Khama Qe'dajal
Birthday: 14 Ymiden 698
Age: 19 years
FC: Emblu
Place of Origin: Bayward, a Ne'haeri outskirt
Current Location: Dust Quarter, Rharne
Occupation: Criminal
Languages: Rakahi [Fluent], Common [Broken][/columns]
Physical Description
.Her eyes are a fierce stormy green-grey, and they never waver in their intensity. Those under her scrutiny often find that she appears to stare into them, as if she's observing their heart beating. She is quick to smile, but it's tense, strained through years of expecting to add a blade in the back to her list of accessories. She has straight teeth, large but not unflattering, and her full lips accentuate the shape of her face well.
Appearance quick facts
- Height: 5'11"
Weight: 149 lbs
Hair: Red
Eyes: Grey-Green
Notable features: Scar across her back
Personality
Self-reliant and a spitfire, she is. She's had to be, and she depends more on herself than anyone. It makes her closed off and cold, but she doesn't care. In fact, she doesn't care about much in the world, except making sure that no little bitch was ever brought up like she was. Common dirt, or less than, even.
Sardonic and fiery tempered, that's right. Especially toward the rich and their aristocratic ways. She sees through the façade, like every dirtborn does, to see the festering would of old ideals beneath. She isn't trapped by them, by the traditions of her ancestors or their ships. No, instead, she wants to carve her own way, and if she has to use her tongue or her fists to do it, she bloody will. It's only a matter of time before the enemies starting looking her way again.
Bring them on, she says.
Confrontational and headstrong, Khama is. She doesn't take lip from anyone, and she certainly isn't interested in playing the helpless little girl she was raised to be. 'Act your manners, Khama,' 'Don't spit at the councilor, Khama,' 'You can't rub the wealthy boy's nose in goat shit, Khama,'. She wasn't helpless, she was a fighter. A warrior. A storm borne from the oceanic stirrings of her people, thirsting for equality and righteousness.
Backstory
At an early age, she was exposed to violence. Not murder, or death, or anything, but the truth of consequence. Her father was beaten by an unknown agent, a man claiming to be of his own blood. Khama couldn't know, of course, what the black and red tattoo stood for, but she knew that her father had sustained injury. She cried for what seemed like all of Vhalar. He was never quite the same after. He was softer, calmer... Dumber.
Her mother, though, she was ignited by the incident. 'Khama,' she'd say, 'your only duty in this life is to those you love and share blood with. Even though blood can lie.' Blood could lie, and Khama came to realize it quickly.
Her mother was having an affair with the man who beat her father.
As a young teen, she was feisty, fiery in her fights and quick to speak with her fists. She was rough and tumble, and boys didn't like her. She wasn't submissive like the beautiful ship-wives. No, she had a mind and a mouth, and though her schooling was damn near none, she learned on the streets what it was to be a woman and warrior. Forget the boys, they were muscle and hot air. She was sea-salt and fire. She seared them all, one by one.
As a young adult, she moved to Rharne. She was strong, charismatic, passionate... Not yet cynical. Fending for herself in the Dust Quarter, Khama came to realize that her strongest assets were her fists and her wits. She took to crime, and was quickly approached by the shadowy figures of the Shadow Quarter. She had to earn a living.
Might as well do it and have some fun.
She met a mage through the organization, a woman named Moira. As passionate and rough as Khama, the two had a fiery and destructive tryst. The relationship, born from lust and proximity, led to Moira sharing the secrets of her magic with Khama. Rupturing, her lover had called it, and it allowed you tear open the world and move as you pleased. Freedom, Khama called it.
Little did she know, the initiation was dangerous, and the power came with the price of urging. Her initiation was one of unique pain and pleasure, being released into the unknown to explore distance and time in a way that none other could. If she believed in gods, this would be the closest feeling she could explain to being one. But she didn't. Instead, she forced the magic to bring her back, to spit her back into the cesspool of Idalos to allow her to complete her job in the world: Causing chaos.
Skills
| Skill | /100 | /250 | Rank |
| Brawling [RB] | 25/100 | 25/250 | Novice |
| Discipline | 1/100 | 1/250 | Novice |
| Endurance | 12/ 100 | N/A | Novice |
| Rupturing | 16/100 | 15/250 | Novice |
| Stealth | 10/100 | 10/250 | Novice |
| Strength | 15/100 | 15/250 | Novice |
| Source | Change | Total | Magic (Y/N) |
| Starting Package | +50 | 50 | N |
| Spent Starting Package | -50 | 0 | N |
| Rupturing | 1 | 0 | N |
| Endurance | 2 | 0 | N |
| Discipline | 1 | 0 | N |
| Even the dust | 10 | 0 | N |
Running total: 10xp
0xp Magic
Knowledge
Magic
Inventory
Ledgers
Thread List
To be written.