Appearance and Personality: Wolong is a slightly short man whose skin is far darker and more weather worn than the majority of Qaylu, mainly from managing to survive months out in the open ocean with nothing but sea-soaked rags to protect himself. He has since become significantly less starved and worn down than he initially appeared and in fact there's a certain level of whipcord fitness about him, but the scars of his betrayal and survival are still apparent in his appearance and the ordeal seems to have aged him more than his forty-odd years. He keeps his long grey-streaked hair pinned up in a tidy bob atop his head held by a simple wooden ring and pin and keeps a neatly trimmed beard and mustache at all possible times. His clothes these days are generally simple and serviceable if unusually neatly worn and he forgoes any sort of jewelry or adornment.

However, there are two things that are most noticeably unusual about Wolong's appearance that also mark him out as one of the secretive and isolated Qaylu people. The first is a metallic folding fan that he keeps on his person engraved with the character-writing of the Qaylu, apparently his only possession from his former life. The second are his eyes, almond-slanted and glittering with an uncannily focused brightness behind their brown irises as if at every single moment there's some hidden layer behind everything they see that only he perceives. More than one courtier in a ballroom or commander on the battlefield have found themselves the focus of those eyes, usually before they were cut down by a surprise ambush or unexpected retort.

As is the way of many Qaylu, Wolong generally keeps himself contained behind a curtain of rationality and emotional stoicism as if his emotions were stored in a little black box hidden within the fortress of his mind. He certainly has emotions as intense as any other man's, but maintains that allowing himself to be ruled by passion and feeling is a failing and that control over emotion begins first with manipulating its' expression. Even while he hungers for justice against those who destroyed his life, he tries to act only on his intellect. Wolong serves Oromis faithfully and freely admits that his master may truly be a god given what he is capable of doing, but maintains that Oromis' divinity has no impact on his own view of the Cosmos or his own reasoning, and in fact Oromis' claim to many past lives only serves to support The Dali. Instead Wolong serves Oromis not just as a means to get justice against his betrayers but also because he finds the man to be a just and charismatic ruler that he is happy to serve and because he believes that if he can guide Oromis and ensure his reign, the world will prosper because of it.

When not engaged in affairs of war or state, Chuko Wolong is a subdued but kind and affable man, concerned not only with his numerous personal studies and the welfare of the people his master rules but also hobbies of poetry, philosophy, music and art. Above all he is an avid player of the Qaylu strategy game wei-go, even attempting to get other members of Oromis' court and military to adopt the game. Though he rarely advertises as such, he's also rather skilled in rongdao a disciplined form of unarmed combat common to Qaylu. Wolong justifies the hobby by saying that he has to stay physically fit and the physical discipline helps him discipline his body and mind as well.

Biography:

Wolong was born in the isolated and hidden lands of Qaylu in the valley citadel of Zhongshu, the only son of the Chuko family, a minor group of advisers to the Citadel Lord. He was a driven and highly inquisitive child, thirsty for knowledge of any kind but other than that relatively without ambitions. His parents and everyone who knew him were convinced that he would be an exceptional scholar, perhaps even in numerous fields, but nothing more in terms of his station in life. All of that changed when he discovered the game of Wei-go. He became obsessed with the analytical and tactical aspects of the game and was soon regarded by all in his valley as one of the finest players in the kingdom. Eventually, no mere game could sate his desire for tactical conquest and he began to wonder if the strategies he employed would function on the battlefield as well as the game board. Thus it came to pass that his family used their small amount of influence to get him an officer's commission in their lord's armies, not understanding the source of Wolong's sudden ambitions but pleased nonetheless.

Minor wars of a political nature were common among the Citadel Lords of Qaylu, and to the delight of both his master and his family Wolong's brilliant tactical mind translated smoothly from war-games to war itself. Over years of subsequent conflicts Wolong won stunning victories, first with the small force under his command and then with every increasing troops as his merits earned him rank. He became known for near always emerging with shockingly low casualties outmaneuvering much larger and better-equipped forces time and again, humiliating his foes and their lords with ploys few before him dared try, until his own master became something of a region-wide power.

