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Description

DM Handle: Taymist
Physical Description: 5’ 8”; 161; long, dark hair, curvaceous but toned build; fine boned face; almond shaped, hazel eyes.
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Place of Birth/Raising: Maradon, Saldaea

Character History

Rhya watched her father from under lowered lashes as he ranted. He was bound and determined that she should marry in spite of her personal objections. Ignoring his raised voice as best she could, she instead contemplated her mother. Not that she truly expected any support from that quarter but she could always hope. Fionnda, a frail Tairen woman in her mid 40’s, was not given to arguing with her imposing, Saldaean husband. They had met, almost 20 years ago now, during one of his many selling trips to Tear, in the days when he was still struggling to build up his business. Fionnda’s father was one of the first to recognise the quality of goods on offer and was quick enough to use his pretty daughter to his own advantage in getting a good price. Now, of course, her husband was a highly successful merchant, doing a thriving trade in ice peppers and furs. As a family, they wanted for nothing, holding a very respectable position in Saldaean society.

Rhya turned her gaze away again, roaming the room as her father’s voice continued to drone in her ear. She knew she was a disappointment to her mother. She took after her father both in looks and temperament. Oh, she was intelligent. She’d learned the required social skills with ease, as well as how to fight hand-to-hand or with daggers, just as all Saldaean girls did but she’d never shown the slightest interest in making a good marriage or having children nor made an effort in that direction. That lack, added to Rhya’s inexplicable black moods, bothered Fionnda and she lavished all of her attention on her second daughter while Rhya spent her days following her adored father about, watching him handle business affairs and listening to him talk of trade routes to far off lands. Until recently that was... She wasn’t sure exactly when the changes had started to take place, maybe around her 19th birth day, but things which had been familiar to her all of her life, suddenly became intolerable. She could no longer visit the fur warehouses as the smell simply overwhelmed her... a stench of death and blood. Crowds bothered her as the noise seemed to thunder through her mind, causing headaches. People always seemed to be shouting rather than just speaking. And now…. Rhya’s brow wrinkled in consternation... now the dreams. She didn’t know what to make of those. They seemed so real and yet... she shook her head... maybe she was going crazy? Even as she considered the possibility, the room seemed to dim around her and she was looking at a clearing, straight into the eyes of a wolf. The same wolf. The one she’d seen many times these weeks past. She sensed surprise, curiousity, a searching and finally recognition... smelled wild flowers and heard the tumble of water nearby... “Rhyanon? Are you even listening to a word I say?” Her father’s angry voice cut through her thoughts and reverberated in her skull, shattering the vision.

Still shaken, she responded, “Yes father, I hear you but I won’t marry just because you want me to. I don’t love him.”

“Love?? What does that have to do with it? It’s a good match I tell you... and don’t give me any more nonsense about him smelling bad, that’s all in your head. He’s a pleasant, responsible young man and he’ll take over that whole fur business one day.” Her father’s voice sounded smug for a moment. “It would match very well with mine when it comes to you, girl and you just think on that.”

Rhya’s temper rose to match her father’s. She would not be forced into this. Larian was a boy and meant nothing to her. Besides which, he carried the same stench as the warehouses and she could not live with that!! The mere thought turned her stomach.

Rising swiftly to her feet, she turned to glare at her father, oblivious to the change in his expression.

You can’t make me... I won’t do it... and he does stink...” her voice trailed slowly off as she took in the horror and anguish on her father’s face. “What? What’s wrong? Father?”

He slowly backed away from her shaking his head.

“No, no it can’t be, not again.”

Rhya, puzzled at his words, turned to Fionnda.

“Mother?”

Fionnda’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth but not fast enough to stop the shocked exclamation escaping. “Your eyes... oh Light...”

“My eyes?” Rhya ran to the mirror at the other end of the room and stared at her reflection in disbelief as golden eyes stared back at her...


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It had not taken long after that for the story to come out, for Rhya to learn that this had happened before in her father’s family but that it was rarely spoken of. An aberration that skipped generations yet always turned up when least expected. She was the first in a long time.

Her mother would have nothing to do with her from that day and her father knew that nothing was left for her in Maradon, save persecution and accusations of being a Darkfriend. Her only option was to leave. To leave all that she had ever known and set out on her own.

When she did go, she was well provisioned and headed south, travelling with various traders’ caravans. Her knowledge of fighting and the daggers at her belt kept her safe and she found a thirst for adventure in herself that had lain dormant for a long time, fuelled by her father’s stories. The uncomfortable, wary looks and muttered curses that she received when people caught sight of her eyes, however, had her parting company with the traders when they reached the fringes of Manetheren and heading for the mountains. She had no plan in mind, merely an instinct from the continuing dreams which she had come to believe meant something... something vital to her future and survival.

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