Kasah - Description

Imposing in stature and potent in form, Kasah kept an air about her befitting a huntress of the sands. Born and shaped by the wild, unforgiving wastes, their will was manifest in the looming lioness that had become her: sunkissed in ways any good child of Azeyma was, ears frayed, face nicked by dotting scars joining that traditional, tribal tiger-stripe markings at her cheeks and brow - bleedingmarks of trials and lessons societal and survivalist. Features weathered despite her youth, beautified by nothing more than the faintest of accentuation: a rimming 'round the eyes of something smoky and kohl-like, practical more than pretentious. Gaze heavy and aurulent as the coin of the realm, the left so ever slightly sullied by hints of ember-orange, a testament to intensity smouldering within. Her hair - falling somewhere between the realms of sombre coal and sable - fell about herself to nearly shoulder level in a banged bob, edges ragged and uneven, angled ever-so-slighty; the work of a blade over any finer instrument.

Clean-limbed, defined by a subtle musculature born of function over form, her right arm was heavily tattooed - a masterwork sleeve of menhdi-styled swirls and shapes; sinuous, sinister cavortings of magic-writ apostasy woven across her shoulder. At the top of her arm they began: symbols and markers writ with an esoteric weight to them, pausing in a break by the middle of her upper arm with a single phrase, easily readable: a single exultation of Her on high: We hunt in Her name. Onward, the symbols twist and wind on - magical in origin and meaning, doubtlessly, yet tainted by a voidal mystique down to her hands, calloused things by way of life's necessities and bloodied deeds -- and the leather-bound hilt of a great, stonewrought blade.

As harsh and scouring as her homeland, the everpresent wide-eyed glower and dour scowl 'pon her lips spoke volumes of her persona, but she was hardly a creature of constant vitriol and angst. Wayward, perhaps? Maladapted, in truth - the niceties of civil politesse something long lost to the sandcrawler some ages ago - if they were ever there, at all. Civilisation was however quite the beast, and a sentiment long applied through years in the east held relevance, still.

Adapt, or die.