Aspects:
Educated by Priests x 2
Darathan Guardian
“Amberlight”
Smuggler
Native Language: Taji
Skills:
Literacy xxx (+x)
Riding xx
Awareness xx
Danger sense xx
Bodyguard xx
Researcher xx
Language (Isles): x
Tajidarian history x
Body language x
Listen x
Making contacts x
Navigation x
Fence (appraise) x
Age: Unknown, probably in her early 30s.
Nanda is on the shorter side of the average height for a Taji woman. Stubbornly retaining some curves, her coffee-coloured body is nonetheless lean and muscled, and bears the scars of the attack years ago as well as those of numerous scuffles since. As a Guardian, she shaved her head, but when she gave up that position she grew her hair out, as a statement of sorts perhaps. Part of it grew back white, as a likely result of her head injuries, and now creates a distinct contrast of silvery flow in her long, thick, black braid which usually hangs down her back. When she is on her nightly missions, she wraps the braid tightly around her head and covers the distinctive white lock under a cap. Her eyes are deep brown, with golden specks.
She wears wraparound canvas trousers, long-sleeved tunics over shifts, a waistcoast which is more of a pocket and pouch holder than a garment, and her trademark black circle cloak, which glimmers in shades of green and blue when hit by light. This has earned her nickname of Starling, used in the freeport. She typically arms herself with a shortsword and a pair of daggers.
Background
The Dârshudin, God’s companions, are a loose sect of wandering sages, poets, storytellers, historians and news criers, typically all in one. They are dedicated to Darash, a gentle god who can be approached through meditation and contemplation. He preserves knowledge and learning, and as one-sided knowledge is only part of the full story, he speaks of love of one’s fellow man regardless of race or origin. Due to their philosophy the Dârshudin claim to be truly neutral in the conflict-ravaged Archipelago and are usually recognised as such. They exist both in Elbenstraz and Tajidar, although in greater numbers in the latter, where they function as a sub-order of the Church of Rangar. Their distinctive black and red robes can be seen in many lands and often their masters in particular are known by name and face. Even during wars they are typically let move freely and to lift a hand against a Dârshu is considered a very ill thing, and a bad omen beyond measure.
The groups are centred on a Dârshu master, Sared. With him travel his students and the attendants of the groups who are generally not anointed Dârshudin themselves, although they typically follow the god in any case. The Dârshudin avoid force and violence but recognise the realities of the world and so they often take on bodyguards during their travels. The most reliable bodyguards come from the groups of children the Dârshudin have taken away from refugee camps and brought up in their hana’adin - retinues - or in their temples.
Ayananda was such a child.
The strong and stubborn infant, who refused to both hide and beg when the strange people in bright robes came to the camp, caught the priests’ eye. The camp matrons did not know where she originated, what her name was or where she was from, she was but one of the thousands of displaced orphans they had seen during the too many years at the camp. There was nobody to resist when she was chosen along with a couple of dozen others, and there was no reason to do so. The Dârshudin were known to be gentle if firm in their teachings and even if she didn’t suit their purposes, life as a servant at a temple would be far preferable to a life at the camp. The priests called her Ayananda, little cinnamon, due to the strong partialness she displayed towards the cinnamon sweets given by them to the children.
While her interest in arms and in the complexities of the more subtle arts of warfare made her unsuitable for an anointed Dârshu, the priests were pleased in her growing devotion to Darash and her willingness to offer her skills in his service. She was trained as a bodyguard and from an early age she was sent to travel in the hana’adin to learn from the more experienced practitioners of her trade.
She had been protecting Sared Mahru and his retinue for nearly a year when the unspeakable happened. An assault in the dark, when they had camped for the night. It was known to be a dangerous area, but they had trusted the coloured torchflames and banners of a Dârshu hana’a. The assault was well planned, methodical, swift, merciless. The entire hana’a were butchered in their camp. Nanda was left unconscious in a set of bushes, which likely covered her sufficiently for her to avoid having her head cut off and thus saved her life. The following morning a passing group of soldiers found her and the ravaged camp, and in horror and surprise took her along, recognising her as a Darathan Guardian, tended to her the best they could and deposited her at the first temple they came across.
It was there she woke up, dazed and weak, to the chants of the priest and the calls of cranes outside. Her memory was patchy and she remembered little of the attack itself. The word “Amberlight” surfaced from her mess of thoughts and has since refused to leave, but she has not been able to find a meaning for it.
She was not punished for her failure. The attack had been premeditated and overwhelming, she had been but one guard. Yet guilt, anger and grief weighed heavily on her, and although her body healed, she did not feel she could don the black leathers of a Guardian again. She was allowed to remain at the temple and she was trained as an archivist. For ten years she cared for the Darathan library in Nasradan, and as she saw corruption, politicking and power struggle within the Dârshudin themselves, she slowly became convinced that Sared Mahru’s death was an internal affair. As the only survivor of Sared Mahru’s hana’a, she feared for herself.
The temple at Nasradan was darkened further by the rekindling of the old war. A shock attack by Stratzi troops penetrated the coastline of Tajidar, and although they were beaten back, the Nasradan library was burned to the ground. In the immediate aftermath of the turmoil, Nanda, in devastation, fled from the ravaged city, leaving the priests believe that she died with her beloved library. She made her way out of Tajidar, to the neutral islands of the straits, and eventually settled in the freeport of Thiemus. There she makes a living through running errands and messages and helping out at the Red Trout by day, and through smuggling by night.
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