Profile created for gorean role play.

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I am a woman, a beautiful free woman. My name is Lady Kyrielle. 

  My name chosen by my mother for its form of poetry, a Kyrielle. 

I  grew up and became  a Companion,  and  became a mother.

I  began studying to be of the Caste of Scribes under the auspicious of the elder Scribes. After a year, I took their oath and  became one of their own kind, a Scribe.

I am a working Scribe, the  keeper of secrets, managing delicate and just flat dangerous matters on request. Hence the need to learn the art of self preservation. This  took yet another year, every night, until I couldn't get it wrong.

 

It is said the quill is mightier than the sword. I have both. 

My weapons: 

# 1

Quills, ink & parchment . 

#2

A silver Koftgari hilted bidi sword, 32 inches in total, the blade length 26 inches, was crafted for me. The only difference between my sword and those who wield various other kinds  and designs is mine is much lighter weight and very feminine. Just so.....pretty ! Cartouches are etched on both sides of the blade. A silver scabbard envelopes the blade, and there it rests , nesting snuggly down the center of my back.

Always. 

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   ......East of the Thassa ........west of the winds.....

there, at the headwaters of the Upper Fayeen river, are my lands, my home where I was born. My  property an exact 100 pasang square, extending beyond the foothills into the Voltai mountains peaks. 

Plucked from the desert southwest of Arizona in the United States of America hundreds of years ago, the entire Anasazi tribe lives here , their lands abutting my lands their homes abutting my home.

Reclusive by nature, yet immensely famous for their architecture, they are the  ultimate  in contrasts. In Arizona they built highly sophisticated stone and adobe masonry multi-story cliff dwellings, as well as grand above ground pueblos. Their homes are the same here, every bit as stunningly beautiful, works of greatest art, created and crafted just as they were on earth. And I am one of them, my birth in the springtime of the year... mired in the blood of my mother. My parents the King and his Queen, deceased, of the beautiful Anasazi tribe. Makes you sick  when you think about it, doesn't it.  Knowing I'm alive because my mother, the Queen, died. From birthing me. 

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