Faizra pezre Taci
Birthday: Bethas 12, 2701
FC: Flaviana Matata
Place of Origin: Turga River, Mugroba
Current Location: Thul Ka, Mugroba
Player Name: moralhazard
Faizra is 5’5” tall, and slender nearly to the point of scrawniness. She has a long, oval face, with high, sculpted cheekbones, and rich brown skin. She wears her curly black hair cropped very close to the scalp, ragged and uneven; she usually cuts it herself with her knife when it grows too long.
The last few years of life have been hard, and Faizra’s body bears the marks of them, and not only in her size. She has slender wrists and long, mobile fingers, with a knife-fighter’s calluses. Both arms and legs bear a smattering of various scars, whether from clambering over rusty metal in search of a place to sleep or lost fights, and she has a long knife scar along the left side of her ribs, parallel to them. Her feet are tough and hard from going barefoot.
Faizra would wear bright colors and patterns if she could afford them; as it is, she wears clothing she has scavenged from the street, worn, threadbare and functional more than anything. She is as dirty as the clothing, cleaning herself when she can with a dip in one of Thul Ka's rivers.
Faizra’s exterior consists mostly of tough skin and sharp edges. She is skeptical of others, usually assuming the worst in their motives and intentions. She has little shame; she isn’t above doing whatever necessary to live, balanced as she is on the knife’s edge of survival. That said, she does have some pride, a fierce, desperate one in her independence.
Faizra has no time to spare for thinking about morality; most of her energy is consumed by the day’s need for food and shelter. Planning, beyond picking a pocket or robbing a merchant stall, is rarely something she can manage. She has no hesitation in stealing from those she meets or defending herself with violent force.
Beneath it all, Faizra longs for the community and home she used to have. She misses those she lost, and still thinks of them often, although she is guarded and secretive about her past. She doesn't see a way forward to build bridges like those to others again; if she thought much about it, she would say it's safer for her to remain an island alone.
Faizra was born to two wick parents in Central Erg, in one of the small floating villages on the Turga River. She was her parents’ first child, and the utter joy of their hearts. She grew up dancing across boards lashed together in the water and making trips with parents, aunts, uncles and cousins to trade with the villages and remote farmlands dotting the river’s edges. Her parents had two more children after her, a boy and a girl, and between her siblings and cousins Faizra never lacked for playmates. Once or twice, she traveled all the way to Thul Ka with members of her tribe, and the sight of the city stunned and awed her.
No one knew exactly how the plague reached them. There were rumors that a few of the small farmsteads along the river had been hit, but they were only rumors, and nothing that hadn’t been heard before. No one thought it necessary to stop trading or living as usual. Faizra was about fourteen, just starting to feel herself a woman, when almost overnight it struck. It began with a few of her older cousins, and spread like wildfire through the small floating settlement. Faizra, like all the rest, became desperately ill, feverish and delirious. Her fever broke, but the nightmares didn’t end; the young wick was the only one in the entire settlement left alive.
Faizra waited a few days, hiding as far as she could from the reeking bodies as flies and scavengers descended; no one came. News of the plague had spread, and all the communities they had traded with and all the other wick tribes stayed well away. When she couldn’t wait any longer, Faizra lashed the rafts that had been her home tighter together, took what was left of their food supplies, and left the community burning behind her as she paddled away up the river.
At first, Faizra thought she might find shelter with another one of the communities along the river. She tried to approach another tribe of wicks, hoping they would help her; they threw rocks and shouted at her not to bring the plague to them. After that, Faizra didn’t dare stop again; she paddled until the boat broke beneath her and dumped her into the water, and after she pulled herself to shore she walked – all the way to Thul Ka. There, Faizra thought, no one would know her; there, she would be safe.
It wasn’t an easy journey, and it wasn’t any easier living on the streets of Thul Ka. The spells and tricks she had learned as a child’s game on the river were no game now, and Faizra found herself dependent on them – on thievery and trickery and begging – to survive. For a time, she lived with a kind tsat family, but they began to ask too many questions about her tribe, and Faizra thought it best to leave before they learned too much. She joined a small street gang, which offered a bit of protection and the occasional scrap of food in exchange for part of her earnings, but left over a disagreement with the head of the gang, having found that there were prices she wasn't willing to pay for something resembling a fami.
These days, she relies largely on herself, and if Faizra isn’t exactly thriving – well – at least she’s alive.
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