Wolong took no real glory in his victories and desired nothing but to further his studies in ways both strategic and academic while testing his intellect on the battlefield and providing for his family and people. However, his lord and master couldn't bring himself to believe that this officer, by that time the equivalent a general in his forces, had achieved such a meteoric rise without any hint of true ambition. So, fearful of some sort of coup, the lord of Zhongshu waited until a time of relative peace and then had Wolong secretly arrested. Fearing that the people and the army alike would revolt if their golden general was publicly executed, but also feeling that a quick death was too good for the alleged usurper, the Lord of Zhongshu had Chuko Wolong set adrift on a tiny boat in the open sea, with little to no supplies and nothing from his former life but the clothes on his back and his strategist's fan, as a reminder of his 'crimes'.

Wolong was supposed to die alone at sea, but fate and the man himself both seemed to have other plans. by collecting rainwater to drink, improvising a sail and net from his courtly clothing and using his knowledge of the weather and winds he was able to barely extend his survival and control his boat's path well enough to prevent it from sinking. He was not sure exactly where he sought to go, only that he desired to survive to see his former master pay. Eventually, his boat drifted to the Hamrock Isles and he washed up on shore weakened and humbled but alive. Thereafter, he sought out the ruler of the land and used his knowledge of the scholarly arts tactics and promises of the weaknesses of Qaylu itself to take up service with Oromis and has since become one of the God-Emperor's advisers. In exchange for his loyal service he desires his former master to be punished for his cruelty and betrayal once Oromis' armies inevitably arrive in Qaylu.

Name: Claes Astra

Nationality: Hamrock Isles by descent, spent most of her life in Tolos

Occupation: General, Grey Wind Mercenary Army

Religion: Oromism, for her own reasons.

Appearance and Personality: Claes is a surprisingly attractive woman. She is by no means a rare beauty, like one would find in courts or in great epic stories, but living a soldier's life has done less to mar her natural features than one would expect. She is well endowed, managing to stay in proportion to her more muscular, tall frame. Her face is fortunately unscarred, soft lips and large green eyes twisted by a deadly stare and a sneer of cold command. Her skin is pale, usually dirtied by mud or ink, and she is crowned by a shock of radiant red hair, long and wind-blown, unkempt and wild. Her dexterous hands are marked and scarred after a life of holding a bow, her gait wide and confident from a familiarity of command and a life in the saddle.

Claes values self-knowledge, and has lived her life trying to control herself, know her flaws and strengths and weaknesses and accomplish her goals. She is a firebrand: quick to anger, prideful and used to command, she dislikes being slighted and is prone to fearful rages. She is a woman of action, hating to be idle and bored easily, she dislikes waiting or doing nothing. She is prone to speeches and tirades, and holds everyone she meets to her own exacting standards. She cares truly for few, but for those she does she is driven to do anything in or outside her power to protect and aid. She holds grudges, enjoys revenge and petty vengeance, and has an excellent memory, especially on her failures.

However, she is aware of these things. She has worked her entire life understanding herself, and has fashioned excellent control over years of work. She is more than able to wait, to scheme and plot and save her efforts for later. She may not like it, but she can feign interest or pleasure on any number of things, and has wrangled her temper onto a short leash, capable of cold calculation over rash emotion when the time suits her. Her values never change, but she is able to take the bigger picture and understand what must be done and what must be sacrificed. Despite her disgust at the idea knows that she cannot do everything to run an army, and has learned to wrench herself from unhelpful micromanagement. She cannot make herself happy with doing things which go against her nature, but grins and bears it in the pursuit of her only true goal, no matter the situation: victory.

Biography: A third generation descendant of original Mardochians, she is racially Tolosan though did not see her homeland for almost her entire life. Her ancestors, after the assassination, did not follow their kith to the isles, being soldiers through and through. They joined the Grey Winds, learning quickly the ways of the Tolosan light cavalryman. Claes' father was born into the company, and rose in rank, eventually holding the position of executive officer. He married and sired Claes, an only child, and she grew up around soldiers, in the saddle nearly before she could walk. She learned her numbers and letters in a military context, learned archery and horsemanship and the hundred stories and songs of soldiers, a child more of the company than her actual parents. She joined when she was only 14, and had her first command by 16, gifted with a mind for tactics and battle.

