Name: Asta Saevel
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Race: Ydra
Appearance:
Asta is a 5’7”, woodland-raised nomad. Her skin is pale, as her heritage and typical garb are wont to cause, but she holds her slender frame with power. While not outwardly easy to see, beneath her sleeves and cloak, one can make out the finely traced muscles of a trained, masterless assassin. Spiraling down her arm from her left left shoulder, wrapping around to her mid-forearm’s underside is a tattoo of fiery reds. It is a depiction of a Cobra Fox, the very animal she has raised as a companion.
Element Affinity: Void
Magic: Fazing - incredibly exhausting, but Asta is able to make her body, or isolated parts of it, intangible for a short period of time. Stepping through walls is incredibly taxing and rarely does she use it. However, the skill was invaluable in her time as an Arena fighter.
Gear: Upon her back, Asta carries a single-handed falcate of Ydran make. The blade and hilt are black as ebony and it is forged from metals of her race’s plane. The hilt is a combination of this very same metal and the dark wood scattered throughout only certain forests in her homeland. It is not a blade of uncommon materials, though it is not the most well-known of shapes. Attached to straps on her armor in a few places are several throwing pins, which she has adopted in favor of a bow as they are less cumbersome. Her armor consists of light leathers over thin fabrics, preferring evasion and silence to defense and immobility.
Additional info: You touch her Cobra Fox, you die. Also, she’s a very talented dancer (with or without a blade, they are very similar) – it was a skill valued among her tribe and her mentor as one that aides not only swordsmanship, but self-awareness.
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Race: Ydra
Appearance:
Asta is a 5’7”, woodland-raised nomad. Her skin is pale, as her heritage and typical garb are wont to cause, but she holds her slender frame with power. While not outwardly easy to see, beneath her sleeves and cloak, one can make out the finely traced muscles of a trained, masterless assassin. Spiraling down her arm from her left left shoulder, wrapping around to her mid-forearm’s underside is a tattoo of fiery reds. It is a depiction of a Cobra Fox, the very animal she has raised as a companion.
Element Affinity: Void
Magic: Fazing - incredibly exhausting, but Asta is able to make her body, or isolated parts of it, intangible for a short period of time. Stepping through walls is incredibly taxing and rarely does she use it. However, the skill was invaluable in her time as an Arena fighter.
Gear: Upon her back, Asta carries a single-handed falcate of Ydran make. The blade and hilt are black as ebony and it is forged from metals of her race’s plane. The hilt is a combination of this very same metal and the dark wood scattered throughout only certain forests in her homeland. It is not a blade of uncommon materials, though it is not the most well-known of shapes. Attached to straps on her armor in a few places are several throwing pins, which she has adopted in favor of a bow as they are less cumbersome. Her armor consists of light leathers over thin fabrics, preferring evasion and silence to defense and immobility.
History: Asta was born to a traditional Ydra tribe in, the forests of Adelon. She was the daughter of the clan’s “Quu’ahl,” or chief. Her kind are strange to the Mura in that females have more versatile roles in their lands than among the Mura. They aren’t cooks or seamstresses unless they’re mothers. Some still take to a life of domestic work, but they are offered the chance to be raised as the men are. Being a firstborn, Asta was given no choice. She was taught to defend herself at an early age and was found quickly that she was cut out to be a huntress. The girl had a natural talent for stepping around unheard and had an eye for detail – she saw the bigger picture in front of her that many missed.
While usually nomadic, as Asta’s tribe was, the girl was sent to a master to hone such skills, as the high ranking families would often do. The man she was trained by was the one and same who had taught her own father and under his guidance she quickly grew to accept her place in society. However, she wanted more… She wanted to see beyond the woods – she wanted to see civilized people and their technology. Her wanderlust got the better of her before she left to return to her people. The plan was hatched and by the time she had graduated at only seventeen years old, she walked her own path. Difficult as it was to leave her people behind, she knew her father had many children after her and that one day, when she truly returned, they would see that she had a wealth of knowledge and experience to make them all the stronger.
