Voyez-vous la route, dit-elle!
Tu vois la fin?
Voyez-vous notre destination,
Dans le virage?
Qu'en est - il du pavage et des lits promis?
Tu les vois aussi?
Les corbeaux dans leur meurtre,
Avec des pattes sur un signal?
On épelerait le malheur,
Une paire dans l'autre sens,
Trois vous garderont en bonne santé,
Et quatre, avec la richesse, ont l'emprise,
Cinq amèneront une maladie,
Pour te pourrir à l'intérieur,
Et six cris de meurtre sanglant,
Dans tous leurs cris bruyants.
C'est sa réponse rimante à Ninty. Elle n'a pas vraiment répondu à sa question, qui dans son propre esprit était mignon, elle a pensé que c'était une meilleure réponse que de simplement lui dire "non" et qu'elle était juste un peu de fraisage derrière Timothy et d'essayer son darndest pour ne pas être laissé dans sa poussière. Le sourire Brann l'avait flashée dans ce moment rapide encore avait son rayonnage. Elle marchait avec un rebond facile dans ses sabots, alors même que le marchand elfique devant eux continuait à dessiner la colère du parti. Syfa se croyait plutôt indulgente avec des gens comme ça, surtout dans sa position, conduire un groupe d'aventuriers endurcis ne serait pas sans stress. Peut-être qu'il avait en fait oublié où ils étaient censés aller, elle a réfléchi pendant un moment. Mais ce n'était pas comme si elle pouvait le rattraper et lui demander. Du moins, pas sans se faire envoler en courant vers lui, et elle était heureuse à son rythme de rebond constant.
Elle regarda un peu vers le ciel, la vue qui l'attendait l'ennuyait quand elle se rendit compte que c'était beaucoup la même chose. Elle espionna les corbeaux dans leurs arbres, les comptant pour voir quels présages ils étaient porteurs, car, quand elle était satisfaite, elle regardait vers le haut et partageait la même vue du bleu que Samuel avait apprécié. Un romantique naturel, dans tous les sens du mot. Elle a décidé que ce n'était pas vraiment son lot dans ce groupe pour s'inquiéter de l'endroit où ils allaient, ou pourquoi ils ne l'avaient pas encore atteint. Dans sa précédente compagnie mercenaire, elle n'avait qu'à s'inquiéter du flux de sa poésie, du son de ses chansons et du punch de ses blagues. Elle n'a vu aucune raison de changer la formule gagnante.
S'arrêtant pour donner un paresseux étirement, elle remarqua que Brann lui avait rattrapé et Ninty, et lui fit un sourire. Elle voulait juste se froisser les cheveux, mais a eu assez de volonté pour s'abstenir de l'embarrasser (ou elle-même) pour peu de raison qu'un caprice. "J'aime les fous, personnellement. Toutes les petites cloches qu'ils portent sont juste chéries, n'est-ce pas?" Son sourire était infectieux, et elle s'efforçait évidemment de l'étendre à l'elfe curmudgeon et au mot d'ordre.
Name:
Syfa Sasiferae
Title:
Skald - A skald inspires their allies, and often presses forward to fight enemies in melee. Outside of combat, they're useful as a healer and scholar, less durable than a warrior, but more versatile.
Gender:
Female
Age:
24
Personality:
Syfa was friendly. Overly so, she practically glowed when she wanted to. Charismatic, strong and charming, Syfa was an impulsive being, who lived in the moment. She held little stock in politics and was the living embodiment of the word 'carefree', this brought on its own problems, sometimes making her much more naive or foolish in action than she would understand.
Syfa was loyal and friendly, but definitely capable of holdiog a grudge. She wasn't not one to take being slighted lightly, and when she put her mind to something, she'd put everything into it, half-measures were below her. As such, she's proud of her work and the way she does it, and any slight against her handiwork is one against her. She was more than a little bit promiscuous. Life is short, doubly so for adventurers, so she figured she'd get in her living while she's alive. She finds pleasant company a hot commodity, and will happily spend her time with interesting (and beautiful) people. This attitude often lands her in 'bad' crowds.
"Life is worth as much as the company you keep."
Abilities:
Healing Words - Her poetry can weave wounds back together, stitching them shut. This requires intense concentration (though it can be done in combat if the situation rises), and causes her to fatigue much faster. This won't bring someone back from death's door.
Empowering Song - With the right notes and words behind her, she can create a noise that transforms into a melodious war-cry, inspiring courage and bravery.
Dirge - With a shrill scream (on her flute or otherwise), Syfa can summon up discordant noise to disorient and distract enemies, though sound is sound, and can just as easily affect her friends.
Glamour/Glibness - Syfa can make herself 'glow', making her look just that little bit more fetching or believable. She abuses this relentlessly.
Skills:
Performance - This covers her poetry, singing, storytelling, instrument playing as well as being able to do well in front of crowds.
Lore - While she is poor on the subject of history and politics, she knows her fair share of mythos and stories, being an avid book reader of all different types.
Coercion/Lying - Syfa was gifted with a silver tongue, and lies come to her easily, almost as easily as charming.
Gathering - While she can't really cook, she's a woodland wanderer, and can find food without harming the inhabitants of the forest.
Botany - She has a vast knowledge on flora, knowing which different plants are good for tinctures, and which are good for looking pretty (which she has very strong opinions on).
Wood-Carving - Everyone needs a hobby.
Gear:
Short-Spear - Her spear was made purely out of Ironwood, having gotten all of her gear from earthly sources, it offered reach, but wasn't unwieldy, so she could use it with her shield.
Shield - Her shield was made purely out of Ironwood, and carried a a carved in symbol of two horns, her 'banner'.
Leaf-Mail - Her armour was heavier than it looked, made out of the leaves of Ironwood trees. They were unlikely to stop an arrow, but might just block a blade or a wayward claw.
Elegant Clothes - Bought for her by her merchant company (when they asked her to attend a matter of some formality), she keeps this expensive dress safe, though it seldom sees the light of day.
Flute - This meticulously carved thing was her most prized possession, hand-made. When she was resting at camp, she might still be working on it, scratching in new patterns onto the surface.
Bio:
A grove-dancer, Syfa's only real duty was to abide by the laws of the forest, enjoy herself and search for a new grove when the revel in the current one had ended. She was raised as a performer, as her people often were, though she had an uncanny knack for it that made her stand out in the winding forests she called home. Though, when the flames of the Great War licked at the borders of her home, even the forests were not spared the wrath. Fires struck within her lands as she watched the spirits of the bark burn, in a panic, she fled, splitting from her people and finding herself hopelessly alone with nothing but starlight and the bitter taste of ash to keep her company. She remembered her duty and searched. She was to find the site of the next revel, and the road was long and winding yet.
She met travellers, kindred-spirits, on the road; people searching for their new home, who needed something to smile at. Syfa provided song and story (and company to those who needed it). It didn't take long for her to realize that the road was her home, and those who would travel it her guests to host for. A merchant company thought her a perfect mascot and hired her along as a camp-follower for their caravans. She was a hit. She was taught the basics on how to fight, and told new stories, new poems, new myths that had seldom shown their faces in the depths of the forest she had lived in.
But people always part, and with a sigh and a smile, she bid the Silver Sales company behind, her only mark made in the mercenaries smiles and memories (as well as a scratched in pair of horns in the side of a wagon). Syfa found herself on the road again, ready to enjoy new company.