Basah'ir

[Basha'ir]

Basha’ir Name: Basha’ir Race: mixed blood [Benshira/Eypharian] Age: 22 Birthday: Summer 22, 490 AV Physical Description Height: 5’5” Weight: 115 lbs Hair: dark brown Eyes: dark green Build: slender, curvy Other: the mark of Nikali – a scarlet ‘chain’ made up of many links, several inches in length, in a private place Character Concept Basha’ir is a slave, marked by Nikali, and thus able to immediately and precisely discern the needs of those she touches, especially her master. She feels an almost undeniable compulsion to satisfy those needs and in turn, those same needs become her own. Stolen from her original master in Ahnatep by an evil visitor, she was taken to Ravok and set to spying on her new master’s adversaries. Being gifted with Ranuri, however, caused some major complications for Basha’ir in terms of being a spy. It also sparked a series of events that saw her changing hands, from one covetous owner to another, leaving a trail of murder and treachery behind her, through no doing of her own. Her latest master has brought her to his home town of Syliras, to begin yet again. Perhaps this time, this new start will truly be one of her own making. Character History Basha’ir was born in Ahnatep, to a poor Benshira woman who had to resort to prostitution to survive. Her father was an Eypharian merchant, who kept her mother for a while as a sort of mistress. When she became pregnant with Basha’ir, though, he put her out onto the street, and the poor woman was reduced to stealing, begging, or whatever she could to get by. When Basha’ir was born, her mother was very sad, to think of the life that awaited her little daughter. But she had no real options. Their life was extremely harsh and unstable. So when Basha’ir was a little child, her mother sold her into slavery, to a rich master, who had seen the girl in the streets and had been struck by her pretty looks. He thought she looked sweet and decorative and he promised her mother that she would be well taken care of. With the hope that the man was a good person and that he was being honest, her mother sadly agreed to the deal. It turned out, happily for Basha’ir, that the man was telling the truth, and her childhood wasn’t a bad one, for a slave. Other slaves her master owned taught her things like cooking, sewing, cleaning, just the regular household chores. But she was a very pretty girl, and grew into a beautiful young woman. Her master was an important man in Ahnatep and had many wealthy visitors. More than a few of them offered to buy her from him, but he always refused. When she was sixteen, there came one such visitor who was truly an evil person. He was quite enraged that Basha’ir’s good master would not part with the girl, and so he arranged to have her kidnapped. Thus began a true nightmare for the girl. She was spirited right away from Ahnatep and taken thousands of miles north, winding up in the far city of Ravok. Her life was a misery, and every day she woke praying for death to end the unsavory tasks her malevolent master set her to. His desire for her lay mainly in his wish to use her against his enemies in that city. Loaning her services to many powerful men, he used her as a spy against them, teaching her the skills that would make her adept at prying out their secrets, including auristics and hypnotism. He didn’t care at all what use they put her to, and her life spiraled downwards into an ever deeper black abyss. She even thought many times of taking her own life, regardless of the lavish clothes and jewels and seemingly pampered life she was provided. Inside she was as empty as if she was already dead. In the very depth of this bleak despair, the goddess Nikali came to Basha’ir and touched her, leaving her mark, as a gift, to help her cope with her life. But Ranuri is, as is said, a curse as well. Bound to this cruel master, Basha’ir was focused on his desires and needs, making them her own and taking pleasure in them as much as he did. But almost every night saw her being given to this other man or that one, and her addiction to pleasing those she came in physical contact with knew no limits. Suddenly, life was bearable, greatly pleasurable even. However, what had she become? In truth, it was probably a very good thing that Basha’ir could not see herself as she truly was. Possessions 1 Set of Clothing -Simple Shirt -Simple Pants -Simple Undergarments -Simple Cloak/coat -Simple Boots 1 Waterskin 1 Backpack which contains: -Comb (Wood) -Brush (Wood) -Soap -Razor -Balanced Rations (1 Week’s Worth) -1 eating knife -Flint & Steel Heirloom: (50gm worth) 142.5 Gold Mizas Housing: An average sized, single room in her master’s home, with a bed, table, a couple chairs, wardrobe, and complimentary chamber pot. update: As of Summer 75, 512 AV Basha is living on her own in the typical Syliras one room accomodation Ledger Purchase Cost Total Starting +100 GM 100 GM Seasonal Wages +64 GM 164 GM Living Expenses -22 GM 142 GM Tip +5 SM 142.5 GM Skills, Lores, Magics, Gnosis, Languages Skill EXP Total Proficiency Hypnosis 10 RB, 16 SP, 1+1 XP 28 Competent Auristics 15 SP, 1 XP 16 Novice Seduction 15 SP, 2+4 XP 21 Novice Sewing 4 SP, 1+1 XP 6 Novice Persuasion 3+1+3 XP 7 Novice Rhetoric 3+1+5 XP 9 Novice Observation 1+2 XP 3 Novice Intimidation 1 XP 1 Novice Interrogation 2+1 XP 3 Novice Subterfuge 2 XP 2 Novice Storytelling 1 XP 1 Novice Running 3 XP 3 Novice Land Navigation 1 XP 1 Novice Fluent Language: Common Basic Language: Arumenic Poor Language: Shiber Lores: Lore of Ravok Culture Lore of Ahnatep Culture Sewing a Headscarf Orion's Favorite Refreshments Standing Up For Yourself Small and Even Stitches Sewing a Shirt Being Verbally Evasive Location: Rearing Stallion Seduction Maneuver: The Saucy Grin Subtle Suggestions Gnosis: Ranuri : Basha’ir wept. In the dark, her hands pressed to her face, she wept. But no sound escaped her full, once painted lips. The ochre lip color had long since been wiped away, during the course of the evening. Wet tears of grief slid down her cheeks, leaked through her fingers, gathered on her chin, and dripped down, one by one. But she bit down on that beautiful full under lip to keep her desolation concealed from any who might be lurking outside the door. Her master was already angry with her. She had returned from this night’s assignation with no new information. She had tried, she assured him, in frightened tones. She really had tried but this man, he didn’t have the information her master thought he possessed. Yes, she was sure, she had repeated, over and over. She thought her master had believed her. He had used his own skills to probe her psyche. He must have known. Still, he had raised his hand, that hard, hard hand, and slapped her, out of frustration, and anger. It didn’t matter whether he was mad at her or his target or just life in general. She was the one who paid, again. And the one she had been trying her best to wrest the information from, he was…appalling, dreadful. His tastes were macabre and vile, and to even think of the things she had done, for her master’s sake, to avoid another beating, made her stomach lurch up into her throat. She tasted the bitter burn of bile, but still she bit down on her lip. She would not let loose a sound. Not a whimper or a moan or a sob, for if her master knew that she was crying, it would only be that much worse. One slap was nothing. Nothing. And tonight, she would not draw anyone’s attention to her sorrow. Not tonight. There had been no time to bathe, when she had returned to her home, her master’s home. He had interrogated her and slapped her and raged at her, and then he had her escorted to her room, and locked inside. Where did he think she would run, in this abhorrent city? She had no friends, no family, no-one. He would hunt her down and kill her, or worse. And he had done so, this was no hysterical imagining on her part. Once, a year before, she had tried. She had finally steeled herself to slip away from the house, thinking vaguely to find someone, anyone, who would offer her shelter, sanctuary, sanity. He had found her before the evening stars had appeared and what he had done to her… But tonight, tonight would be different. Tonight she would find freedom, at the point of a dagger. Her master was no fool. He kept her locked in and never any chance to put her hands on any weapon. She had waited, patiently, knowing one day, one night, someone would slip up. She would not hang herself, like some miserable dog. In life she had no dignity whatsoever. She would not leave this world that way. And for one moment, as her lascivious target had been so intent upon his ministrations to her flesh, she had seen it, the small dagger, laying on a desk in the room he chose to take her in. When he lay sated on the carpeted floor, eyes