When the Winds lost their command staff at the hands of outlaw assassins, Claes entered the power struggle, aided by her small group of loyal followers. Four months later, she found herself at the head of nearly six thousand of the finest cavalry in the world, at only 19 years of age, killing her last competitor in a duel. Over six years of command, she fought on the behalf of Tolosan lords and for the Emperor on more than one occasion, making a name for herself as a brilliant commander of brilliant troops, developing her own distinct style of mounted combat which has begun to draw the attention of the military sciences. She fought great victories at Scipillar and Uldon Ridge, throwing Etruscans back across the border time and again, against forces much larger numerically. With these successes, the Grey Winds have become rich and famous, and she has earned the almost total loyalty of her soldiers, many of whom would follow the standard into hell if she asked.

She heard Oromis has resurrected, and led a march across the entire content, the Grey Winds making their pilgrimage across the sea to pledge their service to the God-King. She promises wealth, status and victory to her soldiers, assuring them in the success of their new master, and they believe her, eager to earn their rewards for their fighting.

Magical Artefact(s): None.

Motivation: Ostensibly, Claes serves her Grey Winds, wanting to make her soldiers rich and successful, to earn wealth and prestige to enjoy the niceties of life. She has pledged her entire self to the conquests of Oromis, and has taken no actions to contradict this, praising his divinity and the justness of his cause. Detractors are quick to point out her thirst for glory, her sacrifice of soldiers to bolster her own prestige, and her ambition that has, on more than one occasion brought defeat to allies and subordinates, but she dismisses these as the ravings of the sore defeated.

Myranda Tavellan is an unusual-looking elf, and that's putting it lightly. Standing at a menacing 6'2", the elven berserker is heavily muscled and covered in scars of every shape and size imaginable. Her lean, hungry face, which might have been beautiful at one point, is marred by three particularly nasty scars that barely avoid her mud brown eyes. Half of Myranda's right ear has also fallen victim to the ravages of her bloody lifestyle, and she scratches at the scabby lump from time to time. A tangled mass of dark brown hair frames the warrior's battered face like a curtain trying to hide some monstrous sideshow attraction. The elf's nose is also decidedly crooked and her smile is full of gaps, another testament to how violent her life has been thus far. Perhaps in hopes of mitigating the impact of her ominous appearance, Myranda is always slightly hunched yet even her shoulders, broad and powerful as they are, suggest this isn't some pampered Tolosi aristocrat or beloved elven servant. This is someone who'd happily rip your throat out for looking at her the wrong way. Normally, the mercenary wears a mangy white lion skin cloak over her shoulders despite the faint smell of blood clinging to the ratty garment. Two long, muscular arms extend down from Myranda's shoulders and end in a pair of rough, callused hands. While Red Myra doesn't normally wear gloves, every now and again she'll produce a pair of black iron gauntlets from her travel-stained knapsack. These gauntlets have tiny bronze spikes set into the knuckles. Needless to say, being punched by Myranda while she's wearing her gauntlets is only slightly less amusing than being punched by Myranda without her gauntlets.

Moving past her small bosom, Myra's stomach is toned to the point where she almost appears malnourished like a wolf that hasn't hunted in weeks. Considering how often her meals consist of alcohol and whatever she can find nearby, this isn't surprising. Wide hips and powerful, long legs complete the image of an elf few people want to tangle with. Typically, the mercenary can be seen wearing a studded leather chestpiece over a greasy linen undershirt along with black iron leg-guards as daywear. She almost always has her spiked buckler strapped to her back unless she absolutely must remove it. A simple leather belt wraps around the hired blade's waist and her sheathed black iron longsword hangs from it. A wineskin, which is always full, and several pouches also dangle from the berserker's belt. Each of these pouches has been dyed a different color so Myranda can quickly access them. For example, her blue pouch contains an old wooden pipe adorned with worn images of prancing reindeer while her purple pouch is bursting with wraith leaves, Myranda's tobacco of choice. Last but not least, Myranda's black iron sabatons have certainly seen better days and appear to fall apart a little more every time she puts them on.

Myranda's personality is as unnerving as her appearance. She doesn't actively seek the company of others, but she can be surprisingly pleasant when approached. Especially if she's approached with a tankard of Etruscan ale. Courage, determination, and a love of anything crass, obscene, or irreverent make her an interesting traveling companion if not an overly loyal one. Despite her normally boisterous behavior, however, there are times when the elf will fall into long spells of silent, almost melancholic, contemplation. Her thoughts often wander down the old, painful roads to the experiences that shaped her into the woman she is today. Still, the berserker tries to live in the moment and doesn't spend too much time dwelling on the past. She finds her pleasures where she can whether it's the simple joy of walking along an unfamiliar road or the wonderful burn of dwarven spirits. Of course, when the opportunity for wantonness and excess arises, the mercenary is only too happy to take full advantage. The nastier and fouler the deed the more likely she is to do it. Despite this, however, Myra often tries to do what she believes is right in any given situation. An interesting trait for a mercenary to have.

