"UN AUTRE village dans vos yeux,
Entre une étendue de nuages,
Là, à travers un ciel peint,
Sentez un battement de cœur.
C'est dans tes bottes,
C'est dans ta marche,
C'est dans les rochers.
Vers les collines,
Vers les portes,
Vers les docks nuageux.
Vous les voyez naviguer?
Les bateaux du ciel?
Tu les vois échouer?
Et tomber comme ils volent?"
Syfa passait une bonne journée. Elle s'est percutée entre ses demi-poèmes chuchotés et a continué une marche régulière comme le son agréable de ses sabots s'accrochant sur les rochers ponctuait chaque mouvement qu'elle faisait. Quelle merveilleuse compagnie cette fois-ci! Tellement variée et si jolie. Elle ne pouvait s'empêcher de regarder beaucoup d'entre eux, quand ils ne regardaient pas et parfois quand ils étaient, attraper un moment de verrouillage des yeux avant de clignoter un sourire. La noble femme était sa préférée. Elle avait toujours l'air si gracieuse quand elle marchait, et pittoresque dans sa tenue - mais le saint avait aussi un certain charme à son sujet, les prières étaient aussi belles que la poésie à part entière, et puis Brann avait un bon regard sur lui, il était un vrai aventurier, un esprit de famille, mais Cassian avait cette belle tonalité de voix, l'orc avait ce muscle et un bon goût d'alcool-
Tous les membres du groupe étaient plutôt bons, a-t-elle conclu.
Elle regarda le reste de la suite s'accrocher à leurs paquets, et elle fut heureuse pendant un moment, son équipement en bois pesait beaucoup moins, et étant la personne temporaire et nomade qu'elle était portée très peu sur elle de toute façon. Bien que les gens qui marchaient la passaient parfois avec les rouleaux de corde et les casseroles et les casseroles en métal, elle se demandait parfois s'ils la voyaient comme naïve ou sous-préparée. Elle a perdu le printemps dans son pas en marchant, transformant quelque chose en un piège comme elle l'a fait.
Elle a ouvert sa fiole, prenant une gorgée d'eau qui avait si peu goûté au ruisseau qu'ils avaient passé il y a un jour. Elle a pensé aux arbres et aux fleurs et à tous les murmures que la forêt faisait quand ils avaient marché à travers. En montant le long de la route rocheuse, ses talons une source - elle rebondit le long vers Brann, marchant jusqu'à ce qu'elle soit en face de lui, puis se retournant, marchant en arrière un moment pendant qu'elle lui tendait sans parole sa fiole dans quelque chose d'un tour avant de partir vers le front, l'avant. Une meilleure vue lui a été promise là-bas.
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.