaten brass hang from her ears, all of it topped off with a slightly faded cerulean bandana that keeps her hair out of her face and the sun out of her eyes.
Born in: A small town in the Nabata Desert.
Story:
"Experience is the name so many people give to their mistakes."
- Nabatean proverb
On the edge of a small oasis in the Nabata desert is a village in the middle of nowhere. It was little more than a ramshackle hamlet of hardy desert-folk who one day decided that it would be an auspicious place to live out their lives. Or, perhaps in an act of extreme and cruel foresight, the most boring place in the world for me to grow up. There were so many things for a little girl to do! Like the washing, and the cleaning, and mucking out the few horses and camels in town. Sounds like fun, right?
No?
So you can't really blame me for being... rambunctious as a child. It all started when I was really young, maybe four or five. Being one of the only sources of fresh water for leagues in any direction, the odd traveler would come through town once in a blue moon. And when I say odd, I mean it. What kind of people do you think head purposely deeper into the desert - or worse yet, emerge from it? But they would bring stories of far off places, exotic foods and magnificent monuments in distant lands. It sparked my imagination and kept me thinking, and whenever I could escape my chores I would slip away to listen to their tales.
Not all of them were interesting of course - some hermits from the deep desert were as sociable as a male camel being milked. My curiosity grew and grew (as did my irritation when strangers had nothing to offer me in terms of entertainment), and so did my boldness. I defied my parents many a time, and though they were well-meaning they were strict, and I was faster than their switch. My mother spent many afternoons hollering my name in the street...
When I turned eleven, I stole for the first time. A woman had come through town - a rarity to be certain, but traveling with her husband as they headed toward Lycia - bearing the most beautiful thing I had ever set eyes upon. From the outset, I was called out, for my mother saw the way my eyes lit up when they lay upon the golden torc, a neck piece more refined than anything in our village and probably worth at least half of it. She sent me to sweeping, telling me to stay away from the travelers... but no chore was ever done so fast as one meant to keep me away from something.
I remember she was a nomadic princess sent to civilization, or something to that effect. I spent an entire afternoon plying her with questions after I snuck away, tugging her sleeve as I pestered and charmed her in the way only little girls can. Eyes wide with admiration and questions, how could she say no to a simple girl from the oasis? When she slept that night she removed the torc and placed it in a palmwood box, and it was quick work for me to sneak in and snatch it. I made off into the night and in my exhilaration I didn't have a single moment to stop and be guilty.
After putting it on I went to see my reflection in the oasis, oh how glamorous I looked even in my simple linen shift now that it was adorned with such an ornament. Morning came too soon, however, and they found me curled up on a stone by the water's edge, evidence hanging loosely from my too-small neck. It was my first real beating, a reality check that stoked the fires of my stubborn will; I promised myself I'd never be caught by my parents again. That, and I pretty much had to leave town because I had embarrassed everyone. There was that.
I headed for Lycia then, and after a week's hard travel I was on my own in a strange city. It was difficult to blend into a crowd with my high color, but I made it work as best I could. Among the urchins and filthy street-folk, I didn't stand out so much - the only difference was I could take a bath and not lose three shades of brown. Stealing kept me alive, then, and I learned to think on my feet and be swift. Avoiding guards was one thing, and easy enough once you learned to hear them coming, but the armed adventurers were another story. Knights and soldiers were more prone to forgiving a pretty little girl who only wanted a scrap of bread, but more likely to cut your hand off on instinct.
I was fifteen when I started moving around, feeling the itch of adventure in my borrowed shoes. There were better goods further in Lycia, and more food than I could shove down my shirt. I learned to pick my way out of tough spots and be quick-witted, keen observation saving my hide more often than my prowess with a little dirk I knicked from a bard in Laus.
Now I go here and there, where the money is, and where the spice flows, doing odd contracts when someone catches wind of my skills. I've never held an honest job, but I've held plenty of other things that people saved their whole lives for, from gems the size of my hand to gold-woven silks. I take my cut, and do alright, but I never keep anything I can't wear. After all, my humility is my redeeming trait, isn't it? At least it makes it harder for them to pin anything on me.
But you? Oh, you can pin me anywhere you want... you just have to catch me first!