On the other hand, Red Myra's demeanor completely changes whenever she gets angry or finds herself in the midst of battle. There are those among the elf's few friends who believe Myranda's "normal" behavior is merely a facade, hiding the truth of a woman desperately struggling to control herself. To keep herself from her one, true addiction. The addiction of shedding blood and inflicting pain on other people. Myranda's claim of trying to be a better person notwithstanding, there is always a savage joy in her eyes and a smile on her face when battle is joined. And thanks to over one hundred years of combat experience, Myranda is an incredibly skilled, not to mention vicious, fighter. Still, rumors persist that she has a hard time telling friend from foe when she's fully enraged. There are also certain individuals who are convinced Myra has become some kind of death-seeker, waiting for the day when someone puts an end to her brutal, chaotic life. Some even suggest the sellsword is mentally unsound since she constantly talks about hearing drums when she fights. Even when there aren't any drums to be found on the battlefield. Regardless, Red Myra's deep, rasping voice has been the last thing many warriors have heard before their souls were sent howling into the afterlife.

Myranda was born in the winter of 3434 to an impoverished earthroot farmer named Eldrath Tavellan. She spent the first twenty years of life living in her father's small shack, which was about half a day's journey from the border separating the mighty Empire of Tolos from the dwarven lands of Coromis. Just to the north of the Tavellans' home, Whitestone Village sat as pretty as any rural painting done by the world-renowned Tolosi artist, Atilian Kalivas. Young Myra always looked forward to the days following the harvest because her father would hitch the family oxen to their rickety wagon and take the year's crop to Whitestone Village's market. While most of the money they made was spent ensuring Eldrath had enough liquor to last the rest of the year, some of the coin went towards things like a basic primer on the Tolosi tongue and even an old, battered atlas depicting the entirety of the Empire. These items became some of Myranda's most treasured possessions, and she often dreamed of leaving the monotony of her father's farm behind. Of course, even suggesting such a thing was guaranteed to send Eldrath into one of his black rages, which always ended with Myranda on the floor and him staggering off to find another bottle of corn whiskey. Another topic the two elves never discussed was what happened to Myra's mother. Despite these moments of brutal unpleasantness, however, the Tavellans lived a simple, peaceful life on their farm and nobody bothered them overly much.

And then the Battle of Havendall ended with the Empire of Tolos suffering its first defeat in recent memory.

Thankfully, Whitestone Village's small size and relative anonymity meant it wasn't drawn into the conflict. Unfortunately, the battle between the Imperial legions and the allies of God-King Oromis would have far-reaching consequences for Myranda beyond the formation of the Etruscan League and the Empire's gradual deterioration. On the eve of her twentieth name day, when elves were said to have reached the "age of reason," Myranda came in from a hard day's work in the fields to find her father waiting for her, a knife clutched in his hand. Wordlessly, the old, withered farmer pointed towards Whitestone Village and his daughter peered curiously out the window. Whitestone Village was ablaze and Myra's sharp eyes could almost make out the fleeing specks of villagers running for their lives.

One of the numerous mercenary companies hired by the remaining Tolosi nobles to guard the newly-formed border separating them from the Etruscan League had apparently decided to do some "foraging." Foraging, in this case, meaning looting, burning, and pillaging in hopes of supplementing the pittance their employers were paying them. Regrettably, Whitestone Village was receiving the brunt of the sellswords' wrath. It was a nightmare. Inevitably, the rogue mercenaries made their way southwards and stumbled upon the Tavellan farmstead, their eyes shining with glee as they set fire to the earthroot crop and savagely killed Eldrath's oxen. Myranda has never spoken to anyone about what happened next, but her father was slain by Captain Kurdan "The Butcher" Sokolov, the dwarven leader of the mercenaries rampaging through the southern reaches of the Empire. Instead of sending Myra to meet her father in the afterlife, however, the captain gave her a place at his side, calling her his "lucky charm."

