<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/war%20weary/war_weary___j___7_by_mjranum_stock-d5c7ewl.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">NGIDI ASHIA (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=953886)</span></strong></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>Base Job:</strong> Deckhand</span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>Class:</strong> Samurai 6 (<em>Sword Saint</em>)</span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>Traits:</strong> Auspicious Tattoo, <em>Free Companion Hopeful</em>, Outlander (Exile); <strong>Drawback:</strong> Pride</span><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">BACKSTORY</div><div class="spoiler_body">   Despite the summer heat, the throne room of the Prince of Dar Celim was chillly. Not just from the efforts of the court wizards, but the oppressive silence and dark mood that hung over the proceedings. Ashia was prostrate, seventeen paces in front of the throne, her forehead pressed against the jeweled tiles that made the floor. The only sound in her ears, besides the flow of her own blood in her veins, was the quiet whisper of silk on silk from the assembled courtiers, all of whom stood several feet back from the spectacle before them. For long minutes this dragged on, Ashia's muscled, dark form hunched before the throne's dais, refusing to move; The courtiers, all frozen in place, refusing to relinquish their views. And somewhere before her, the stern face of the young prince who had taken the throne because of her actions.<br/><br/>   "Ngidi Ashia; Daughter of Ngidi Kyumi, eighth son of the Ngidi line and warden of the lands of Aso, Nikue and Sala; Askari of the <em>Ingwe</em> way, honored by her order with the title of Sainted Blade; Formerly champion of the Righteous Lord of Dar Celim, <em>Inkosi</em> Ha and father of the current Lord, <em>Um Ntwana</em> Ului, soon to be <em>Inkosi</em> Ului, Long His Reign; Lift your head." At the counselor's demand, Ashia lifted herself so that she was on her hands and knees, eyes still fixed on the jeweled patterns on the floor. <br/><br/>   <em>So this is how my life ends</em>, she thought bitterly, <em>at the command of a eunuch</em>. The call to order had excited the nobles, and murmurs and motion filled the cool chamber, the panoply of silks and prints creating a rushing sea of color on either side of her; Ashia kept her attention forward, towards her lord and his servant. <br/><br/>   "Ngidi Ashia;" the counselor's high voice announced again, this time without titles, "you are accused of complicity in the murder of <em>Inkosh</em> Ha, who by your oath, was under your protection. Do you deny the charges brought before you?"<br/><br/>   The dull roar of the crowd around her faded to nothing at the question. Inside her, a voice leapt and screamed, <em>yes! yes! I deny it!</em> The scars on her body from the assassin's blade read like a map of her innocence. But her lord was dead, and she was alive... Honor demanded the truth, <em>not</em> the facts. "No," she croaked, surprised at the weakness of that feeble noise coming from her own throat. "No," she repeated, stronger "While the Inkosi lay mortally wounded before me, I -" her mouth moved, wordlessly, unable to continue.<br/><br/>   "You <em>what</em>," the wheedling voice of the counselor prompted, with false gentleness.<br/><br/>   "I took the healing drought from the assassin's corpse for myself," The words poured out in a rush. She felt heat then, in her face, over her shoulders and neck, a crimson flush beneath already-dark skin as she remembered. Her own greed for life had caused her to fail her duty, and because of her, the corpse of the king - her ward - was to be burned to free his spirit this very night. The roar of the noble crowd returned then, battering at her like a gale, the storm of words and curses and hate. She was a stone in the typhoon though, unmoving, unflinching. <br/><br/>   "And do you bring before the court, any words, any claims for leniency?" <br/><br/>   If she dared look up, Ashia was certain she would see the poisonous smile plastered on the eunuch's face. They so loved speaking with the voice of the king, and this one had a particular venom her askari, she knew. His words tempted her, that little voice once again crying out how she had slain the assassin, and even saved evidence implicating <em>Inkosi</em> Nuur of Sebet in the attack. But there was no innocence here. Certainly not after denying her own. she swallowed, her tongue scraping against the back of her parched throat. "i do not, honored Voice of the king," she dipped her head again "I ask only that I be allowed to atone, before <em>Um Ntwana</em> Ului, and those gathered here today." <br/><br/>   Her stomach clenched at her own words, and from the voices of the courtiers, so did theirs. To 'atone' was, of course, to take her own life, there before the court, to spill her guts and pierce her heart, to have her head taken by a second. The voices quieted to a whisper, then silence, as they waited for word. Even the counselor was silent, waiting for the prince to speak.