She found herself, weeks later, in a small town, looking for work. It did not take her long to figure out that she stuck out more than previously imagined. Finally, she found a place where they would let her stay in exchange for her catches. The arrangement worked, though she slept in a barn pen, because she was rarely on the property for more than two nights in a week. Asta would bring whatever meat and pelt she caught and had not used to the family, and they would decide whether it was sufficient – often, it was. When it wasn’t, she would return to the woods until she knew she had enough. For a solid year, her life was thus.
It seemed like only a few days had passed since her arrival to the town, when in reality it had been nearly fourteen months. Of course, a soul like hers could not stay in the same place for long… While Asta desperately wanted to stay, something still felt wrong. The townspeople had been giving her dirty looks for weeks – more so than usual… Perhaps they thought she was getting too comfortable or overstaying her welcome. The final straw was the day she returned from a hunt and was confronted by a group of boys no older than sixteen. She could have easily dispatched at least a couple of them, and would have too had she not remembered in time that this was not her home and these people already did not trust her. They threw her pelts to the ground, shoved her back, threw as many slurs against her kind as she could… This was not entirely out of the ordinary – heckling was something she faced often. However, the fact that they touched her was new. Assaulting a Muran boy would only result in a very harsh punishment, especially in a small town this far into the boonies. They weren’t exactly “progressive” folks. Asta packed her small number of belongings and left, explaining how she felt no longer welcome in town and that she would be forever indebted for the shelter she was provided so long.
Deeper into the Muran territory, Asta found that people were more tolerant of her very existence, even if they avoided eye contact or discussion. It was slightly more comfortable, but work was harder to come by and life was harder to afford. Here, she encountered a foe unlike any other she’d faced: competition of goods. Her pelts were of good quality, but Asta had no idea the value of a coin when compared to what she was trying to sell. Either she would get ripped off and not make enough for the day, or nobody would buy from her when there was a perfectly good shop or stall run by a Mura right down the street. She could hunt for her own food, but she didn’t want to return to the life as simple as living in the woods – she came here to see what this life was like. Bathing somewhere other than just any river, interacting with people you’d never met, paying with currency for goods rather than just favors based on an honor system among tribespeople – these were all things she wanted to do for herself.
One day, in the markets while trying to sell her furs, another Ydra approached her. She learned that this gentleman was raised in the city and he’d never done anything like hunt or fight or survive beyond living from one payment to the next. Life wasn’t easy, but they managed to get by… However, because of this, he didn’t know a thing about traveling or getting your hands dirty – he offered to pay what little he had for a safe, trustworthy escort from here to another city approximately two days away. He couldn’t afford transport that he was willing to lose in an attack and could truly only pay for this trip. It was meager, but… Asta was ready to move on and this new work seemed rather promising. She had to hunt and feed him, so it was still like hunting to get paid, but she also got the opportunity to travel and see more, get a new place to look at. It was also a new line of work – one of many moves she would make in the coming years.
In the next city, there was a very popular sport and it was said that, if you were good, you could profit fairly well from it. Here, Asta became a fighter. She lived her life for two years on steady pay raked in from the seats filled by the amateur league and the bets placed. It was meager, but it was always on time and always dependable. They gave her a place to sleep and saw to her injuries after each fight. Not to mention, they were hardly dangerous. Each duel was either a hand-to-hand combat (which was almost more of a gimmick to draw in viewers who liked brawling) or a match with blunted or practice weapons. She spent those two years only hunting for her own sport and to improve her own life – furs for clothes and comfortable bedding and to keep her skills sharp. The meat was free if she cooked it and caught it herself, so she kept some traps set in the woods beyond town which she could check when needed. Honestly? Life was good once more. She felt secure here and in the ring, nobody cared if you were Ydra or Mura.
The boy she’d escorted here came to see her often and it was here that Asta experienced her first heartbreak. She found herself excited to see him every couple of days, sometimes multiple days in a row, but eventually he stopped coming to watch her participate. Eventually he explained that at first it was very exciting, but he was starting to grow uneasy about the fact that she was performing so well and liked it so much. To him it seemed almost brutish and, clearly, he was uncomfortable dealing with a female who would likely be able to beat him with no contest in a fight. It did not dawn on her until now that he hadn’t been raised an Ydra – he’d been raised like everybody else out here. The culture was different and he didn’t know it, but it was too late to learn. He turned his back on her. What would she need a mate for anyway? She was a hell of a fighter and within the week she was asking for more of a challenge. She did not want to become the frail girl he’d so desperately wanted – she wanted to be stronger, faster, smarter… So, that’s what the Ydra girl did.
