I don’t quite recall precisely when I created Shirin, but it was sometime relatively soon after the re-opening of Tales of Ta’veren, which I believe took place in 1999 or 2000. I do recall that approval took quite a while, as a female Blademaster was one of those extra-restricted roles that required an initial application before you were even allowed to enter CharGen. Unfortunately, playing her soon became difficult as Shienar slowed down and died and it made little sense for her to hang out in any of the other open areas. Because of this, I am hoping to be able to ‘resurrect’ her sometime, if that elusive new and interesting Wheel of Time game ever comes around.
Forthcoming.
Tousled spiral curls of sooty charcoal, tinted only by the deepest shadows and darkest highlights, tumble in a rebellious cascade of pure darkness to far past her shoulders, the riotous mass of sable tresses fettered by a brazen clasp at the nape of her neck. Unruly tendrils of inky silk stray from that opulent mane of ebon locks, and come to softly curl like wisps of blackest smoke about her heart-shaped face, gently caressing its angular planes and pronounced edges. High, wide-set cheekbones merge through steeply curving lines with narrow chin and firm, determined jawline; creating—together with a slightly prominent nose—a distinctive profile which even without those darkly emeraldine, sharply tilted eyes would betray her origin. Softening the fierce impression of forbiddingly sharp features and a boldly gleaming, bird-of-prey gaze are lush fringes of dark and femininely delicate lashes and a generous mouth which seem to naturally curve in a sensual manner, its deep colouring set off by lightly bronzed skin—satiny smooth save for where a thin scar runs down the length of her left cheek. Of middling height, lithesome and slender— though neither thin nor willowy, for beneath the deceptively soft and rounded outline of a woman’s body leanly toned muscles cover a core of finely tempered steel—she’s a graceful creature, her movements are all about ease and fluidity. But though her poise is confident and her demeanour one of pride and strength of will, an air of watchful tension always seems to linger.
No silk or velvet, though the linen is fine enough, and not even a slim, divided skirt but fitted trousers most proper for a man instead. And yet she manages a kind of rough-cut elegance, stemming partly from the ease with which she moves in garb like this, where practicality is set before propriety. The cream-coloured shirt is soft and flowing, with width to spare and long, slightly billowing sleeves that are snared tight about her slim wrists. A few of the laces of its V-shaped neckline are undone, pale skin—with a thin, even paler scar running lengthways precariously close to her throat—and a hint of the curve of her breasts revealed. Of a sturdier weave are the rust-red pants which clothe her sleekly muscled legs, while the pair of slightly worn, but well cared for boots of leather, by long and faithful service rendered soft and supple, are a sandy tan in colour. Black, and buckled with a brazen clasp in the shape of a winged steed, is the belt that rests lightly upon softly rounded, undeniably feminine hips. It is slanted at a slight angle, pulled down by the weight of the surprising presence of a well-crafted sword in a fine scabbard upon her left side.
Forthcoming.
Forthcoming.