Mawiyah s'enfuit doucement sous la lame d'un orque, son scimier envoyant un autre arc de sang noir s'éclaboussant à travers le sol mouillé, son écharpe de tête se retira dans la lutte pour montrer les tatouages qui marquaient son visage. Ses dents grinçaient en furie alors qu'elle était attrapée par un autre orc, la créature beaucoup plus forte la ramenant près d'elle avec un poignard qui lui poussait le fer brut raclant son armure lamellaire; le cuir l'attrape comme il glissait entre deux des plaques d'acier stratifiées. Le coup écœurant ses côtes alors qu'elle plongeait la tête vers l'avant le bord en acier de son casque brisant le nez déformé méchant de l'Orc son sang s'éclaboussant sur son visage et son corps ; son scimier tombant sur le sol boueux alors qu'elle poussait la créature vers le bas. Escaladant sur le dessus de l'orc quand il tomba à plat sur son visage pressant ses genoux dans ses épaules alors qu'elle pressait sur le dos de la tête des bêtes en difficulté; la forçant dans la terre molle et boueuse. Sa lutte s'arrêtait lentement alors qu'elle perdait de l'oxygène, s'écroulant à ses pieds alors qu'elle s'enfilait le scimitar, tandis que les orques restantes s'enfuiraient dans l'obscurité.
Mawiyah courut rapidement vers un homme qui saignait de son intestin toussant du sang, l'un de Darcyn par le regard de lui gémissant alors qu'elle s'agenouillait pour vérifier sa blessure; coupant sa chemise ouverte avec son couteau. La blessure était une grosse entaille profonde tout au long d'une blessure mortelle pour certains, alors qu'elle regardait l'homme mourant Mawiyah lui offrit du vin de sa peau qu'il accepta avec empressement. Alors qu'il a fini de boire de la peau et l'a remis à la femme Haradrim, l'homme a regardé dans ses yeux un temps rare était sa race ne semble pas importe.
Mawiyah a examiné la blessure alors qu'elle gémissait à nouveau, parlant d'une voix fatiguée regardant autour de lui, alors que la panique de la bataille restait.
"Bad chemin pour aller, avez-vous eu assez?"
L'homme regarda la femme avec une peur évidente dans ses yeux tendus, des larmes striant son visage alors qu'il hurlait le visage dans la douleur de la chair déchirée et les organes perforés. Mawiyah a tenu son couteau bas par sa cuisse, en bas sur un genou le poussant doucement et soudainement entre sa quatrième et cinquième côte sur le côté gauche de sa poitrine coupant le cœur et mettant et fin à sa souffrance. Essuyant sa lame propre sur le pantalon des hommes morts, fermant ses paupières avec deux doigts alors qu'elle se levait en portant le couteau; se tournant pour voir Darcyn déjà en train d'endurer quelqu'un d'autre. Ses pieds s'écrasent dans la boue et le sang alors que la pluie fourmille contre l'acier de sa barre, visant à marcher entre Darcyn et Agarwaen
Name:Mawiyah Firyal
Age, Gender, Race: 29, Female, Haradrim
Appearance:
Mawiyah is a tall and lean woman with swarthy sun tanned skin and curly black hair cut just below her jaw, with a long black line tattooed across her nose just beneath her eyes; along with three black dots on her chin. Her exact height six foot one inch weighing a hundred and seventy five pounds in excellent shape from training and surviving the harsh desert lands south of Gondor.

Equipment:
-Steel brass colored lamellar armor
-Horned brazen helm
-Three and a half foot scimitar
-Bamboo composite bow
-Bamboo arrows, iron heads (x20)
-Steel curved hunting knife
-Firestarter
Personality: Mawiyah is clever and quick of mind with no shortage of low cunning to call upon, not entirely trusting of Gondorians due to the two cultures constantly clashing. Though her travels and time around the men of the west has tempered her dislike, knowing she could end up dead if she gave any reason a thirst for the world and no direction also keeping her in check to see as much of it as she can.
Story:Being that Mawiyah is quite alone and without company she is looking for any that will talk with her, using her sharp tongue and the information she has about the dark powers arising on rare occasion seriously. More often twisting it into a fable of sorts to entertain drunks while she swipes there valuables, and learns all she can about the customs and expectations of the other cultures.
Biography:Mawiyah was born in a Haradrim port city bustling with trade and baked by the powerful desert heat, the city drawing most of its wealth off of fishing and trade of spices with neighboring cities and peoples. She was raised by an average family her mother was a spice trader and her father a guard for the Lord whom ruled the city, due to the harsh nature of the Harad Mawiyah's father taught her skills necessary to survive; starting with hunting and tracking along with the use of a sword. When she became old enough Mawiyah joined the city guard like her father before her, the remote location of the city along with the vastness of the desert sparing her from any incredible battles or sieges. She dealt with pickpockets, assaults, theft and the like eventually becoming a dirty guard bored with the repetitive life and frustrated by the Lord living like a king while everyone else footed the expense. So she took bribes and looked the other way on occasion, earning herself a fairly steady pay raise also collecting from some merchants to take extra care of their stall's. A dark man cloaked entirely in black arrived one day, a poor color in the deadly heat as any could tell you, but he never removed the cloak and had an air of death and cold around his very body; something very off putting which frightened Mawiyah. Then not even three weeks past a strange man cloaked in blue was preaching to a huddled group in the dark of a tavern warning them of a great evil arising which would seek to use their people's strength, he was promptly arrested on the orders of the Lord and thrown into a cell.
Mawiyah was set to guard the cell along with others which rotated day and night in teams of two, the formerly blue cloaked man still talking with her when she cared to listen, his ramblings sounding crazed to her until mention of the black rider arose. He begged her to free him from the cell, and she eventually did one night when the palace slept she shanked the other man on duty with her convinced of the old mans stories. Using the cover of night to sneak the man from the Lord's palace an uproar spreading quickly just as they passed through the lower port gate, where he split off from Mawiyah giving her a small silver ring with a ruby stone set in the center. It always seemed to give her comfort since the moment she touched it, granting a feeling of warmth at night and soft cold during the heat of the day, obviously unable to return to her home city Mawiyah wandered north. Finding the forests nearer to Gondor and the warlike Easternling's whom occupied them to be her kind of people, getting work as a private sellsword for some time protecting wealthy merchants and other such nobles. Saving enough coin to venture into the west, running into a caravan on the way to Minas Tirith the supposed city of several dozen tiers made of all white stones in the side of a mountain. Something she yearned to see.