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Basic Information
Character Information
AppearanceSarya stands at about five feet and four inches tall and is about 120 pounds. Her body is thin, but athletic, almost cat-like in grace. She has curves in all the right places - naturally gifted, you could say. She wouldn't care if it wasn't so easy to distract her marks with a flash of skin, but men, you know? She's learned to appreciate what she has and use it to her advantage. Usually found wearing simple, dark clothing, Sarya hates dresses (or anything else that gets in the way). Her wardrobe of preference includes a dark, loose tunic over soft breeches. She is typically shod in soft, knee-high leather boots. She likes the soles to be soft - it's easier to sneak up on her marks that way - although she also enjoys being barefoot. She does not generally wear jewelry, as it's superfluous and, again, get's in the way more often than not. Her hair, when it's not left to fall gently around her face in waves, is pinned back off her neck in a loose bun. A thin, hidden knife is disguised as the pin she uses to secure her hair. Sarya hates to be unarmed. She generally keeps at least three knives on her person at all times, though she prefers more. For the most part, these are flat, specially made knives, created for the purpose of keeping them hidden. Given her preference, she has two sheaths strapped to her forearms, two sheaths tucked into her boots, and at least one, larger, visible knife at her belt. Paranoid and having grown up in the underbelly of a large city, she keeps a belt purse sewn on the inside of her breeches, making it harder to steal. PersonalityIn fact, it is rare that she seems to show any emotion at all. She has her masks, of course. She has pretended to be everything from a desperate beggar to a witless noblewoman, but that's not really her. She is... cunning. Ruthless. Manipulative. She is a thief and an assassin, trained from birth to care for no one and nothing. Except for Cyran, of course - but he's gone now, so where does that leave her? She can't afford to trust anyone, not anymore. No, people have proven time and again that they will stab you in the back as soon as look at you. Friendship? It's always a lie. You have to take care of yourself. Everyone - everyone - will betray you eventually. But oh, if someone could break through the many walls of Sarya's heart... what would they find beneath the layers of cynicism and apathy? HistoryBorn and raised in the slums, it didn't take long for Sarya to know that a whorehouse was not the place for her. She hated it, every bit of it - the smell of sweat and otherness underneath cheap perfumes; the sound of bawdy laughter and loud, drunken songs; the way that, even as a child, men of all kinds would leer at her as she crept through the shadows. Her mother didn't care - the whorehouse put a roof over her head and money in her pockets, and she'd never wanted a child, anyway. Then she went and got herself killed by a client one night, and that was that. The only saving grace in Sarya's childhood was Cyran, a boy just a few years older than her. He, too, had a whore mother, but she, at least, had the good sense to sell him off to a thieving gang and give him something to do with his life. After Sarya's mother was murdered, Cyran took her from the whorehouse and introduced her to the world of thieves. He taught her everything she knew - how to pick locks, how to lift the treasure off a mark, how to defend herself. And when her skills began to surpass even his and she began to gain the attention of the gangleader, she continued training, getting better and better. She could steal anything from anyone, and they'd never know the difference. She'd never been caught. She could pick any lock, day or night, almost like magic. It wasn't, of course, but no one else had to know that. Let them think she had an edge, something special that they didn't. She thought of it as job security. They thought of it as something to be jealous of. Sarya can't remember when she became an assassin anymore. There was a special job, the gangleader told her one day, something she'd never done before. He'd given her her first knife, a large, unwieldy thing that was too big for her small hands. She was still a child then, but no one paid attention to a child. She could be in and out with none the wiser, much easier than an adult could be. It meant nothing to her, the taking of a life. The blood was strangely beautiful, and the glassy eyes of death were strangely peaceful. But she felt nothing, really, no guilt. The only magic that she had was death magic. She could kill anyone, and she didn't even need her knives. She preferred them, but sometimes it was better to leave no trace. Let the world thing that the mark died of a heart attack. No way to trace it back to Sarya, back to the gang. But sometimes, they were supposed to make a scene. They were supposed to make it known that you didn't cross their gang, or their employer, whoever needed the killing to be a big deal. It was more fun that way, making a mess with blood, seeing the light leave their eyes. Her training changed then, and she continued to rise in the ranks of the gang. She and Cyran remained close, he the master thief, she the prized assassin. She learned to use more than her knives and her magic. She learned to use her body, to use her feminine wiles. And everything was good. Until, of course, Cyran betrayed her. He'd warned her, though, hadn't he? Everyone will betray you. Everyone. She'd ended up in a prison cell. She'd be executed the next morning. She couldn't bring herself to care. But then... something strange had happened, and she'd ended up somewhere new. OtherA rough estimate of this character's damage potential is as follows:
KQs: 0 PQ+s: 0 Mini Events: 0 SWEs: 2 PQs: 0 Player MP: 0 King's End
Halo
Hollowed Grounds
Torchline
Stormbreak
The Draig Cordillera
Hak Etme
The Feverlands
Oerwoud
The Climb
Greatwood
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