Name of this character: Ebony, but those that like their head where it is are safer calling her ‘Eb’. Last name unknown.
Age of this character: Appears lateish twenties, early thirties (exact DOB unknown)
Name of country where this character is from: Altara ('The Rahad' - Ebou Dar)
Skin: Olive/dark tan
Hair: Jet black, very short, wildly cut/hacked with knives
Eyes: Coal black
Height: Short – 5’2” to 5’3”
Build: Medium to light
Distinguising Features: Incredibly feisty Altaran temper; many scars (most noticeable located on right side of face in elongated ‘S’ from outside corner of eye to bottom side of jaw).
Weapon of choice: Knives/throwing daggers – incredibly proficient
Secondary Weapon: Mace. Double short swords.
Weapons Score: 17-18
Eb was dumped on the streets of the Rahad in Ebou Dar at birth by an unknown mother. Taken in and ‘raised’ by a gang of street kids, she learnt everything there was to know about survival in the backstreets and canals of the roughest city in the known world.
Despite the fact that physically, her strength and fighting skills are honed to a high standard (the Rahad and her time with the Band have left her with little choice but to improve or die in that regard), mentally and emotionally she's a wreck. Young kids living (and often violently dying) on the streets don't exactly make the most nurturing or balanced of role models to grow up with, and being forced to flee her home city after finding her entire gang hanged then taking up a soldier's life probably didn't help either. Her ability to experience or process emotions in a healthy manner is basically non-existent. Instead, she tends to function in varying degrees of aloofness, cool arrogance and rage. The only 'positive' exception to this personality has been the skewed, intensely fierce sense of dedication she has managed to show to a very, very select few people - all of whom are now dead. Essentially her personality reflects her start to life - hard, ruthless, volatile. Regardless of the situation, she is absolutely the type to strike first, ask questions later. Her reputation in the Band has developed accordingly.
In some ways her time and allegience with the Band have helped her development by offering a new way of life - one with a measure of routine, food security and purpose. She is proud of the weapons skills she has developed, and the rank which she has earned. On the other hand, the battles and army-scaled blood-baths she has been involved in, the deaths of newer friends and the frequently increasing signs of the Dark One's touch on the world have also deepened her damage.
Recent travels following Mehrin (ex-Commander of the Band and the last of her 'more trusted' circle) in solitude across the land may have begun to foster an inkling of calm somewhere deep down under all that anger, but his death has shattered that progress absolutely, and then some. Despite having returned 'home' to the Band, she is currently struggling, big time. More than ever, she is slow to trust and quick to enrage, inherently defensive and volatile to her very core.
Eb was dumped on the streets of the Rahad in Ebou Dar at birth by an unknown mother.
Taken in and ‘raised’ by a gang of street kids, she learnt everything there was to know about survival in the backstreets and canals of the roughest city in the known world. By some miracle and a vicious will to live she fought her way through each new day, growing from a screaming babe into a rough, defiant young child with far more than her fair share of feisty Altaran temper...
By around the age of six she knew - from experience and consequence – every single one of the unwritten rules of living on the streets of the Rahad. She could steal enough food and coin independently to keep herself from starvation. She could climb like a cat, fight hand-to-hand like a mountain-lion caged and could run - full-speed- across the roof-tops of the Rahad and the rest of Ebou Dar. Most importantly, she could fight with knives. Proficiently. As far as she could remember, knives and daggers had always been her only toys.
By the time she fled Altara, after her gang of street-rats had been hanged for thieving, she'd had nigh on twenty years’ experience surviving in the streets – and it showed itself in every possible way. It showed itself in the way she walked and the way she constantly scanned the shadows and the body-language of passers-by. It showed itself in the way she automatically assessed any and every possible sign of threat, and instantly calculated alternate routes and escape paths in case of danger. It showed itself in her skill with her knives, and in her confidence. It showed itself in her absolute arrogance, and it showed itself in her many, many scars.
She had found a group of mercenaries who later became part of the Band of the Red Hand as she fled, and then - since there had been hot meals available - she'd stayed. Tarwin's Gap happened, and still she stayed. More than a few objections had been raised by the men to a girl joining the infantry at the time, but time passed, fights and battles came and went and nothing was left unresolved - courtesy of both force and reputation.
In a few short years she learned to master a mace and short sword and the basics of most other melee weapons. Time, training and battles earned her the rank of Captain.
She'd learnt new skills and a new way of life and even found a home of sorts with the Band, but some things will never change – shaped irrevocably by her past, she is still slow to trust and quick to anger, automatically arrogant and inherently defensive. By nature a fighter, regardless of the situation, she’s definitely still the type to strike first, ask questions later…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Eb leant casually against the tree, balancing a dagger blade-upwards on her palm, watching the newest recruits file in for training. Absently, she wondered where they all had come from, what histories they’d left behind … if any of them knew where the rolls of the dice would be taking them from here.
Spin-stop. Spin-stop. Spin-stop.
The knife spun on her palm, its blade gleaming in the sun.
It seemed like a lifetime ago she’d been the newest Band recruit, standing there before the men, wild-eyed and dangerous, demanding a place to train with the infantry. A lifetime ago since the dice had seen her flee from Ebou Dar with the White Cloaks and the City Guard hot on her heels. A lifetime ago since she’d barged her way in to this new life and began her soldier's training.
And yet, sometimes it also still felt like yesterday since she’d routinely taken flying leaps off the rooftops of the Rahad. Landed sure-footed on the cobblestones below. Simultaneously sprinted off and shoveled down her stolen food. Like yesterday since she’d had to fight and thieve for simple survival. Like yesterday since being a girl on the streets had taught her everything she’d ever need to know.
Well, almost everything. She fingered a scar at her hip and the mace and sword at her side. Almost everything. Yesterday and forever ago. Seemed like no matter where you were in this blasted life, there was always more to learn. And teach.
She scowled, spat to the side and shoved the knife back into her sleeve.
She stalked across the grounds to stand in front of the new recruits, and spat again.
“Right, you lot!” she growled, “Time to train, Infantry-style! I'm Eb. Captain. And yes, I am a girl.”
The knife reappeared to spin slowly –menacingly - through her fingers. Eb looked at each and every one of the new recruits in turn.
She lowered her voice. “Anybody got a problem with that?”