The duel-master of the arena allowed her to advance in rank and she was shocked to see just what kind of pay-bump came with the fact that now it was dangerous. They didn’t fight to the death, but death was still possible due to accident or overzealous fighting. In fact, duels to the death were very rare and had to be specifically challenged or used as a method of punishing prisoners. However, the injuries could still be quite severe if you weren’t careful and the victor was decided by forfeit or a referee. Another year passed and she received a request for a death match… She hadn’t really been a fighter for so long, but when she asked the duel master about it, he said that she could refuse and there would be no repercussions. On the other hand, when he showed her the typical pay for a good death match, her eyes about fell out of her head. This could be enough that she’d be able to start saving for a real life in the city and maybe fight far less than she used to. He also noted that it would garner some fame and her typical pay for other battles would rise as well. She seemed to forget rather quickly that a death match didn’t mean hers was the only life on the line…
When those gates dropped, she saw one of her rival combatants at the other end of the arena. He had a shield and axe in his hands and armor similar to hers, but with more metal. She wasn’t allowed throwing weapons in the arena – they were seen as cheap escape tricks. No, this was a blades and shields only match, but she’d refused the shield offered to her.
Within ten minutes, she had her foot on his throat and her blade pointed directly at his face. She could remember that moment very distinctly… Even now it’s seared into her brain. The moment she thought she had claimed victory at the last moment, the crowd cheering excitedly for her win. No, the real moment was when she realized what they were chanting – kill… kill… kill… Her eyes went wide – how could she be so stupid? She hadn’t even thought about needing to pull her blade on an opponent. If she didn’t do this now, he would surely finish her by stabbing her in the back as she left… Or at the very least, she would lose her fame for being soft. She was backed into a figurative corner as his eyes pleaded for mercy. No, he challenged her, not the other way around. He knew this outcome was possible. This was his risk, not hers.
The applause was deafening… The most agonizing thing she’d ever heard as the people roared their approval, her blade wet with his crimson gold as she drew it from his heart, her final target for finishing him off. She was shaking and the next thing she remembers is waking up in her bunk, the duel master waiting patiently for her. He explained what happened and Asta lost control of her stomach onto the floor. It was promptly cleaned up – anything for the new, most famous duelist in the city. Was it like this for everybody? Yes, she remembers him explaining, and everybody gets over it too. The man who had challenged her was the victor in the previous two death matches, he’d gotten too high on his horse. Small cities rarely churned out true, lifelong champions. Asta spent a couple of months out of the ring, trying to recover.
On a trip to the woods, trying to clear her mind, the young woman discovered a Cobra Fox cub… Certainly there should have been a litter, where were the others? And the parents? It was then that she noticed it was walking with a limp from a bite mark. Now she could only wonder how it escaped and survived an attack. She decided to take it home – the Cobra Fox was a symbol of her people and to leave it here to die would bring only evil upon herself. She named it Myria. The beast was not easily trained, but far from hostile toward anybody who was not a danger. For the most part, Myria stayed home or joined Asta simply for travel and recreation. Quickly, the fox became her best friend, confidant, and the only thing that seemed trustworthy anymore.
One night, there was a knock at her door… They’d moved her to a private room, but she was running out of leave time. If she didn’t volunteer for a fight soon, she’d have to be on her way, people were still asking to see her next show. She answered the door to find none other than one of the town’s officials dressed in hooded robes and looking around in paranoia. Of course, she let him in. This was the decision that would change her life forever. He had seen her previous match and spent weeks getting up the courage to finally ask her to do one thing for him, for a hefty price. He wanted a man killed.
She told him to leave before she even listened to the rest of what he had to say, but he kept talking. Apparently, the man was an underground dealer for all sorts of back alley goods. He sold drugs, poisons, and was the main leader of a gang. The official had been doing his research and he was sure that this was the man who had been ruining the city from the inside out for years. The police refused to act on account they could not find the right evidence, but he knew… For a fact that it was the right man. Asta slept on it and a week later, when he came looking for an answer, she agreed… On the grounds that she got a chance to see for herself that he was right.