Thus, Myranda Tavellan joined Kurdan's Sabers, a mercenary company comprised mainly of Coromoisans, Tolosi deserters and traitors, and even a few madmen. The company was being paid by a small coalition of Tolosi aristocrats to watch the border they now shared with both the Etruscan League and the Republic of Jadis. Luckily, or unluckily as it were, the only real threat to the Empire was from the Jadisi since Oromis' war had been taxing on both the Etruscans and Tolosi, who were content to lick their wounds for the time being. So, for the next thirty years, Myranda was raised by Captain Kurdan and his three hundred mercenaries, learning lessons practical and wildly impractical unless you just so happened to be a soldier of fortune. Basic arithmetic, how to read and write, and even the basics of single sword combat were all part of her curriculum. In the year 3484, however, the First Border War began, though it wasn't a war so much as a series of brutal skirmishes between the Empire of Tolos and the Etruscan League. Each nation wanted to push their common border one way or the other. After nearly forty years of constant fighting, the so-called "Years of Sorrow" ended and the First Border War concluded with a draw, though there were still small pockets of resistance to be found. Kurdan's Sabers, along with their allies the Blue Plume Brotherhood and the Half Moons, spent another ten years locked in a vicious struggle with a group of Etruscan fanatics calling themselves the Children of God.

It was during the spring of 3550 that the Battle of Ursol's Spine came about. Pinned down behind a ridge bearing the same name, Kurdan's Sabers managed to carry the day and ultimately crushed the Children of God completely. The losses, however, were staggering and Kurdan himself lost his right eye during the conflict. The wound soured quickly, and the venerable dwarven sellsword began to descend into feverish madness as his body tried to fight off infection. Myranda had only recently celebrated her 100th name day, and she was now considered an adult in the eyes of her people. She spent the next fourteen years watching over the dwarf who'd been more of a father to her than Eldrath grow weaker and weaker. Meanwhile, several would-be usurpers attempted to wrest control of the Sabers away from Kurdan only to be cast down by their equally ambitious contemporaries. It seemed as if Kurdan's Sabers was doomed to fracture without their charismatic leader to guide them. And then the dwarf's health began to improve, though he was still weak. It seemed as if he might pull through despite the loss of his eye.

Until, on a cold morning in winter, Myranda and Captain Kurdan met for their daily sparring session for the first time since he'd been injured. During the bout, the elven woman "accidentally" ran the dwarf through with the black iron longsword he gave her for her 100th name day. This is the first time Myranda was ever called "Red Myra."

Several of the older and wiser mercenaries, having decided to put aside their differences in the name of controlling the company, saw how skilled Myranda was and how ruthless the others now believed her to be. Capitalizing on this, and wanting to place a figurehead in the captain's seat so they could run the company without taking any blame for poor decision-making or losses in battle, these sellswords claimed that Myra had "earned" the right to be called captain. To the shock and horror of the so-called Inner Council, Myranda proved to be a strong, decisive, and competent leader, embodying all of Kurdan's positive traits with only one major flaw. She seemed to crave violence like an alcoholic craves strong drink. Under the pretense of removing Kurdan's supporters from the company, Myra purged the Inner Council and their allies before spending the next fifteen years recruiting more mercenaries to bolster the Sabers' ranks. She also changed the name of the company to the White Hands, a reference to Kurdan's habit of "keeping his thoughts black, but his hands white as driven snow." Meaning, he'd enjoy gorging himself of fine food and drink in his captain's tent far away from the battlefield while his men died in droves. It is worth mentioning that during this period, in the year 3534, Oromis emerged again from obscurity but Myra's power wasn't anywhere near consolidated enough for the White Hands to participate in the conflict. Besides, the Tolosi highborn were barely managing to hold out against the Etruscan League let alone call any mercenary company under their banner to task on the matter. Of course, the White Hands still visited any town or city they could find in order to "forage" for more food, supplies, and valuable loot.

