✦ s - aah - zee

A glorified duelist that thrives in the quick execution of a fight, not the rudimentary brawl or to be mistaken as a fleeting exchange of blows, the overall performance is an elaborate, yet minor, fleet of battle that is cultivated by the natural form and performance of fleet-footed Warriors. Not to be mistaken for Rogues of any pilfering nature or sly inclination, the Skirmisher excels primarily on the ploy of figurative methods that are the purpose of an over all completion to their prideful natures within battle. Typically favouring to diversity in the implement of any weapon, though blades are much preferred, the Skirmisher will utilize any arsenal within range but their acrobatic dexterity incline them to duel wielding favourtism - hence the slang title of “duelist” by observers. Does not favour any particular race thought some prevail more so than others by genetic prowess and nature.

Tall, gaunt, bearing her genetics to the finest tee and typical front.
Saasi is a Redguard without a doubt, down to the finest rouge hue in her light brown skin, perhaps regarded pale in hues of dark heritage, but otherwise in line with her family’s likeness. As any warrior, her physique is toned, if not a little worn by her days about various harbours but muscle memory is keen in any wielder, as are the scars with them. Lined upon her frame in various scrapes and pale slashes, Saasi’s skin is a tapestry or hardship that even extends up onto her face, dragging her lip into a nearly eternal frown or grimace by the perpendicular lines that cross over one another on her cheek — it’s like a badge she’ll say, rather than a blemish. It’s a reminder to never forget.
Her hair is a tumble of curls, tight, coiling in their near oil slick hue atop her shoulders and twined down her back in a thick plait that fails to tame the wild, near wiry, mass of it. Her eyes are deep set glimpses of honey browns and golds, another likeness that all of her family share among themselves. Aside from these visuals, Saasi is rather unassuming in appearances, as is her want, a typical dark skin some would say, a worn out warrior others would murmur. The only significant importance about her is the elaborating ink etched into her skin that spirals down across her body in elaborate lines of varying thickness and are bordered in geometric circles and points, these tattoos spread over the near entirety of her body though none have seen them underneath her wardrobe.

Saasi is a peculiar soul of interchanging depths, often addled by her woes, and thus drifts in the public venue to be ordinary and otherwise a fleeting impression to whomever she encounters on whatever whims deemed by fate. Her lack of fanfare and stoic glamour accompanying such, begets to an apathetic shell of lack luster pretenses, sometimes tactless in emotional nuances with her expression a mask preened to the finest of edges of apathy. Saasi’s rather odd inclinations and preferences are only further nurtured by her rather sluggish movements, a sort of dull, worn grace of dexterity of slumbering capabilities and hidden ability. Her responses are usually brisk, dragged down by the husk of her voice and the accentuation of boredom that clips her cadence into a near careless assumption. On the surface, a barely there groove into the depths of Saasi’s factual persona, she’s cryptic, often avoiding the smallest bit of chatter in forced presence and usually prefers a solitary nook than blooming company. Her often misinterpreted presentation allows for lonely nights and days in the common placed assumption that she is lazy and brooding - where as she’s observing, calculating, an aficionado of the conceptual impressions to those about their habitual routines and consensuses. Saasi is, on first glances, a worn down and encumbered soul, perhaps deluged in some long afflicting sorrow or anguish that she blankets and swathes in constant masks and interchanging words, trying to by pass the curious individual trying to pry deep into her many layers of dissociation. How Saasi is within battle, is an entirely different matter. And any sort of magical inclination disturbs the Redguard beyond conventional means.

Aged and worn souls akin to Saasi often herald a rather tragic tale, a woeful sort of experience that has led to their worn and washed out shells of present life. But Saasi would deny any front to some fantastical story that would encourage some grand tale to a curious or prying Bard. But in the company of other well worn battle forgers, they’d see the lines: the weariness in shoulders and calloused palms that tell of their abuse; the misconception of time and weather that wears down the extremities of ones self. Saasi would tell, in perhaps subdued tones, that she was borne in Hammerfell and nothing more: saying nothing of her family torn between the Crowns and Forebears, desiring to practice tradition and rule and yet finding themselves swindled by the adaptation of her more open and transcending cousins. Though the civil disputes were long since settled, the differentiating practices still founded disdain between her torn lineage, often frustrating and proving to further fracture the divide with Saasi and her own family that been promised at a young age.