He was. And within the month, the man was found dead with absolutely no trace of a struggle or attack. Of course, Asta had used a combination of what little magic she knew to avoid being seen and made sure that any disturbances were cleaned up afterward. He only knew that he had been killed by the voice behind him, informing him that it was his time.
Word spread in secret that there was somebody in town who wanted revenge… The stories said that her family was killed by the black market kingpin of the town… Some said she was just a freedom fighter… The real truth? She needed to get paid and was afraid that stepping back into the ring would cause some idiot to get killed, and not a real criminal. No, she left the Arena shortly thereafter. She had a new line of work, it seemed, as her first client became something of a manager. He took requests from others, their reasoning for wanting somebody dead, and then passed them along to Asta, who decided whether they lived or died and collected the truth first. The jobs were usually quite petty – many were not assassinations. Some were just bounties, or telling the school yard bully to back off… It was very tame work, save for the rare, but very expensive killing. At first, it was mostly vigilantism, to be perfectly honest… But Asta didn’t realize how her soul was growing callous. Her work was getting larger-scale, she was moving across cities to complete higher paying work, her network expanded… She killed a man because he was having an affair, just as his wife had said… She inherited all of his money and that was that. The Ydra could kill these men and women now and just move on, so long as there was at least some motive behind it.
However, her fame in this underground world and her infamy in the real one is starting to grow uncomfortably large. Most of her work has not been connected, as she’s not killed many people, but she feels that if she continues, it will only become more dangerous. Of course, she still works… She still gets paid… Just, now it’s starting to feel dangerous. The sad part? Her soul isn’t what’s telling her stop, it’s her brain.
While usually nomadic, as Asta’s tribe was, the girl was sent to a master to hone such skills, as the high ranking families would often do. The man she was trained by was the one and same who had taught her own father and under his guidance she quickly grew to accept her place in society. However, she wanted more… She wanted to see beyond the woods – she wanted to see civilized people and their technology. Her wanderlust got the better of her before she left to return to her people. The plan was hatched and by the time she had graduated at only seventeen years old, she walked her own path. Difficult as it was to leave her people behind, she knew her father had many children after her and that one day, when she truly returned, they would see that she had a wealth of knowledge and experience to make them all the stronger.
She found herself, weeks later, in a small town, looking for work. It did not take her long to figure out that she stuck out more than previously imagined. Finally, she found a place where they would let her stay in exchange for her catches. The arrangement worked, though she slept in a barn pen, because she was rarely on the property for more than two nights in a week. Asta would bring whatever meat and pelt she caught and had not used to the family, and they would decide whether it was sufficient – often, it was. When it wasn’t, she would return to the woods until she knew she had enough. For a solid year, her life was thus.
It seemed like only a few days had passed since her arrival to the town, when in reality it had been nearly fourteen months. Of course, a soul like hers could not stay in the same place for long… While Asta desperately wanted to stay, something still felt wrong. The townspeople had been giving her dirty looks for weeks – more so than usual… Perhaps they thought she was getting too comfortable or overstaying her welcome. The final straw was the day she returned from a hunt and was confronted by a group of boys no older than sixteen. She could have easily dispatched at least a couple of them, and would have too had she not remembered in time that this was not her home and these people already did not trust her. They threw her pelts to the ground, shoved her back, threw as many slurs against her kind as she could… This was not entirely out of the ordinary – heckling was something she faced often. However, the fact that they touched her was new. Assaulting a Muran boy would only result in a very harsh punishment, especially in a small town this far into the boonies. They weren’t exactly “progressive” folks. Asta packed her small number of belongings and left, explaining how she felt no longer welcome in town and that she would be forever indebted for the shelter she was provided so long.
Deeper into the Muran territory, Asta found that people were more tolerant of her very existence, even if they avoided eye contact or discussion. It was slightly more comfortable, but work was harder to come by and life was harder to afford. Here, she encountered a foe unlike any other she’d faced: competition of goods. Her pelts were of good quality, but Asta had no idea the value of a coin when compared to what she was trying to sell. Either she would get ripped off and not make enough for the day, or nobody would buy from her when there was a perfectly good shop or stall run by a Mura right down the street. She could hunt for her own food, but she didn’t want to return to the life as simple as living in the woods – she came here to see what this life was like. Bathing somewhere other than just any river, interacting with people you’d never met, paying with currency for goods rather than just favors based on an honor system among tribespeople – these were all things she wanted to do for herself.
