Namreen Borlaaq
"Who can face the sea and not inherit its loneliness?"
Behind every good man is a good woman. Behind every bad woman, a bad man.
Pale turns the river when it freezes. The veins and streams in a cutting flow of water become hard and cold, and it is the ice that Namreen appears to emulate. Her pallid skin, with flush scales and the smooth complexion of youth, is taut around a firm musculature. There are few scars that mar her stout body, only one of which being over her neck. A small mark cuts through her hairline on her right temple, white and jagged.The body of a hunter does not come from a land without prey. The Borlaaq are a people of unique living; not a single boy or man sleeps among them. Their sons are given up by the will of their mothers, and those mothers are honored as wise and great. This empathy pervades their culture, creating bonds built on blood. Their instinct as mothers is to protect, and so they must fight for the weak of the Steppe. Namreen is no different.Being a shield is paramount to her training, but she carries herself with the semblance of stoicism. There's little sympathy in her flat voice and looks. She comes across as aloof, or cold if it's apposite. In this, she at least appears to be aware and attempts to treat the issue with some color to her face. A seemly blue shades her lips and shadows her eyes, giving her visage the impression of a more animated and expressive woman, even if marginally.
The nature of man is to kill, to go unfeeling. The nature of woman is love.
Her purpose here is not an unheard one of the Steppe. There are those that are, unbeknownst to her, acutely aware of what she does in Eorzea and of what she has done to their unrevealed comrades. The whispers that travel between tribes tell of a pair of Borlaaqi woman that died at the hands of mystery, only for one of them to return from the grave. Namreen is that returned daughter, the homecoming nothing short of a miracle to her people.Her absence from home as a dead woman walking was spent in Eorzea. A killer of eminence to the whisperers and lurkers, she found her quarry in crowds and cities. There were rarely disappearances, but more than once did the Borlaaq take a life. The people that were made her prey had only one alleged commonality. Namreen claimed they were the ones that took the life of her sister, the secret guild of spies and informants that infect her homeland.Such talk died with the bitter woman who had crossed the oceans to chase these murderers down. Namreen's hunts are no longer of vengeance and paranoia, though hints of such a character can be noticed infrequently. She has returned to the teachings of her Borlaaqi elders, exhibiting empathy in most if not all of her endeavors. These rumors of what she once was are not denied by her, but the Namreen of today puts them to shame.
Judge naught of a person until you have seen their heart, or die in cold ash.
The new life she leads is one of travel. Sailors and crew from ships of air and sea alike could recognize the daunting armor from afar, and most of the Borlaaq either at home or separated from their mothers are familiar with her face and story. Namreen would not shy from these acquaintances. Her power comes not from grief any longer, but compassion. Notwithstanding her cold mien, she speaks with great care in her words.Mindful as she is, it seldom ameliorating in the shadow of her typical attire. Over a hauberk that hangs down to her knees and wrists, she is clad in armor. The whole nine yalms is strapped to her body. Brassarts, cowters, and culets; faulds, cuisses, and sollerets. When she is armored for battle, it is with fastidious preparations. She spares no expense, being a product of war and a paragon of defense.Such assembly is deceptively unarmed. At a first glance, she is without a weapon, not even a knife in sight. To the aetherially trained, however, there is a remarkable flavor to her corporeal magicks. Ice, a favored element of thaumaturges, projects from her form in localized concentrations. Her hands and pockets are saturated with the power of whatever mysterious enchantments are lain into her armaments.