"...Whelp. Guess the first thing to do is check the door, then." Aya took a step forward on her soft, padded boots, examining the workmanship of the barrier keeping the group from their next destination. Feather-light touches caressed the posts like a lover's curves, feeling anything out of the ordinary, anything that shifted in a way it shouldn't.<br/><br/>The vastly multitalented elf had learned how to find traps back in her... rough days. When she ran with the Iron Vipers. They'd been a group of elven refugees, not unlike Ayariel herself, having fled their burned-down home and been forced to integrate with the humans who'd raped their homeland. They'd been filled with anger, a rage that a certain little blue-haired girl understood all too well. They'd terrorized the slums, leaving their mark on the city, stealing, setting buildings alight... even killing.<br/><br/>It had been then that Aya had first learned to fight, using "ancient" elven weapons to honor her heritage, like the exotic bladevines that she used now. She'd learned to steal, to hide, to get places she didn't belong.<br/><br/>Even now, those skills came in handy. But it didn't stop her from regretting the decisions she'd made, and the things she'd lost as a result.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>