Roaming Fighter, Yrrakoa (winged humanoid)
Race: Yrrakoa (winged humanoid)
Gender & Age: Female, 20yrs old
Height & Weight: 5’-10", 135lbs (very thin, naturally so)
Hair & Eyes: black hair, dark brown almond shaped eyes
Wings: mostly black with some lighter feathers to the top
Voice: naturally soft-spoken, words are often measured and precise
- 2 scimitars (curved blade) made of old bone, creature unknown
- snakeskin whip
- pan flute
Bataleur Aerie (bat-t’ler ee-rie)
- so named after the Bataleur Eagle, native to arrid regions
-The desert heat is relentless, so it’s a surprise when a breeze whispers against your parched skin. Perhaps you jump with startlement as a creature drops from the sky. It’s a tallish female, human in appearance but with large dark wings that have enabled her to drop from the sky. Penetrating almond-shaped eyes give you a good looking-over.
“You’re a long way from home,” she observes finally, her tone perfectly neutral, but there is something perhaps sardonically amused behind the words. You might observe her unique appearance. Red slashes of paint across her face, the dusky tone of her skin. Unevenly cropped hair that matches perfectly the color of the feathers of her wings, seeming to jut straight out from her head as if an electrical storm were near. Accoutrements of bone and fur that decorate her simple attire of linen shirt and breeches, leather studded armor covering all. She is apparently not defenseless, this winged Yrrakoa, for a blade rides at her hip, an heirloom weapon handed down through her family for generations. It’s material is unknown, though speculation seems to point to petrified bone of some long-dead creature.
But a scimitar does no good bringing down the small game that makes up the bulk of her diet – rabbits, rodents, snakes. So a slingshot is tucked in her belt, imminently useful as ammunition of rocks are ever plentiful.
She sees your wary examination and for some reason, it makes her grin. “Doubt you’ve seen many like me,” she muses. “Aye, my home lies many leagues to the south, in the cliffs of the southern reaches. I am Eeffa Cloudfall, of the Bateleur Aerie. I am on my_ rin kakiri_, my wandering time, when those who desire go out into the world leave their aeries – to gain knowledge, gain skills, take whatever can be used. I am told not to return home until I know it is time.” She now shrugs. “When that will be, I do not know. But it will be an interesting adventure until then, is that not so?”
But the heat and nothingness of Caelara intrudes on your conversation, its oppression and the lonely whisper of sand reminds you there are miles to go before you can rest. “Fare well, friend,” says Eeffa absently, as if she too hears the call of the land. “Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.” And her wingtips brush you as she takes flight into the blasting furnace of the sun.
(TO BE EDITED SOON)