But as any Redguard, she survived, thriving just fine between the two sides and often flitting back and forth between the two and harnessing her shell, able to fortify each and every mask she donned for when in the venue of her parents or cousins, only shedding the layers when she would return home to her husband. Saasi would never admit to her complacency in life then; that she grew bored and weary of her existence and manipulation of soul; that in her near desperate strive to bring forth some sort of transcendence she began joining the Lhotunics in near spite towards the bickering sides in her family and in her immersion into the faction; how she found favour and exotic splendor with a few seafaring individuals and more often than not would accompany their beds.
Saasi would never give light or truth to her passing days, her life spent about the sea and that her warrior prowess of natural borne strength was further cultivated and conceived by the various Skirmishers about the creaking vessel. How plunder was their want and near fanatical need despite Saasi’s reservations. The title of Lhotunic seemed to be a brandishing reason, a sort of automatic explanation into why they did what they did.She would never tell of how she tried to leave them so many years later that blurred into one another of salt-tasting winds and blue waters [knowing her husband and family had forsaken her for her choice] and she would never tell of the grueling attempt that resulted in a wrecked ship against the glaciers of Skyrim’s harsh northern waters.

The only admission that Saasi would ever bother to provide, if probed or inquired, is that Skyrim is a cold wasteland of song and magic, the stain seeming to find hold in everyone in the province. She’d say that for a long time she found lodging in various holds in her travels, often finding a noble or two to swear her axes to [another tale and story of why she abandoned the traditional blade of her class and race] or even finding herself in service to a Jarl by whatever meaningless task they provided. But there is no infamy or grand tale that Saasi is the protagonist in, so she would say and so she has attempted to hide by whatever attempts - no need to relive her pirating days and the dull life before it. In the matter of dragons, Saasi reveres them as beings of intelligent grace and respect, her reflection about them only bids her to seek them out further, almost seduced by their flame for some unknown reason. Thus she follows the rumours, joined the browse of fortune seekers upon her own means of curiosity, whether or not Nirn is meant to burn means little to her.

The only things of importance or value to Saasi are her axes, hand held and worn by her countless grasps, the duel weapons act as her extended arms: she heralds them as extensions of her soul and a badge and symbol of her history in which she vaguely reflects upon during her nightly ritual in nursing the past and her misdeeds over whatever finery of drink she can find. There’s a tale behind them, without a doubt, as nearly worshiped arsenal like these bear some virtue of soul and reason considering Saasi has avoided, with purpose, the traditional curved sword of her kind: the scimitar. Her armour consists of light preferences, as a Skirmisher needs to be light enough on their feet to move properly but of course donned in the best leathers to avoid injury, though Saasi would not complain of some new wound on her dark skin. Her equipment consists of studded leather, tinged with the faintest of blacks and maroons, skirted over the fur and plating festooned over her hips. For whatever reason of practicality, or fashion, her right side is more heavily armoured, fortified with steel plating and twined in leather about her thigh. Her arm is beheld in a gauntlet of iron, hammered out entirely on her gesture [this could allude to her being dominant on this side, right handed, as it were] and is tacked on all the way to her shoulder and capped with a tuft of pallid fur.

She is not a traditionally garbed Redguard, she doesn’t favour flowing, curving fabrics or elaborate designs and craftsmanship, her wears are of personal make and bear a minor enchantment that wills her natural affinity in constitution. Aside from these, Saasi does not typically wear things of gleaming fashion and use, aside from the glint of her well worn wedding ring [her marriage has long been void] slung about her neck in a gleam of silver topped with the unpolished ruby of her family. She relies on her natural strengths rather than spell bound assistance, despite this reservation towards magic of any kind, Saasi carries about with her a tome of destruction magic and various paraphernalia of any typical traveler and smaller trinkets of her past.

Saasi is fond of the luxuries of smoking or drinking, bearing a tolerance and aptitude for both of these dependencies.