Karinyrah Diakyvi
Honestly, there is not much to say about Karinyrah. She was much more fun to write about than to play and got discarded very quickly.
Falconsister
Falconsister
He growled inwardly, watching the woman surrepticiously as he pulled, hand over hand, upon the thick cable. Slowly, grunting with exertion, the sailors tied the rope securely and scattered to prepare to disembark. One however, a deckhand with a rugged charm and a lewd sneer, stopped to lean against the mast; his dark eyes dragging up and down her body. She was tall, and he liked that, with broad-shoulders and strong, firm muscles. Even in these troubled times, when women of all types stepped aboard the ship seeking adventure, wealth, enlightenment, or vengeance, few could match the sheer raw strength this woman exuded. Muscles glistened with beads of sweat, and her olive skin deepened its color in the summer's scathingly hot sun. She was scarred, he noticed, watching as she moved languidly across the deck.
She turned toward him, nodding cordially in his general direction, and leaned back against the railing. Her eyes closed and her head tilted back, exposing her neck to the warm rays. From her collar bone, trailing over her left breast and down beyond the low-neck of her garment, and he felt a tightening in his loins as he pondered just what lay beneath the leather corset. Not that her outfit left much to the imagination. Most of her flesh, intricate tattoos lacing across her back, biceps, and shins, was exposed. A lethal looking dagger was strapped to one naked thigh and he felt a smirk upon his face as he noticed the low-slung belt skimming her hips. Across her back she carried a golden-headed axe. Not for a moment did he doubt that she knew exactly how to use it. Still, he smiled to himself, I always did like a challenge. He raised his eyes to her face, and was startled to find her gaze upon him.
Wide, steely gray eyes stared back at him, one eyebrow arched as if in challenge. Her hair was black and glossy as a raven's wing, but erratically cut and styled in an array of short spikes. A single lock hung below her shoulder, braided and beaded with a pair of feathers dangling from the end. Yeah, he decided, adjusting himself slyly and starting toward her. She was an exceptional woman.
Approaching with his most casual swagger, he tipped his cap to her and leaned against the railing beside her, swinging one leg over the other. "So, dollface, what brings a tasty morsel like yourself to a backwater cesspool like this?" He guestured toward the little town they were nearing with his chin.
Karinyrah Diakyvi regarded him with a cool stare, then her lips curled into a odd little smile. "Nesmé beckons Falconsister."
"Oh yeah?" He flashed a roguish smile at her, turning against the railing to face her. "And is that your name, little darlin'?"
"Name?" She frowned slightly. "No. I am Karinyrah Ril-Tovikor Eltaniv Guar Mallujai Diakyvi."
Her voice was low pitched, and pleasant, but she spoke with a gutteral accent, as if swallowing some syllables and hitting other sounds harshly. He offered his hand, but was scoffed. Undaunted, he leaned a bit closer, surprised to see that he was a shade shorter than she.
"And I'm Charlie Locke, love. Pleased to meet your considerable acquaintance."
"Well met. Call me Nyrah."
"Nai...rah? I like that. How's about you and I," he chuckled and trailed the back of his fingers over her shoulder. "Check into the Su-"
He swallowed his words, and very nearly his tongue as she lashed out with one arm, long fingers closing around his neck. In an instant she had turned on him and the gentle curve of her lips morphed into an angry line, her eyes flashing.
"Do. Not. Touch. Me," she growled.
Charlie nodded rapidly, sucking in a desperate breath. "S-sorry L-love."
Karinyrah released her grip and inhaled slowly, returning to her casual pose against the railing. "I come here, many things I want to see." She cast a sidelong gaze at the man who was straightening hiimself self-consciously, praying that none of his comrades had seen the scene.
He realized he was looking at him expectantly and his brows knit, the lust he had felt having banished when the bruises at his throat appeared. "Uh... like what? What do you want to see?"
A smile crossed her lips and he became aware of an old, faded scar over her right eye. "Many things." She raised one hand, caressing his stubble-strewn cheek. "Many things, yes."
With a long, piercing squeal, the gangplank lowered and people began to shuffle toward it. Nyrah patted his face affectionately, then reached down and slung the worn pack at her feet over one bare shoulder.
"Next time," she stroked the feathers at her shoulder absently. "Next time, you in town, come find me. Safe waters and warm winds, Charlie Locke."
He watched her, the last passenger to step down the gangplank, and reached to his bruised throat ruefully. I might have to work on my approach...
Many things. She thought to herself, trailing fingers over the carved sign just beyond the docks. The words were mostly incomprehensible gibberish to her, but she recognized the name of the town and smiled inwardly. Nesmé...
Her father, Guarev, had not been happy to see her leave - but it was her perogative as eldest child and heir. She could do as she saw fit, go where she chose, when she wanted to, seek whatever adventure or glory that revealed itself; so long as she returned when the Falconcry called her... Gray eyes turned upwards, searching the clear blue sky a moment.
Soon, perhaps... but, she thought to herself, striding confidently into the town, not today.