Iara

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Information

Character Full Name: Iara Merwehn

Character In-Game Name: Iara

Nickname(s): None

Association(s): Recruit of the Lodestone Company

Race: Human

Class: Rogue

Age: 19

Sex: Female

Hair: Short, straight strawberry blonde

Eyes: Clear and bright green

Weight: 140 lbs

Height: 5'8"

Alignment: Miscreant

Appearance

Piecemeal leathers, ill-fitting in some places, clings close in most places. Breaks in the material are evidence of how they were obtained, with a worn hooded leather cloak draped over her shoulders. Her blades are, generally speaking, the only thing on her that are kept near-pristine, to maintain their edge and effectiveness. The sheathes for her knives are slung low on her hips, a string tied around the bottom and holding it close to her thighs, keeping the from bouncing when she runs.

Personality

Suspicious and cautious of others, Iara is nonetheless a friendly, sociable person. Her moods tend to be capricious, as do many of her mannerisms, which leads her to keeping people from getting too close behind a mercenary demeanor. Iara has little care for personal appearance or decorum, much of her life having been hard and solitary.

All that said, Iara has a bloodthirsty bent toward the Defias Rogues, a passionate lust to kill them that she will, often, disregard other important tasks to fulfill. She rarely breaks her word or oath deliberately, but rarely gives much consideration to the ramifications if she feels its necessary at the moment.

Iara suffers from several personality disorders, and takes a somewhat sociopathic view of others, balancing their usefulness with their importance to her at that moment. Above anything else, she is a survivor, though she will uncaringly burn a thousand bridges to ensure it.

History

Iara did not know her parents. Not like most people do. Her brother told her stories, and those have become an ideal, a symbol of everything that has been taken from her over and over again. A cold heavy stone that drags her deeper into her obsessions.

Her mother was a Mage, he said, their father a Paladin of Stormwind. They had fought alongside one another and come to fall in love. But their father had made many enemies, and one night, while the father was away at some line of battle, one came. In her nightmares, she remembers her mother's screams while her brother held her in the closet. He says she was an infant, there was no way she could remember, but somewhere the screams echo back to her as the man took their mother. Made a plaything of her for hours, then slit her throat.

Their father returned, and went in search of vengeance. He never came home. Soon, son and daughter were taken in by the temple as orphans. All they had left was Father's spare armor and sword, and as soon as he was old enough to wear it, her brother took her by the hand and they left the walls of Stormwind behind.

Her brother joined with a mercenary troop, and this was the first family that she knew, that welcomed her and treated her with the love that the temple traded part and parcel for obeisance. She became a 'camp rat,' a daughter of the moving team. She learned to scavenge ruined homes. To cook rations into edible meals. She learned to sing and drink, and she learned how to use a blade. Her brother disapproved, but she needed to be able to defend herself. She was happy with them for years, until the passing of her sixteenth year.

The troop was camped in Westfall, working with the guard there. They were close to the coast and the mines there, when the bonfires were lit, and the ale was passed among the assembled soldiers. A merchant had sold it to them earlier that week, and they had just broke into the casks that night. Long drinks in, everyone fell asleep. A deep, dark, heavy sleep that only the screams could rouse her from. When she awoke, no one was screaming, it was a memory-dream, but the Defias were walking among the soldiers around the dying bonfire, slitting throats as they slept.

She slipped away, moving in the gathering shadow to the tree line. Her eyes filled with tears as they crossed the assembled, stopping only a moment before the hardened against the sight, something choking inside of her. She made her way into the night, but the image was there, a painting of oil and ivory in the guttering embers.

Her brother, his throat gaping like a split fish, his blood darkening the soil as his eyes, glassy and absent, stared into the void.

She spent the last three years watching in Elwynn and Westfall, moving about and killing whom she could of the Defias, robbing others when necessary, to earn her coin here and there.