<br/><br/>   They waited.<br/><br/>   Waited.<br/><br/>   Silence from the throne.<br/><br/>   "Your plea has been rejected," the eunuch spoke. In her mind, Ashia saw him clicking his heels in glee. It would be funny, if she didn't know what came next. "At Dawn tomorrow, you will be put to death; your head will be removed, and your limbs-"<br/><br/>   "<em>No</em>." The voice was so soft, it was hard to hear over the counselor. Even so, silence dropped like an anvil. Ashia's breath caught in her throat; She was one of the few in the room who had heard the prince speak before. Was he about to pardon her?<br/><br/>   What a foolish hope. "Ngidi Ashia, my father is dead because you are selfish." The words stung her like a razored whip. "I will not allow you to atone, nor will I allow your sin to be purged for you. I command you to <em>live</em>. Live with your shame forevermore. Let it divorce you from your ancestors. Leave my land, and all lands touched by my ancestors; find a ship and take it as far from here as it will sail."<br/><br/>   Horror cut at her worse than the knives of that assassin had. Live? As an <em>exile</em>? Wander barbarian lands, never to hear the songs of her ancestors again? Her eyes lifted for the first time, such was her shock; She did not remember the prince seeming so small, a young teenager enveloped by the massive throne of bronze and garnet, surrounded by swollen peacock courtiers. The scowl on his face froze her blood worse than any wizard's spell, even as her face burned. She dropped again, kowtowing against the floor, groveling silently as if that might make him lift the curse.<br/><br/>   Silence from the throne, again. <br/><br/>   "Part from us," came the voice of the counselor again; even he sounded numb and shaken. Ashia rose to her hands and feet, and lifted herself, still bowing to the throne for thirteen steps backwards, before turning to stumble for the doorway. Had the chamber always been so large? It seemed like days before she walked out of the cool chamber into the blistering heat of the Dar Celim afternoon. The sun and the colors it created dazzled her, before she realized she was seeing them through tears - the last sight of her homeland.<br/><br/>   "Ngidi, Ngidi, Ngidi!" a boy's tiny voice and tugging at her hands brought her attention down. A page, his big round head half-shaved, smiled up at her and pressed a scroll into er hand before scampering off, not allowing any questions. still in a daze, she lifted the tube of paper. It was sealed with gold wire, bent in the shape of a dragon that coiled around the paper; symbol of the Dragons, a rival order to her own among the askari. The message was brief and hastily written, but it gave her a destination, should she choose to take it.<br/><br/>   <em>Sasskiana</em>.</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">EXISTING RELATIONSHIPS</div><div class="spoiler_body">No close relationships among the crew. THough not cold, she's aloof and doesn't let her guard down easily; Polite, formal, and more stiff than tarred oakum</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">GENERAL PERSONALITY</div><div class="spoiler_body">At first, Ashia is always stiff and formal with people she meets, applying a rigid code of etiquette from her homeland that isn't always appreciated else where. When relaxed and more familiar with the people around her, however, she's a loud-laughing, drink-loving woman with a penchant for poetry both sublime and bawdy. After all, the sages say, a soldier could die in the next moment, so enjoy this one. Though she is an adherent of laws, rules, and order, she also has her own personal code that may not always mesh - Not many nations are as accepting of duels in the street over matters of honor as Dar Celim, after all...</div></div><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">SEXUALITY</div><div class="spoiler_body">So far, she hasn't really demonstrated any inclinations aboard the Sasskiana, or at port; opinion is probably that she's frigid, but it's more that she's wrapped up in her own world, stewing over her shame and exile, pair with the work aboard the ship and demands of her order, that she feels she just doesn't have <em>time</em>, or even that she's not <em>worthy</em>. That said, she prefers men, but is not unfamiliar with women - the role of <em>askari</em> is traditionally male, and women in the order often "act the part."<br/>OOC - (<em>For my part, well, there's the ons / offs under my name there. I honestly don't know what Ashia may have under hers. I get a feeling that she's probably very "vanilla" more due to a lack of exploration of her own sexuality than any actual hangups. </em></div></div>