Antediluvixen — Roleplayer Guild

Firuzeh was busy sorting out the nightmarish mess that was the ship's medical system when the intercom disrupted her concentration. Grumbling, she made to shut it off, but stopped as the words crackling through it filtered into her brain. Get our asses to the bridge,
 huh? She thought, eyeing it tiredly. She had better things to do, frankly, and the last thing she needed in between trying to sort out the mess of the crew's medical and dietary needs was some new problem to handle. With a resigned huff, she began jogging towards the bridge, still grumbling the whole way. 

She entered the bridge ready to grumble at whoever had summoned the entire crew - but stopped as she saw the taciturn faces all around, and instead remained silent, standing a little ways back to avoid being too conspicuous. However, she perked up as the Drell, who she had yet to meet properly, mentioned a cybernetic specialist being required. She rolled her eyes slightly, wishing he'd come straight to her - she couldn't work medical miracles, but while the others wouldn't come cheap, she was right in front of him! She might not have a fortune lying around to buy all the prosthetics required - but at the very least, she had some friends in the industry who could very likely give her a discount for something this urgent. 

Patiently, she waited for him to finish speaking, before walking back into a better field of view. Frowning at him, she leveled a finger accusatorily, "I understand I'm new here - but I can't fathom why you never came to speak to me about this. Neurological repair and/or replacement is my specialty! I couldn't have performed a miracle, but did it occur to you that I might have been able to help? Even with the cost - prosthetics are expensive, but I have connections in the industry that could make them significantly less impoverishing for you!" She sighed, pulling herself back under control. "Look, I'm new, I'm sorry - and I'll do anything you need me to to help, and for what it's worth it seems like a solid plan. But for heaven's sake!" She sighed again, "Can you put me in touch with these doctors so I can help on that front? I'm no seasoned mercenary, so I doubt I'll be much help in the actual tactics of the thing, but if nothing else let me help with that?"

Name: Mirren Sand
Age: 24
Affiliation: Gold and silver, silver and gold
Appearance: Mirren is both beautiful and terrible, standing at a solid five feet seven inches, with a well muscled physique - while still clearly that of a woman. She has clearly never wanted for food - her body is well rounded and healthy, with clearly visible abs and muscle in her limbs - she does not however comport herself strictly enough to eliminate any feminine curve, even if it is slighter than the ideal docile woman. Her skin is smooth and of an olive hue, showing the product of years under the Dornish sun; however, it is marred by scarring in many places - most notably an ugly looking cut on her neck narrowly passing by her jugular - she survived, but barely, and her gear now includes a chain coif of the highest quality to prevent a repeat event. She has piercing violet eyes - nearly identical to those of her mother, and wavy dark hair that usually stays tied up but is occasionally let down to hang around her shoulders.



Profession: Bodyguard and consort. 
Equipment:
Heavy Lamellar Armor, Helmet, and Shield (As seen in appearance section): What it looks like on the tin, a heavy duty set of sturdy lamellar armor consisting of tough layered steel plates riveted to each other and to a sturdy backing of hardened leather - essentially forming a cuirass, albeit far cheaper and easier to create. The armor is incredibly durable, having saved her hide on more than one occasion from axe, sword, and mace blows that surely would’ve been her undoing otherwise. The armor is worn over mail and a padded gambeson. 

Recurve Bow: A lethal weapon, with a draw weight at a grueling 130 pounds, fully capable of impaling a man with a cruelly barbed tip from a great distance.

Straight Shamshir: A long sword, slightly curved and about three and a half feet long, with a wicked keen edge and a tip fully capable of impaling a man or laying him open from end to end.

Rondel Dagger: A weapon of last resort for armored fighting, when grappling with a knight, a quick thrust through his visor with the dagger is a surefire way of spilling his blue blood.

Skills: Mirren is an excellent swordswoman, having trained to use the sword since she was young, as well as being a half decent markswoman - though average overall. She has solid speaking skills and is adept at haggling with merchants, a byproduct of her upbringing in Sunspear. In addition, in her years as a bodyguard and consort for a nobleman, she has learned of many of the intricacies and finer points of the real dirty work of politics - the making and breaking of alliances and the subtle knife in the back while shaking a hand. In her time as a consort, she has picked up the intimacies of the bedroom, and how to seduce a man, be it for her own pleasure or to tease the secrets he may hide. 

Biography:
Born the bastard child of a Lyseni bedslave and the minor noble captain of the guard of Sunspear. Beginning life as a swaddled baby presented to a chagrined captain, her father held no fondness for the feminine institutions of much of the world, and Mirren has held a blade in her hand since the day she could walk. Trained in swordplay, archery, and the use of a spear for her whole life, her father harshly forbade anything that was not conducive to being a fighter. She was never taught to sew a dress, nor has she worn one; never learned to curtsey or to sip tea; nor any other practices the people of Westeros would expect of a lady of relatively respectable station. 

This did not mean, however, that there was no time for anything but swordplay, and she would entertain herself with books of battles of old, the tactics and strategies of great conquerers, and more closely - the history of the attempts at subjugation of Dorne by the Targaryens, how their dragons were held at bay and great armies pushed from the peninsula. Her father not only permitted, but encouraged this. A soldier - for that was what he intended her to be - must know more than how to kill their enemy, but how to organize and administer a force, to command troops, to spot the weaknesses in a foe and exploit them. While she never recieved formal instruction from others, she nonetheless scoured the libraries she was permitted entry to in her pursuit of knowledge. However, she just as frequently immersed herself in other books - some careless Maester having left a book in the wrong shelf that caught her eye, or the nonmilitary histories and writings of the people of Dorne and Lys, as well as other less… scholastic tomes.

Her life continued as such until her eighteenth birthday - by which time she was an adept swordswoman and acceptable archer, having always favored the former over the latter. She could compete with most men in contests of strength, and easily best them in feats of arms. However, her father was not nearly as dead as either of them had expected, and in fact hale and hearty even at 45 years old. So, instead of taking over his position - which despite initial objections she had proven herself capable of, she cast the net out, seeking employment as a sellsword, bodyguard, or anything else.

Eventually, a bastard of a minor noble house, surprisingly wealthy for his station, threw her an offer she could hardly refuse. Heavy sacks of gold and excellent accomodations in exchange for accompanying him on his travels as his bodyguard and consort. While initially she balked at the latter part, she grew to accept it and eagerly signed the contract, joining the young noble on exploits throughout the Free Cities of Essos, defending him against many attempted assassinations as the young man wove his way through the intricacies of noble intrigue, seeking to establish himself and secure even more gold. Eventually, however, after five years of mayhem in Essos, she came across the noble’s body rigid on his bed, a cask of wine and half filled glass offering the only explanation for his death. No fool, she immediately booked passage back to Westeros, bringing what little of his wealth with her that she could - enough to live rather comfortably for some time. 

But she wanted more. All men and women want more, and it was this thirst for more wealth and power that drove her to King’s Landing. She herself had little interest in attaining a prominent position - too many eyes on figures of power, too many enemies seeking their demise. But a right hand, a bodyguard, the force behind the individual - that carried plenty of power and wealth itself, more than enough for her tastes. 

Notes: She speaks with a harsh rasp to her voice from damage to her vocal cords, as well as a strong Dornish accent. 
A decidedly irreverent woman, she holds little but contempt and disparagement for the Faith of the Seven and its more devoted adherents - though she is careful to hide her true feelings if present company is capable of defeating her.

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