One day, in the markets while trying to sell her furs, another Ydra approached her. She learned that this gentleman was raised in the city and he’d never done anything like hunt or fight or survive beyond living from one payment to the next. Life wasn’t easy, but they managed to get by… However, because of this, he didn’t know a thing about traveling or getting your hands dirty – he offered to pay what little he had for a safe, trustworthy escort from here to another city approximately two days away. He couldn’t afford transport that he was willing to lose in an attack and could truly only pay for this trip. It was meager, but… Asta was ready to move on and this new work seemed rather promising. She had to hunt and feed him, so it was still like hunting to get paid, but she also got the opportunity to travel and see more, get a new place to look at. It was also a new line of work – one of many moves she would make in the coming years.
In the next city, there was a very popular sport and it was said that, if you were good, you could profit fairly well from it. Here, Asta became a fighter. She lived her life for two years on steady pay raked in from the seats filled by the amateur league and the bets placed. It was meager, but it was always on time and always dependable. They gave her a place to sleep and saw to her injuries after each fight. Not to mention, they were hardly dangerous. Each duel was either a hand-to-hand combat (which was almost more of a gimmick to draw in viewers who liked brawling) or a match with blunted or practice weapons. She spent those two years only hunting for her own sport and to improve her own life – furs for clothes and comfortable bedding and to keep her skills sharp. The meat was free if she cooked it and caught it herself, so she kept some traps set in the woods beyond town which she could check when needed. Honestly? Life was good once more. She felt secure here and in the ring, nobody cared if you were Ydra or Mura.
The boy she’d escorted here came to see her often and it was here that Asta experienced her first heartbreak. She found herself excited to see him every couple of days, sometimes multiple days in a row, but eventually he stopped coming to watch her participate. Eventually he explained that at first it was very exciting, but he was starting to grow uneasy about the fact that she was performing so well and liked it so much. To him it seemed almost brutish and, clearly, he was uncomfortable dealing with a female who would likely be able to beat him with no contest in a fight. It did not dawn on her until now that he hadn’t been raised an Ydra – he’d been raised like everybody else out here. The culture was different and he didn’t know it, but it was too late to learn. He turned his back on her. What would she need a mate for anyway? She was a hell of a fighter and within the week she was asking for more of a challenge. She did not want to become the frail girl he’d so desperately wanted – she wanted to be stronger, faster, smarter… So, that’s what the Ydra girl did.
The duel-master of the arena allowed her to advance in rank and she was shocked to see just what kind of pay-bump came with the fact that now it was dangerous. They didn’t fight to the death, but death was still possible due to accident or overzealous fighting. In fact, duels to the death were very rare and had to be specifically challenged or used as a method of punishing prisoners. However, the injuries could still be quite severe if you weren’t careful and the victor was decided by forfeit or a referee. Another year passed and she received a request for a death match… She hadn’t really been a fighter for so long, but when she asked the duel master about it, he said that she could refuse and there would be no repercussions. On the other hand, when he showed her the typical pay for a good death match, her eyes about fell out of her head. This could be enough that she’d be able to start saving for a real life in the city and maybe fight far less than she used to. He also noted that it would garner some fame and her typical pay for other battles would rise as well. She seemed to forget rather quickly that a death match didn’t mean hers was the only life on the line…
When those gates dropped, she saw one of her rival combatants at the other end of the arena. He had a shield and axe in his hands and armor similar to hers, but with more metal. She wasn’t allowed throwing weapons in the arena – they were seen as cheap escape tricks. No, this was a blades and shields only match, but she’d refused the shield offered to her.
Within ten minutes, she had her foot on his throat and her blade pointed directly at his face. She could remember that moment very distinctly… Even now it’s seared into her brain. The moment she thought she had claimed victory at the last moment, the crowd cheering excitedly for her win. No, the real moment was when she realized what they were chanting – kill… kill… kill… Her eyes went wide – how could she be so stupid? She hadn’t even thought about needing to pull her blade on an opponent. If she didn’t do this now, he would surely finish her by stabbing her in the back as she left… Or at the very least, she would lose her fame for being soft. She was backed into a figurative corner as his eyes pleaded for mercy. No, he challenged her, not the other way around. He knew this outcome was possible. This was his risk, not hers.