closed for a few minutes, she had wedged it in the stiff folds of her cape, in the hood, while she was up to fetch him a drink. The cape that now lay next to her on the bed. The cape the other slave who helped see to her expensive outfits had been too lazy to take away and hang up. Basha’ir could not afford to hesitate. The room was not private. Nothing in it was hers. Nothing was sacred or off limits, any more than she was. It would be tonight, or never. It would be tonight. Basha’ir’s tears continued, unchecked. She would allow herself this one luxury. She cried for her mother. She cried for the home she had known in Ahnatep. She cried for the life she had led for the past six years. She cried for herself. Hot, wet, fat tears of self-indulgence. She wept for the girl she had been and the young woman that she was now and the woman she would never be. The man she would never know. The children she would never hold. All of it. Every bit of it. She cried for many long minutes, an hour, and more, and finally, she was empty. Her body was as empty as her soul. Letting her hands fall away, not bothering to wipe the patches of wet from her face, she stretched her hand out to uncover the dagger from the hood. Rising from the bed, she walked to the window, looking out over the rooftops below, silvery in the moonlight. But she was not deceived. This was a dark place, a place of shadows and secrets and nightmares. She would be glad to leave it behind. Already unclothed, she raised the dagger and held it to her breast, right above where she could feel the rapid thumping of her heart. Letting a calm wash over her, she closed her eyes, thinking of the blurred image of her mother, almost erased by time and trauma. She would count to three, and then she would push the sharp blade in as far as it would go. One… two… “Daughter, stay your hand. Do not take your own life.” A voice sounded from behind her, and a light touch was felt on her shoulder. Basha’ir’s eyes flew open and she whirled around, letting the dagger fall to her side in her surprise. Who had entered through the locked door, without any light falling into the room? But what she saw when she turned was so beautiful, so indescribably delightful, that she forgot for a moment, to be afraid. She forgot her pain and her sadness and her despair, looking upon the other woman. Also nude, the most lovely womanly form that Basha’ir had ever seen stood no more than two feet away, a light luminescence coming off of the pale limbs. But the face was masked. As much as Basha’ir would have longed to see the beauty behind it, it remained hidden. As if in a dream, Basha’ir asked softly, “My lady, who are you? Why have you come? Why have you stopped me?” And though she asked, already she felt better, lighter in spirit, more at ease. All the grief of a few moments ago, all that she had endured for so many years, was evaporating as she gazed upon this lovely figure. “Daughter, I am all women, I am you. I am your mother and your sister and your daughter. I am the light that glimmers in the darkness.” As she spoke, the woman’s body did shine brighter. The light drew Basha’ir in, and she stepped closer and through the holes in the mask she saw reflected in those eyes…herself. The woman reached out to place her hand gently on the ugly welt on Basha’ir’s cheek. The touch was soothing, calming, and reassuring. “Your pain is gone, and you will know the greatest of pleasure, Basha’ir. Now sleep, and be happy.” The light of dawn was streaming through the unshuttered window. Basha’ir opened her eyes and placed her fingers on her cheek. There was no soreness. With a memory of the night, she sat up quickly, casting her eyes about for the dagger. If her master were to discover it . . . She heard the key turning in the lock and the door opened, the evil demon himself standing there, staring at her. In a motion of supplication, Basha’ir stretched out her hands to him , reaching for his arm. Her fingertips brushed against his skin and she knew, what he wanted. Rising sensuously, she drew him into her arms, so that he did not yet see the scarlet trail of linked ovals that stretched across her pubis, right above the line of fine, dark curls. As their lips met, he moaned in cruel pleasure, and Basha'ir too felt a fire kindle inside her body like nothing she had ever known before. 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