After numerous battles such as the Battle over the River Tamras and the short-lived Second Border War, Myranda's lieutenants managed to convince the elf it might be worthwhile to approach the League's leadership for work. Not only were the Imperial forces far too scattered and weak to support the White Hands in battle, but their payments were starting to come further and further apart. Nothing makes a mercenary nervous like delayed payment. Despite her misgivings about betraying her homeland, Red Myra approached a group of Etruscan lords the evening before the battle of the Celebron Fields in the spring of 3578. She offered to change sides during the battle in exchange for a promise to ignore the company's previous Imperial loyalties. All she wanted was a chance to prove the White Hands could be an asset to the war-torn Etruscan League and its members. They agreed. The Battle of the Celebron Fields marked the first White Hands victory as allies of the Etruscan League. They spent the next fifty years happily battering the Empire's border on behalf of the League, and the gold was said to have flowed like a sweet, clinking river through the White Hands' encampments. Their reputation, and that of their savage leader, was growing to epic proportions with songs and tales of their deeds reaching as far south as the Orkantor Desert. Everything was going marvelously despite the rumors. Rumors about how Myranda would just as happily butcher her own men as she would the enemy. Rumors about how easily she'd been convinced to betray the Empire of Tolos. Rumors about "drums" and madness.

In the year 3630, a young Jadisi man named Pajaan Farimi was recruited by the White Hands after the Second Battle over the River Tamras.

There was an immediate attraction between this smart, handsome southerner and Captain Myra, especially when he managed to bring Clan Lord Alexandros Miridon of Nerwains to the negotiating table with the company. A close friend of Pajaan's father, the leader of Clan Miridon wanted to hire the White Hands to watch the eastern borders of his lands while he focused on dealing with several rival clans to the west. They would be paid in stacks of "Miridon gold bars," which was some of the finest, highest-quality gold in the entirety of Tevrios. Myranda agreed and the papers of engagement were signed. The White Hands were now responsible for protecting the eastern outskirts of Clan Miridon's holdings from the few remaining groups fighting for the Empire of Tolos.

Time passed, as it often does, and Myranda and Pajaan became lovers and at one point the elven mercenary even became pregnant. Pajaan had reformed the Inner Council, using his influence as the captain's beloved, and ensured nobody tried to take advantage of Myra's condition. Strangely enough, about three months after little Elanaria's birth she was never seen again. What's more is neither Myranda nor Pajaan would speak about the matter. Some mercenaries even though Myra looked confused when asked about where her child might be. Shortly thereafter, Pajaan became Myranda's official second-in-command, though the two often disagreed and many believed they'd fallen out of love somehow. At any rate, shortly after Red Myra's 200th name day, Lord Miridon asked the White Hands to deal with a group of former allies making trouble near the border town of Mervyn's Crossing. Little did Myranda suspect both Lord Miridon and Pajaan had laid a trap for her. When the White Hands showed up, in an eerie parallel to her betrayal at the Celebron Fields, Pajaan and the Inner Council took command and sent the sellswords to kill their captain. Apparently, Lord Alexandros was a racist of incredible proportions and hated the idea of his family's gold in the hands of a filthy elf. And a Tolosi to boot. He'd convinced Pajaan to turn on his lover in exchange for his promise to help him keep the position of company captain. Aided by a regiment of Clan Miridon soldiers, the White Hands chased Myranda through the thick, twisting foliage of the nearby Wrenlock Forest. Before vanishing into the heart of the forest, Red Myra managed to cut off Pajaan's hand, and he would ever after be known as Pajaan "Goldenhand" Farimi since he replaced his missing appendage with a hand made of Miridon gold.

Disgraced and hunted, Myranda fled west and eventually boarded a schooner bound for the home of the Mardochians, the Hamrock Isles. Surely the White Hands would assume she'd died and wouldn't come after her. For a few years, the elf tried to find someone willing to hire a scarred sellsword, though her reputation hadn't followed her flight. She was a nobody again. Desperate and unwilling, or perhaps incapable, of doing anything else, Myranda turned to banditry. As the years passed, the name "Red Myra" was once again spoken in hushed voices by merchants and those they paid to guard them. A monstrous thug. A bandit without conscience. A savage fighter. Still, all good things must come to an end, and, at the age of 216, Myranda was finally caught by the town guards of Taranidorn. Instead of being hung immediately, however, she was given a choice. The choice anyone convicted in the last few years has been given. Swear her loyalty to the newly returned God-King Oromis or hang. It wasn't really much of a choice for someone as steeped in blood as Myranda. So, for the time being, she's joined the God-King's army as a conscript. What her true motives are is anyone's guess.