The applause was deafening… The most agonizing thing she’d ever heard as the people roared their approval, her blade wet with his crimson gold as she drew it from his heart, her final target for finishing him off. She was shaking and the next thing she remembers is waking up in her bunk, the duel master waiting patiently for her. He explained what happened and Asta lost control of her stomach onto the floor. It was promptly cleaned up – anything for the new, most famous duelist in the city. Was it like this for everybody? Yes, she remembers him explaining, and everybody gets over it too. The man who had challenged her was the victor in the previous two death matches, he’d gotten too high on his horse. Small cities rarely churned out true, lifelong champions. Asta spent a couple of months out of the ring, trying to recover.
On a trip to the woods, trying to clear her mind, the young woman discovered a Cobra Fox cub… Certainly there should have been a litter, where were the others? And the parents? It was then that she noticed it was walking with a limp from a bite mark. Now she could only wonder how it escaped and survived an attack. She decided to take it home – the Cobra Fox was a symbol of her people and to leave it here to die would bring only evil upon herself. She named it Myria. The beast was not easily trained, but far from hostile toward anybody who was not a danger. For the most part, Myria stayed home or joined Asta simply for travel and recreation. Quickly, the fox became her best friend, confidant, and the only thing that seemed trustworthy anymore.
One night, there was a knock at her door… They’d moved her to a private room, but she was running out of leave time. If she didn’t volunteer for a fight soon, she’d have to be on her way, people were still asking to see her next show. She answered the door to find none other than one of the town’s officials dressed in hooded robes and looking around in paranoia. Of course, she let him in. This was the decision that would change her life forever. He had seen her previous match and spent weeks getting up the courage to finally ask her to do one thing for him, for a hefty price. He wanted a man killed.
She told him to leave before she even listened to the rest of what he had to say, but he kept talking. Apparently, the man was an underground dealer for all sorts of back alley goods. He sold drugs, poisons, and was the main leader of a gang. The official had been doing his research and he was sure that this was the man who had been ruining the city from the inside out for years. The police refused to act on account they could not find the right evidence, but he knew… For a fact that it was the right man. Asta slept on it and a week later, when he came looking for an answer, she agreed… On the grounds that she got a chance to see for herself that he was right.
He was. And within the month, the man was found dead with absolutely no trace of a struggle or attack. Of course, Asta had used a combination of what little magic she knew to avoid being seen and made sure that any disturbances were cleaned up afterward. He only knew that he had been killed by the voice behind him, informing him that it was his time.
Word spread in secret that there was somebody in town who wanted revenge… The stories said that her family was killed by the black market kingpin of the town… Some said she was just a freedom fighter… The real truth? She needed to get paid and was afraid that stepping back into the ring would cause some idiot to get killed, and not a real criminal. No, she left the Arena shortly thereafter. She had a new line of work, it seemed, as her first client became something of a manager. He took requests from others, their reasoning for wanting somebody dead, and then passed them along to Asta, who decided whether they lived or died and collected the truth first. The jobs were usually quite petty – many were not assassinations. Some were just bounties, or telling the school yard bully to back off… It was very tame work, save for the rare, but very expensive killing. At first, it was mostly vigilantism, to be perfectly honest… But Asta didn’t realize how her soul was growing callous. Her work was getting larger-scale, she was moving across cities to complete higher paying work, her network expanded… She killed a man because he was having an affair, just as his wife had said… She inherited all of his money and that was that. The Ydra could kill these men and women now and just move on, so long as there was at least some motive behind it.
However, her fame in this underground world and her infamy in the real one is starting to grow uncomfortably large. Most of her work has not been connected, as she’s not killed many people, but she feels that if she continues, it will only become more dangerous. Of course, she still works… She still gets paid… Just, now it’s starting to feel dangerous. The sad part? Her soul isn’t what’s telling her stop, it’s her brain.
Additional info: You touch her Cobra Fox, you die. Also, she’s a very talented dancer (with or without a blade, they are very similar) – it was a skill valued among her tribe and her mentor as one that aides not only swordsmanship, but self-awareness.
