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Saffria
Saffria Goshawk
| Name | Saffria |
|---|---|
| Status | Deleted |
| Occupation | Depends who's asking...? |
| Age | Late teens. |
| Race | Man |
|---|---|
| Residence | None known, probably homeless. She is often found in Bree or Chetwood though. |
| Kinship |
| Outward Appearance |
Saffria Goshawk is ever seen with a bird after which she took her name - a male goshawk which she fondly calls Goodwing. Other than her favoured bird it is rare that she would seek affection from any other being, prefering her own company and that of the beloved creature.
One could tell just by looking at her that she has strong Rohiric roots, her hair being bright red and short in length - jaggedly cut in a careless manner as though she takes little pride in her appearance; her eyes being a deep shade of turquoise, her skin being pale as ivory and her voice being low, rich, smooth and thick with the accent of that land.
She favours dark clothes in colours of black, brown or imperial purple. Her clothing is made of fine material such as velvet, leather or fur but it is all worn with time and use and it would be easy to assume that she has had little care for them over the years. In fact her only possessions of real value are a thick silver, twisted torc with the head of a goshawk on either boss which she wears tightly around her neck and her small skinning knife and sword, both of which have once again seen a great deal of use but are clearly kept in better condition than her clothing. A few weighty pouches attached to her belt keep her few possessions safe.
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Background
It was a dark night, a night blacker than the deepest shade of black. Saffria could barely make out her own hand in front of her face. Thick fog was settled on the ground around her, muffling the sounds of her already silent footsteps. Slowly, she crept forwards moving with total stealth as she made her way towards the single point of light which broke through the darkness around her. An orange flame in the distance.
Moving quicker now, she stalked through the night towards the point of light, her deep turquise eyes never moving from that single point, her assurity of foot almost outstanding in the darkness which envoloped her. Almost there! Her long, slender, bony fingers tightened around her skinning knife as she ever walked onwards and onwards, confidence in her every tiny movement.
She made it! A small clearing made visible by the glittering of a small campfire which centred it. A tall man stood alert by the campfire, gazing down into it with tears dripping from his eyes. He seemed to be waiting but he remained oblivious to Saffria who hid herself behind him, her cold gaze turning from the fire to him. With utmost silence she gradually raised the knife up, drawing it back over her shoulder before sending it flying forwards with a single, powerful movement. The man before her crumpled to the ground with a crash, not making a sound as his life vanished in a heartbeat.
A single cruel smile lit up her pale features as she strode out to the fire, plucking the knife from the corpse and wiping the blood on it carelessly. She sheathed the blade causing a hollow sound in the still night air. Casually, she kicked the body over so that its lifeless form faced up towards her causing a faint glimmer of something resembling remorse to cross her features but then it froze to stone and she kicked it carelessly once more. She turned, walking off into the night as she sent a single, offhand coment back to the lifeless body:
"Farewell....Father..."
| Friends | None other than Goodwing... |
|---|---|
| Relatives | Kierion |
| Rivals/Enemies | Far too many people... |
| Loves | Goodwing her goshawk, herself and solitude. |
|---|---|
| Hates | Most things... |
| Motivation | To either die or to be happy... |
| Quotes | "Hush weakling...someone with a worthy opinion is speaking!" |
